Jack & Kayla (Imperfect Love Series)

by Ruby Molloy

  “I’m not gonna get angry with you, promise. I just need to know what you said to Kayla, that’s all.”

  “I only told her the truth.”

  A muscle flexes in his jaw and I can see the effort it takes him to remain calm. “Which is?”

  “That we’re in love.”

  I push away from the wall, but Boyd grips my upper arm and restrains me. “What else did you say?”

  “I forget.”

  He looks directly into my eyes and says quietly, “Moll, did you tell Kayla that we’d had sex?”

  “Is that what she told you?” she asks, sounding petulant now. “She’s lying, Jack. I never said that. I only told her we were in love.”

  “So you didn’t say we’d had sex? Because we both know that’s a lie.”

  “Why would I say something like that when it’s not true? She’s lying, Jack, trying to turn you against me.”

  “Okay, Moll, I believe you. Listen, are you parents home?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to speak to your dad, check he’s okay with you and me.”

  “You don’t have to do that―”

  “Molly, put your dad on the phone.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s a whole lot of silence for the next minute or so. Boyd still has my arm in his grip and we’re staring at each other, our breathing in sync, waiting.

  “Hello?” It’s only one word, but I can tell that Molly’s dad is a jerk. His voice carries that superior tone, as if he’s the better man.

  “This is Jack. You need to get help for Molly. She called my apartment today and told my girlfriend that we’re having an affair. It’s a fucking lie and I won’t have her trashing my relationship just because she can’t get a handle on what’s real and what isn’t. You need to call someone and get Molly assessed.”

  “She’s just a little overwrought―”

  “Crying and getting upset is being overwrought. Calling my girlfriend and telling her a pack of lies is fucking manipulative. Christ knows what she’ll do if she doesn’t get the help she needs.”

  “I’ll talk to my wife. See what we think is best. I’m sorry if your girlfriend’s upset, but Molly’s been through a tough time―”

  “Fuck, you’re not even listening. I’m telling you she needs help. Call someone. If you don’t, and things escalate, I’ll have no choice but to call the Police.” Boyd ends the call and pockets his phone.

  I’m staring at exploded glass and tufts of foam, wondering how everything got so out of control.

  “Mace, Tag, I’ll catch up with you later.”

  They nod at Boyd and Mace closes the door on his way out. I don’t know what to do. I think about apologising, but an apology won’t make up for my trail of destruction. Maybe I should begin by cleaning up the mess? But Boyd still has hold of my wrist and he’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. I’m struggling to reconcile everything that’s happened and how it felt to have Boyd cheat on me. And even though it’s clear now that Molly was lying, it was real at the time. Real enough to have left a scar.

  My eyes are on the broken glass when I ask, “Do you want me to leave?”

  Boyd says nothing.

  He releases my arm and walks away.

  I think maybe that’s my answer.

  I swallow back the pain and nod, understanding why he’s doing this. “I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m apologising for hitting him or for damaging his property. Or maybe I’m apologising for wrecking our relationship.

  In my fight to keep myself together, I resort to the mundane. “I can tidy the mess, if you like?”

  He’s standing beside what was once his dining table, staring at the pool of broken glass beneath the vacant metal frame. “You hated this table. Sofas too,” he says, stepping round the mess. He collects a carton of juice from the fridge and drinks greedily, his Adam’s apple flexing with each swallow.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Sorry I destroyed your things. I’ll pay you back every penny, I swear.”

  He’s leaning against the fridge now, saying nothing, legs casually crossed at the ankle as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

  I don’t want to go. Not yet. I delay by clearing up the mess I created, starting with the glass. There’s a dustpan and brush under the sink. I find the black refuse sacks and start brushing up the thick black chunks of glass. They’re randomly pretty. Heavy too.

  I fill four bags in the end. They’re tied off in the corner and the floor is clear. There’s not much I can do about the sofas. I consider covering them with a blanket or two, but I figure that would be adding insult to injury.

  Boyd still hasn’t said a word.

  Definitely time to go.

