Tempting

by Crystal Kaswell

  It's coming from Kaylee's room.

  I should ignore it.

  Continue avoiding her.

  Do whatever it takes to keep my fly zipped.

  I don't.

  I pull on boxers and jeans. Move into the hallway with soft steps.

  She stirs. Her footsteps move toward the door.

  "Hey," she whispers through the door. "You okay?"

  No. I'm not going to be okay until she's out of my head. Until my fucking head goes back to normal—so it's filled with details of action movies, and punk songs, and tattoo mockups, and one-night stands, and every awful thing my parents ever said to me.

  Until that space is mine and not hers.

  "Brendon?"

  "I got something for you. Give me a minute." Fuck, there's something wrong with me. Too much. I know better than to invite myself into her room in the middle of the night.

  This is not how you resist temptation.

  Kaylee looking up at me with those doe eyes, her hands on my skin, her body curled into mine—I can barely resist that when we're vertical.

  If we're horizontal?

  Fuck this. I shake my head. Skip right over thoughts of baseball and action movies, straight to shop finances.

  We're signing the papers tomorrow. Making it official.

  But there's more to take care of. We need to hire an extra hand. Or two. And Ryan is refusing to even consider it.

  The man hates change.

  I grab Kaylee's gift and pull on a t-shirt. Force my thoughts to the shop. To salaries and profits and per hour rates. To schedules and how much more we could make if we plugged a few gaps.

  Fuck, I should have paid more attention in high school. Taken some business classes at SMC. Something. I was too busy proving I didn't give a fuck about anything to care about the things that mattered.

  I move into the hallway.

  Kaylee's door is open.

  And she's there, sitting up on her bed, in a thin cream tank top and deep blue boxer shorts with white bicycles on them.

  I press the door shut behind me.

  I let my eyes roam her body. Her strap is falling off her shoulder. Her top is clinging to her tits. Her nipples are hard.

  She presses her knees together. Plants her palms on her soft thighs. Her nails—painted Bruins blue—dig into her skin.

  She looks up at me. "I haven't seen much of you."

  "We're busy with contracts. And clients. We need to hire help."

  She nods. "What kind of help do you need?"

  "Another artist."

  "Not my expertise."

  "If Leighton decides to apprentice, we'll need someone to take her job."

  "You want me working the front desk?"

  "Why not? You're there all the time now." Not lately. She's avoiding me as much as I'm avoiding her.

  "Because—" She draws a circle around herself with her hand. Turns to show off her bare shoulders, one at a time. "I'm unadorned."

  "Guys would fall over themselves trying to convince you to ink up. They'd get their work done at the shop so they could flirt with you." Which is a good reason to discourage her. I want to deck Dean whenever he flirts with Kaylee and I know he's only doing it to fuck with me. If it were some other guy, one who wouldn't think twice about treating her like a cum-dumpster? Fuck, I'd break my hand within a month.

  "What if I said yes?"

  "As long as I do the work."

  "Yeah?" She scoots back on her bed and lowers herself onto her back. "You trust yourself?"

  Trust myself with my hands on her skin? Fuck no. But— "More than I trust anyone else."

  She turns toward me and props up on one elbow. "Maybe I can help convince Ryan. If there are numbers supporting it. Math isn't my best subject—"

  "You got an A minus in Calculus."

  "See. Not my best."

  I arch a brow.

  She laughs. "That was my worst grade."

  "Of course it was."

  "Hey, I didn't tell you to spend your high school career hanging out with druggies and burn outs."

  "You sure? I thought that was you."

  This laugh is bigger. It gets her light hair falling in her face. Her strap sliding off her shoulder. "Are you gonna stay awhile?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good." She grabs her glasses from the bedside table and slides them on.

  I take a seat on the bed next to her. "I have something for you. Close your eyes."

  "Okay." Her lids flutter together. She turns toward me. Every part of her body is expectant. Her back is arched. Her lips are pursed. Her thighs are pressed together.

