by B. B. Easton
Once the show was over, I realized that I was having trouble focusing on the ground as well. It tilted and rolled beneath my feet as I tried to walk out of the tent. Ken and I had gotten dinner before the show, but I’d only ordered a salad and managed to push enough of it around on my plate to make it look like I’d eaten something. My stomach was full of cheap wine garnished with expensive lettuce, and I was hammered.
“Ken,” I whispered, leaning on him for support, “you got me drunk.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave me a smirking side-eye as he steered me around a couple taking a selfie outside.
“Ooh! Let’s take a picture!” I pulled Ken to a stop and dug my little point-and-shoot camera out of my purse.
Shoving it into the hands of the cute couple, I wrapped an arm around Ken’s waist and cheesed for the flash. I didn’t want to let go once our photo op was over, so I didn’t. I stumbled toward the parking garage, buried as deeply in Ken’s personal-space bubble as I could get. I loved it in there.
“Did you know that being next to you is like being inside of a dryer?” I hiccuped.
“A dryer, huh?” Ken pointed at the ground in front of us. “Watch the curb.”
“Uh-huh.” I giggled, stepping down as we crossed the street. “You’re really warm and quiet, and you smell like fabric softener, and there’s, like, this tingly buzz all around you.”
“Like static?” Ken pulled up on my arm. “Curb.”
“Mmhmm.” I nodded, gripping his bicep through his coat as he guided me back onto the sidewalk. “You’re all staticky. I can’t even tell what you’re thinking because you’re so staticky. Just buzzzzzzzz. It makes the hairs on my arm stand up.”
“I think you’re just cold.” Ken smirked down at me. “Two steps here.”
We stepped up into the parking garage and made our way toward the back where Ken’s little Eclipse was parked.
“Uh-uh,” I argued, shaking my head with a little too much force. “You’re electric.” I giggled, the lyrics to “Electric Boogie” suddenly coming to mind. “You can feel it. You’re electric! Boogie woogie woogie.”
Ken laughed a deep, echoing sound that bounced off the concrete walls and warmed my bones. “That’s not even how it goes.” He chuckled, hitting the unlock button on his key fob. “Are you spending the night?” he asked, opening my car door and making sure that my ass actually landed on the seat and not on the pavement next to the car.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, smiling from ear to ear.
“Good. ’Cause there is no way you’re driving home like this.”
I made a frowny face as he came around to the other side of the car. “I’m not that drunk.”
Ken tried to suppress his amused smile as he cranked the engine and shifted into reverse.
I scoffed and pointed a finger at his handsome fucking face. “Hey, I saw that. You did this to me on purpose, didn’t you? Are you trying to loosen me up for butt stuff later?”
Making Kenneth Easton laugh out loud would forever go down as one of my life’s greatest accomplishments. With an adorable blush, a chuckle, and sparkly white grin, Ken simply shook his head as he pulled out of the parking spot.
“So, no butt stuff?” I pouted.
Ken avoided eye contact with me but kept smiling. “I like you drunk.”
“I like you…”
Those three words floated into my ears, swirled around in my brain, and sprinkled down onto my heart like glittery confetti.
I like you, too.
“Hey! If you like me drunk, you should drink with me sometime. It’d be fun!”
Ken’s smile disappeared. He was quiet for a minute, the red taillights of the cars in front of us illuminating his serious expression. I watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down in his throat before he finally said, “You wouldn’t like me drunk.”
“Why not?”
Ken didn’t look at me as he turned onto the highway. I stared shamelessly at his perfect profile, wondering what could possibly make me not like the man it belonged to.
“I get…violent when I’m drunk.”
“Really?” The word burst from my mouth as I leaned toward him. “But you’re so”—infuriatingly gentle…freakishly self-disciplined—“calm.”
Ken’s eyes flicked to mine in warning. “I am now, but in high school…” His voice trailed off as he shook away a memory. “I used to drink by myself in my parents’ basement and then sneak out and break shit. I was really depressed and destructive. It wasn’t until I got arrested that I realized how out of control it had gotten.”
“You got arrested?”
“Yep. And if I still drank, I’d be getting arrested again…right now.”
I noticed as Ken spoke the words that the red lights splashing across his face had been joined by blue ones. Looking in front of us, I found the source of the new color. The entire highway had been blocked off by police cars for a random DUI checkpoint.