  I feel like I should apologise again, but there’s a limit to the number of times a person can say sorry before it becomes meaningless.

  I free the apartment key from my fob and hold it out to Boyd. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. More so than when I had to say goodbye to dad and Matias when I moved to England.

  Boyd shifts away from the fridge and stares at the key as if I’m holding out a grenade. “What are you doing?”

  I want to tell him it’s his key and he needs it back, but I can’t get the words free. I place the key on the countertop. It’s yellow against the dark granite, its edges shiny where they’ve worn against the lock.

  I move towards the door, my vision blurry because the tears just won’t stop falling.

  Boyd’s voice follows me to the door. “She admitted she was lying. What the fuck else do you want?” he calls.

  I stop, but I don’t turn around.

  “Tell me and I’ll do it. You want me to swear that nothing happened? Coz I’ll do that.”

  My head sinks towards my chest and now my shoulders are heaving with each sob.

  “Tell me what you need so I can make it okay, Boots.”

  I turn to face him. His face is hazy, washed out by my tears, but I can still make out his scowl. No-one scowls the way Boyd does.

  “Babe, don’t do this,” he pleads. He doesn’t look or sound like Boyd, least not any version of Boyd I’ve seen before.

  “You don’t want me gone?”

  “What?” The gridlines on his brow deepen. “Why the fuck would I want you to go?”

  “Uh, because I just trashed your furniture?”

  “I don’t give a shit about the furniture.”

  I can’t believe he could so easily dismiss the damage I’ve done. “Boyd, look at what I did. You can’t just ignore something like that. I have temper issues, like massive temper issues.”

  He grins and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You think I don’t know that? Where d’you think I’ve been these past months? I’ve seen you lose your shit before and you’ll most likely do it again. Pretty sure this latest hissy-fit was justified.”

  I stare at him open-mouthed. And even though I’ve had enough of the waterworks, the tears just seem to keep on flowing. “Hissy-fit? Boyd ... look what I did.”

  “I’ve seen it and I’m over it.”

  “You’re over it?”

  “Yeah, Boots, I’m over it. I had a problem with your temper in the beginning, to the point where I questioned whether you were what I wanted. And I’m being fucking honest here, Kayla, no way did I want to fall in love with you, but I sure as fuck did. And you know what? It’s one hell of a ride. I want you to stay. We’ll work through this.”

  “You just said ...” I stall and try again. “What you just said ... About, you know ...” He frowns and I become increasingly desperate, needing to hear it again, wanting him to confirm it’s true. “You said something. Just now.”

  He looks confused and I can feel my eyes bugging out. I know it’s unattractive, but he said the L word and I don’t know if it was a slip of the tongue or if he ... God, I hope it was more than that. “Seriously? You’re going to make me repeat what you said?” Pacing, I grab hold of my hair and lift it away from my
temples. “Boyd, you said the L word.”

  His expression changes in an instant. Big bad Boyd actually looks self-conscious, but he says nothing.

  “Did you mean it?” I ask, as close to timid as I’ll ever be.

  Hands still in his pockets, he shrugs. “You want me to give that up, Boots, you’ll need to put your key back where it belongs.”

  It’s a big thing, admitting I want to hear him say it, and him not yet admitting he meant it. I glance from him to the countertop and back again. I walk over to the key, like it’s no big deal. It’s cool from the granite. I slip it on my keyring, holding it up when I’m done so he can see it swinging among the other keys. “See?”

  Boyd sees.

  I’ve handed him the power and he’s back to his arrogant self once again. “Come here,” he says.

  I hesitate for one, maybe two seconds. And when those seconds have passed, I walk over to him, my chin tilted high so I can see his face staring down at me.

  He bends and gives me his mouth, which means I have to wait for his words. I’m torn between minding and not minding, and when his mouth finally lifts I’m smiling like the proverbial cat.

  Boyd frowns. “You want me to say it, you’re gonna have to wipe that smug smile off your face.”

  I dig my hands in the pockets of my dungaree shorts and do as he says.