  She wants me to kiss her.

  Touch her.

  Fuck her.

  I want that too.

  Fuck, how I want that...

  Snap out of it.

  I shake my head as I place the notebook in Kaylee's hands. "You can open your eyes."

  She does. Her gaze goes right to the leather-bound journal in her hands. "Brendon. This was too expensive."

  "My money."

  "But, you—isn't this everything you hate? Some mass-produced notebook that costs way too much."

  "I'm not that guy anymore." I'm not sure who I am now. Not beyond work and family. Usually, that's enough. But the way Kaylee looks at me—it begs me to fill in all the gaps.

  I want to be the kind of guy who deserves her.

  "It's so pretty." She traces a heart on the cover. "I'm not sure I can actually write in it." She places the journal on her bedside table and turns toward me. "Thank you."

  "Of course."

  She scoots forward. Wraps her arms around me. Buries her head in my chest. "Really, Brendon. Thank you."

  Fuck, she smells good. Her touch is soft. Sweet. Like she believes I deserve her. "I brought you something else."

  "Where?"

  "Here." I pull the folded paper from my back pocket. "Our deal."

  "Oh." Her cheeks flush as she unfolds the paper. She takes it in slowly.

  It's an old piece. A self-portrait. It was right after the accident. When I carried around the weight of it on my shoulders twenty-four seven.

  It's a lighter burden now, but it's still there.

  My parents died thinking I was worthless.

  My last words to them were about how awful they were.

  "When did you do this?" She runs her fingers over the faded paper.

  "Forever ago."

  She nods as she looks up at me. "It's beautiful. But sad."

  I'm not sure what to say. I don't share my work with people. Tattoos are someone else's blood and guts. I can show the entire world that.

  "There's a lot of hurt there," she whispers. "Do you still feel like that?"

  "Less, but yeah."

  "I'm sorry. It must have been hard, everything with your parents. And taking care of Em."

  "Taking care of Em was the only thing that kept me going."

  She turns over so she's on her side. "You're sweet."

  I shake my head.

  She nods. "You hide it well, but you are."

  Her words twist something in my gut. She sees too much of me. More than I can handle. "You can't talk your way out of this."

  "This?"

  I nod to her purple notebook, the one sitting on her desk.

  "Oh." Her cheeks flush. "Right now?"

  "Right now." I let my fingertips brush her hip. Her side. "Why are you up so late?"

  "School starts tomorrow." She pushes herself to her feet. Grabs the journal. Hugs it to her chest. "I can't sleep."

  "Change is always scary."

  She nods. "You seem to roll with it."

  "What ever changes in my life?"

  "Emma's hair color."

  I can't help but chuckle.

  She climbs back into bed. Brushes her fingers against my upper arm. Then she's tracing the lines of the tattoo going down to my elbow. "This. It's new."

  "Depends on your definition of new."

  "You're like Em with her hai
r. You look different every time I see you."

  "Every time?"

  "Every few weeks."

  "I have to slow down." I stare back into her gorgeous green eyes. "I'm running out of skin."

  She drags her fingers over my forearm, presses her palm against all the bare skin. "You have plenty." She drags her fingers over my stomach. Plays with the hem of my t-shirt. "And here."

  "And there." I soak in her touch as her fingers skim my bare skin.

  "You've always wanted to do tattoos. As long as I've known you."

  "Yeah."

  "What is it about them you love?"

  "Everything."

  "But specifically." She traces the ink over my hip all the way to the waistband of my jeans. "You... you practically left your family over them."

  Yeah, I did. I was a little shit, but then it was the only way. I was never going to be good enough for my parents. "It feels right."

  "That's it?"

  "What else is there?" I watch her trace the outlines of my skin. Watch her eyes travel over my body. Watch her lips purse with a sigh.

  She wants me.

  I want her.

  We're both in a fucking bed.

  I should pull back. I should at least get vertical.