“Holy shit! Ken! I’m underage! What if they smell alcohol on me?”
Ken shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I dunno. Maybe just pretend like you’re asleep?”
It was a solid plan. As I closed my eyes and rested my head on the passenger window, it wasn’t lost on me, even in my woozy condition, that if it hadn’t been for Ken, I might be the one getting a DUI that night.
I should take him with me everywhere.
“Evenin’. License and registration, please.”
I heard Ken shuffle in his seat as a bright light swept across my face.
“That your girlfriend?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s her name?”
“Brooke Bradley.”
“Where y’all coming from tonight?”
The officer asked at least ten more questions before sending us on our way, but I didn’t hear any of them. I was too busy clenching my fists and biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from bursting into a song and dance routine.
“Yes, sir!”
He said, “Yes, sir!”
He didn’t even hesitate!
“That your girlfriend?”
“Yes, sir!”
As soon as they waved Ken through the roadblock, I sat back up, my face splitting into a massive, drunk girl grin.
“You still awake over there?” Ken asked.
“Uh-huh…” I giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just heard some interesting news about your relationship status.”
“Oh, really?” Ken asked, his voice wavering at the end. “Was it good news?”
I nodded, enjoying watching him squirm for a change. “It was really good news.”
The next morning, I woke up, feeling like roadkill. As I slowly regained consciousness, I took a mental inventory of all my ailments.
Feet? Roasting under God’s magnifying glass.
Stomach? Feels like a churning acid bath.
Head? Must have been used for a kick drum last night.
Mouth? Surprisingly minty.
Pulling my knees up to my chest to escape the magnified sunrays at the bottom of the bed, I rolled onto my side and reached for Ken. Hazy memories of him helping me into the house, holding my hair back while I puked, digging my toothbrush out of my overnight bag, and taking my boots off while I covered my face and told him to, “Stop looking at me,” began to surface.
Ego? Pulverized.
When my hand landed on a mattress instead of a man, I opened my eyes. Ken was gone, and the clock on his nightstand announced that it was 11:11.
Shit!
On Sundays, Ken had to be at work by eleven.
Hopping up, I tripped over a trash can someone had placed next to my side of the bed, sending a glass of water and two tiny orange pills flying off the nightstand and onto the carpet.
Shit, shit, shit!
I ran across the room as it tilted on its axis, slammed my shoulder into the doorframe on the way out, spat every curse word I knew on my way down the stairs, and stopped dead i
n my tracks at the bottom.
Ken was still there.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
Talking to a beautiful blonde.
The last time I’d found an unexpected woman in my house, it had not gone well. But, this time, it wasn’t my house. And this woman wasn’t in bed with my boyfriend, wearing his oversize T-shirt.
This time, I was the one in the oversize T-shirt.
And nothing else.
Yanking the hem of Ken’s shirt down, I grinned awkwardly as they both turned to face the hungover, emaciated, purple-haired girl who’d just interrupted their conversation.
The mystery woman standing at the end of the counter gave me a smile that I would recognize anywhere. It was one I usually had to earn from the man sitting next to her. “You must be Brooke.”
Brooke.
Wiping my sweaty palms on her brother’s shirt, I took a few steps into the kitchen. “Hi. Yeah, you can just call me BB.” I gave her brother a pointed stare that said, You can just call me BB, too, ya know, and then extended my hand. “You must be Chelsea. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think Ken had just made you up.”
Chelsea accepted my hand with a soft laugh. “I know; I’m never here anymore. I should probably stop paying rent, huh?” She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk, which Ken returned with a scowl. “My boyfriend just got stationed at the Eglin Air Force Base, so I’ve been spending a lot of time in Florida lately. He bought a house by the beach and is clueless when it comes to decorating.” Her voice was flat and dry, like her brother’s, but what was missing from her inflection came shining through in the small smile she couldn’t quite contain.
“That’s awesome!” I cheered. “Let me know if you need help. I haven’t been to the beach in forever.”
Chelsea gave her brother some telepathic sibling look, which caused Ken to clear his throat and look everywhere but at me.
“I, uh…thought you might want to go for spring break.” Ken’s eyes finally landed on mine. “Chelsea said we could stay with them.”
“Really?” I swung my head back and forth between the two Eastons. “You’re taking me to the beach?”