  He rolls his head back on his neck before finally giving me what I need. “It pains me to say this, knowing what a fucking pain in the arse you’re gonna be, but I love you.”

  I stand motionless, still absorbing the fact that he loves me when he moves and now my back is to the fridge and Boyd’s leaning in close. “Your turn,” he says.

  “Well, that’s a little presumptuous. For all you know―”

  “Boots,” he warns.

  I take stock of his tension, beginning to comprehend just how vital this is to him. Stroking his jaw, I trail my fingers towards his chest and my hand comes to a stop above his heart. “I love you.”

  “’Bout fucking time.”

  His mouth descends on mine, his kiss gentle, building quickly to something else. Needing to be closer, I stand on tiptoe and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands reach down, tightening on my buttocks.

  Boyd’s mouth is hard against mine and his hands rove over my body, dipping into the back of my dungaree shorts where they’re loose around my waist.

  “Bed,” I say between kisses. It’s clear where this is going and I need to see him. I need to explore his body.

  He makes me wait, mouth skimming over my ear and down my neck before returning to mine. The ache between my thighs intensifies. I reach to unbutton his jeans. Boyd’s hand covers mine. “Careful. There’s nothing between me and the metal.”

  The ache in my belly ratchets up a notch. Boyd going commando is one of my favourite things. I take my time with the zip. When it’s low enough to gain access I encircle him, gliding my fingers along his length.

  Boyd groans. “Yeah, like that,” he says, dipping down to kiss me again, his hands trying to burrow beneath my top.

  “Bed,” I mumble once more and this time Boyd takes the hint. He leads me through to his bedroom and stops beside the bed, staring at my dungarees. I know he’s trying to figure out how they come off. I tackle the first strap for him and he copies my moves on the second. They’re loose enough that when he pushes them down they slip over my hips and fall to the floor. I’m left standing in my thick black tights, with my shorts tangled around my converses.

  “Sexy,” he says, grinning.

  It’s the opposite of sexy. It’s hideous. And Boyd knows this. I push down my tights and sit on the bed while I disentangle the mess. While I do this Boyd sets to work on stripping off his own clothes. This takes him thirty seconds, maximum, meanwhile I’m still working on the mess at my feet. Boyd kneels behind me and removes my top while I unlace my Converses. He unhooks my bra before the second shoe hits the floor.

  I whimper when he cup my breasts. Somehow I kick my tights free, twisting round to push Boyd down onto the bed so I can straddle him and reach for his cock again. His hips arch off the bed and I have a moment to enjoy the sight of him exposed this way before he tugs me to the side and rolls me to my back.

  His hands dip into the elastic at my sides and he’s pulling my briefs down my legs, throwing them to the floor.

  “Fuck, yeah,” he says, watching his hands caress their way up my thighs. His thumbs meet at their apex, swirling and opening, and now his mouth is there too and I’m panting and cursing. His fingers dip inside, sliding out far enough to pay attention to my clit, before dipping back inside once more. I hold my breath, fingers spearing through his hair when the orgasm rips through me. Boyd rises up, his hair a wild and sexy mess, his arrogant grin something to behold.

  He climbs up over me and reaches for a condom. I watch as he rolls it over the purple head and glides it down to the base.

  “Babe, you want to ride me?” He’s already pulling me over him as he rolls to his back. I hook a leg over his hips, enjoying the view, stroking and touching him until he drags my hand away. Lining him up I sink down, crying out when I’m full. I adjust to his size, resting my hands on his chest so I can lean down and kiss him.

  Boyd strokes my nipple, pinching and rolling until I’m gasping and pulling away from his kiss. Hands still on his chest, I begin to rise and fall, picking up speed when Boyd snags my nipple with his thumb. It’s building again and the friction’s too good, pushing me on towards another orgasm. Just as it strikes Boyd rolls me to my back and thrusts into me, grinding his hips before pulling out and thrusting hard once again. I fall over the edge, spasms rolling through me as he powers pumps through his own release, groaning and cursing against my neck.