  But I don't.

  "When I'm working on someone's ink, I'm a part of something. I'm leaving a mark in the world. On their skin. That's forever. I get to help people channel all that shit in their guts onto their skin. There are a million reasons why people get ink. To look cool. To celebrate. To mourn. Being a part of that... it's fucking amazing."

  She nods. "I wish I had that kind of passion."

  "You do, Kay. The way you get when you're writing—" I nod to her purple notebook. "It's still your turn."

  She lets out a soft groan. "Do I have to?"

  "No. You could disappoint me."

  "That's such a dad thing to say."

  How about I bend you over my knee and spank you? Would that be daddy enough for you? "I'm not going to push you."

  She nods as she climbs up the bed and presses her back against her pillow.

  She pries open the notebook. Flips through the pages. Her eyes get dreamy. Like she's lost in her own world.

  She turns the page. "Okay. This one. It's short."

  "Perfect for my attention span," I offer.

  Her laugh is nervous. "Maybe." Her eyes bore into mine. "Promise you won't make fun of it."

  I nod.

  She looks to the paper. Takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. "Another stitch.

  Another time.

  Another love that isn't mine.

  And all the shiny people say

  It's okay

  You'll find another way.

  But I always poke the bruise.

  Spill a lie. Spin a ruse.

  I could draw four aces, but, still, I'd lose."

  She presses her lips together, staring at me, waiting for my response.

  Something in me stirs. Something in my bones.

  Fuck, I have no idea what it means.

  I want to peel her open and pry her apart.

  Where does she hide this ache in her heart?

  How the fuck do I get my hands on it?

  Her cheeks flush as she slaps her notebook together. "You hated it."

  "No. It was beautiful." Not that I'd know.

  "Really?" He cheeks flush. She's embarrassed. Or scared. Or both.

  "Yeah."

  "Thank you." Her hand falls over my arm.

  She nestles into my body, resting her forehead against my chin.

  I soak in every inch of her.

  Her warmth against my skin. Her breath against my neck. The smell of her shampoo—lavender and honey. Calm and sweet. Exactly like Kay.

  "You okay?" I drag my fingertips over her lower back. There's no way I can sell that this is a friendly gesture. Not to her, not to myself, not to anyone else.

  But I don't care.

  "Yeah. Just overwhelmed. With school tomorrow. And, well... something else. But I... I don't like to talk about it." She leans closer. "I've never told anyone, not anyone who counts."

  "You can tell me anything." Fuck, I want to break that lock around her heart. I want to drink her in. I want to be her salve. The stars in her sky.

  "I know. But this... it would change the way you look at me."

  "Impossible."

  "No. It would. I... I couldn't take losing this, Brendon. You're the only person besides Em I trust. And you're more... well, you're easier to talk to. You're just..." She looks up at me. Her eyes fill with affection. Her fingers skim my stomach. The edge of my jeans.

  Fuck, I want that hand around me.

  I want those lips on mine.

  I want to bury myself in her.

  To fuck her like I've never fucked before.

  I takes everything I have to pull back.

  Desire is coursing through my veins. My heart is pounding. My cock is screaming for attention.

  I slide off the bed. "You trust me?"

  "Why?"

  "You want to feel better about school?"

  She nods.

  "You trust me, yes or no?"

  She stares back into my eyes. "Yes."

  "Then get dressed."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brendon

  Twenty minutes later, I'm parking my sedan on a Brentwood street and Kaylee is clutching at my forearm.

  She forces her words out. "Are we really doing this?"

  I nod as I pull the door open. "Call it a trial run."

  She steps onto the street. Nods to the No Parking 10 PM to 6 AM sign posted in front of my car. "You're going to get a ticket."

  "At three a.m.?"

  "Yeah." She digs her cell—the one with the Hunger Games phone case—from her purse and stares at the screen. "It's really three a.m."

  I nod.

  "Why did you get home so late?"

  "Walker and Dean."

  "They take that long to find women to bring home?"

  "Yeah." Or they were dragging it out for my benefit. Their benefit really. They both enjoy mocking my pining over the one woman I can't have state.

  "Hmmm." She hugs her purse to her shoulder as she steps forward. "You sure about the car?"

  "My car."

  "Damn. Such an outlaw. What will you risk next?"

  I flip her off.

  She smiles as she returns the gesture.

  I take her hand. Lead her across the small, neighborhood street. All the way to the main drag.

  No lights or cross walks in any direction.

  No cars either.

  I turn to Kaylee. "You ready?"

  She nods. Squeezes my hand and takes the first step into the street.

  We run across the major road. Through the tuft of Eucalyptus trees on the other side. Over the wet green lawn.

  Kaylee clutches her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. "You run fast."

  "It's called exercise."

  "I exercise. Just not running. Running is the devil."

  "No wonder I like it so much."

  She laughs. "That was bad. But funny too. I must be tired." She pushes herself up. Wipes her wet hands on her jeans.

  I take them. Wipe them on my t-shirt.

  Her palm lingers against my chest. She drags it over my torso as she pulls it back to her side.

  Her eyes meet mine.

  Her lips part.

  I can see the words on the tip of her tongue.

  And I'm not praying for her to hold them back.

  I'm desperate for every fucking syllable.

  Tell me you want me, angel.

  Tell me you want me to fuck you so hard you get grass stains on your skin.

  Tell me you want me to throw you on that bench, rip off your jeans, and lick you until you're screaming.

  Her eyes go to the building to our left. One of the science buildings. "It's different than before."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah." She leads
me across the campus. "It feels real. Like this is really happening tomorrow."

  We move onto the sidewalk. Past the science building. "It is." Toward the foreign languages building. "I remember the first time I walked into a shop looking for a job."

  "It wasn't Inked Hearts?"

  "No. I met Ryan at this dive in Downtown LA. He knew Manning. Invited me to Inked Hearts. He invited Dean and Dean invited Walker."

  "What was that place like?"

  "It was cleaner than it looked. Very go the fuck away. Band stickers on the walls. A burly guy at the register. A bunch of elitists who scowled at tattoos that weren't traditional enough."

  "And you liked that?"

  "The bands, yeah. It was a lot of punk. Metal. Hardcore shit. Nobody who listened to KIIS FM would dare enter that place."

  "Perfect for you."

  Yeah, it was. It still is. I can't say I'm into the elitist bullshit anymore.

  But the whole I'm pissed and I don't want your opinion?

  I get that.

  "You've been seventeen," I say.

  "Only three weeks ago even." She bites her lip. "There was a long time that I didn't see you."

  "Mom didn't want me around Em. Not once I started apprenticing."

  "Oh. I never realized. I thought you were just—"

  "An obnoxious teenager who didn't want to be around my family?"

  "I guess. I'm not sure. I was young. And I... I mostly thought you were hot."

  "And old?"

  "Yeah. But the same age as Harry Potter."

  I chuckle. "I think he's older."

  "Probably. But shorter. And—"

  "Submissive, apparently?"

  "Yeah." Her cheeks flush.

  I shouldn't have said that. It's too late. The part of me that knows better is tired.

  "How exactly did it happen?"

  "I moved out the day I turned eighteen. Moved into a shitty place in Downtown LA. Had too many roommates. But I still came by to hang out with Em. Picked her up from school. Took her out on the weekends. Not like Mom was gonna take her to do the shit she actually wanted to do."

  Kay nods.

  "It was fall. I'd just gotten my sleeve. I was gonna take Emma hiking up in the Malibu hills. She used to enjoy that kinda thing. If you can remember."

  "Sort of. She doesn't ever get dirty now. Unless it's the beach."

  I nod. Emma is different than she was before the accident, but I'm not sure how much is her growing up and how much the ache of losing Mom and Dad.