  He collapses against me and lands a kiss on my mouth. “Love the way you fuck, Boots.”

  I make a sound to signify I like that.

  “The way you ride me, with your face all tight like you’re in pain. Fucking love it.” He lowers his head for another kiss before rising up and taking his weight. His hair falls over his forehead, masking his frown. “I know it’s gonna take a while for you to move on from today, but―”

  I don’t let him finish. I tighten my stomach muscles and roll up, my mouth stalling his words. When I’m finished I roll back down again, smiling. “I trust you.”

  “You do?” I’ve thrown him off balance. I can tell by the emotions blazing from his eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “That simple?”

  “Yeah.”

  I swear his eyes lighten in colour when he grins. “Fucking love you.”

  “Love you too, Boyd.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cut

  KAYLA

  Charlie and Violet are no closer to being together. If I didn’t occasionally catch one of them giving the other long wistful glances, I’d think their feelings had passed. But there has been one significant change. Charlie’s stopped with the one night stands.

  I know this because he told me. I seem to have become his sounding board with regards to all things female. With the exception of Violet. Charlie never talks about Violet.

  The atmosphere in the office today is muted. Charlie’s in an abnormally quiet mood. Usually when he’s in the office everyone knows he’s there. Today, not so much.

  There was no generic hello when he walked through the office, no banter with the guys or flirting with the girls. At around three o’clock it begins to pour with rain, the droplets firing against the office windows. This is followed by a streak of lightning and a few seconds later there’s a tremendous roar of thunder. Everyone gathers at the windows as if they’ve never seen a storm before. Everyone except Charlie. He’s still at his desk, head down, eyes on his screen.

  One of the guys call his name. When Charlie doesn’t respond, instead of taking the hint the guy yells, “Oi, Charlie, what’s your problem?”

  I think for a moment Charlie’s going to get up out of his chair and punch the guy
. Black rage emanates from his eyes before he picks up his mug and walks from the office. Shocked, I stand with everyone else, watching the office door swing closed.

  Violet is the first to move. She follows in Charlie’s wake, looking like a girl on a mission. We all turn to stare at each other and the guy with the mouth laughs, as if Charlie’s reaction was somehow hilarious.

  Two hours later and Charlie and Violet haven’t yet returned. Delta seems unconcerned, but everyone else is gossiping.

  Neither of them show up for work the next day. Delta sends an email stating that they’re both off sick and if anyone wants to gossip they should go see her first. It’s a Friday and I spend the weekend thinking about Charlie and Violet, wondering if they’re okay. Well, some of the weekend. Boyd and I spend time doing regular couple things, such as Friday night shopping to replace the furniture I destroyed.

  It’s not easy since we don’t share the same tastes. Boyd likes ultra-masculine, whereas I like furniture with less of a man-cave vibe. But it’s Boyd’s apartment and it was me who trashed his furniture, so I don’t say a thing when his gaze settles on a designer sofa that’s all sharp angles and hard edges. Definitely not the kind of sofa to encourage curling up with your guy. More of a sit up straight and for God’s sake don’t spill the popcorn kind of sofa.

  Maybe the same thoughts run through his mind because he passes on that one and heads towards a dark brown sofa that’s thickly padded. Definitely a sofa to inspire cuddling and relaxing.

  I lose my silent battle with the dining table though. Boyd replaces it with a replica. I can’t help wondering if vengeance is his motive, but he lays that thought to rest when he tells me how he likes seeing my arse and legs on show when I polish the glass.

  Once home, we sit on the least defiled sofa and watch TV while eating crispy duck, beef chow mein and egg fried rice. Boyd helps me clear away the debris and we snuggle on the sofa until one things leads to another, as it generally does with us.

  Saturday morning I go shopping with Ella, Nora and Frankie, while Boyd catches up with the guys at the gym. I buy a beautiful tea dress with faded pink flowers on a black background. It has a low neckline and cute little ties. I team it with high black ankle boots when we all meet up in the bar later that night. I like wearing heels around Boyd. I get a close-up view of his eyes.