Probably sensing that I was about to pounce on her brother, Chelsea grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. “Well, I gotta go. Nice to meet you, BB.”
“You, too, Chelsea! Thank yooooou!” I beamed, turning my smile on Ken as soon as the garage door shut behind her. “You’re taking me to the beach?” I asked again, Ken’s Sublime T-shirt suddenly feeling way too hot.
“If you want to go,” he said, watching me with interested eyes as I skulked toward him.
“Why aren’t you at work right now?” I asked, taking another predatory step closer.
“I took the day off,” Ken replied, scooting his chair away from the table.
“Why did you take the day off?”
“Because my girlfriend wants to go to the museum, and she’s probably still too drunk from last night to drive herself.” Ken smirked up at me as I placed my hands on his shoulders. He was wearing a navy-blue button-up with no tie.
I missed the tie. It would have given me something to drag him upstairs with.
“Your girlfriend sounds like a real winner.” I laughed, straddling his khakis with my bare legs.
“She’s all right.” Ken ghosted his smooth palms up my flushed thighs. They came to rest on my bare ass cheeks, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I hear she’s into butt stuff, so I think I’ll keep her around.”
I had just scoffed and pretended to slap Ken across the face when I heard a tiny voice squeak, “Sorry!” and slam the garage door.
I froze, staring at Ken with my mouth agape. “Was that…Robin?”
Ken nodded, his features tightened into a wince.
“Oh my God.” I clamped my hand over my mouth as inappropriate laughter bubbled out of me. “Ken, you’re her boss.”
“And her landlord.”
“And her landlord!” I chuckled. “I’m sorry! It’s not funny!”
Ken smiled as he watched me laugh. His usually cold eyes felt warm on my cheeks. “It’s kind of funny.”
“It’s so funny!” I blurted, cracking up. “She thinks I slapped you!”
“Maybe you should.” Ken’s smile disappeared. “You know, so she doesn’t get the wrong idea.”
I smiled and shook my head at him. “I am not hitting you. That’s abuse.”
Ken’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“Oh my God, you really want me to hit you.” I sighed, looking around the kitchen. “Can I at least use a wooden spoon or something? I don’t feel right about just backhanding you across the face.”
Ken’s smile was back tenfold. “You can use whatever you want.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you.” I giggled, leaning forward to plant an open-mouthed kiss on the curve of his lips.
Ken kissed me back, swirling his tongue around the tip of mine and tenderly sucking on my bottom lip. Releasing it with a quiet pop, he said, “You’re the one who wants to hit me with a wooden spoon.”
“Hey, if you don’t watch your mouth, I’m gonna go with a plastic spatula.”
Ken’s angular eyebrow shot up. “Tease.”
“All right, motherfucker. You asked for it.” I climbed off of Ken’s lap, pretending not to notice the delicious bulge there or the glistening wet spot I’d left on it. Walking across the kitchen, I opened his utensil drawer…and slid the entire thing out of the cabinet. Holding the drawer full of spoons, spatulas, whisks, and rubber scrapers, I turned and headed straight for the stairs without giving Ken a second look. I didn’t need to turn around to see if he was coming.
I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.
Once we were back in his room, I set the drawer on the foot of his bed, the utensils bouncing with a metallic clang. Spinning around, I placed my fists on my hips and pinned the man before me with a vicious stare. Mistress B was reporting for duty.
“You. Strip,” I ordered, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from breaking character.
The corner of Ken’s mouth curled up in amusement, but he did as he’d been told. Button by button, I watched him lazily remove his shirt, undershirt, khaki pants, and boxer briefs, laying each garment out on the floor so that they wouldn’t get wrinkled.
Suddenly feeling stupid, standing there in a Sublime T-shirt, I yanked my only article of clothing off over my head and threw it on the floor as well. My pierced nipples hardened to diamonds at the sight of Ken’s chiseled body and thick, heavy cock jutting out before me.
His posture was relaxed. He didn’t stand before me with his shoulders back and chest puffed up, like the Adonis he was. He stood like a man who’d left his ego at the door. Open, vulnerable, ready to be wounded.
But only physically.
Emotionally, Ken was more guarded than ever. His features were taut. Expression hidden. He seemed to be watching me from somewhere far away, deep inside his bunker of invulnerability.
Nanny-nanny boo-boo. You can’t get me, his heart taunted from inside its impenetrable fortress, thumbing its nose at me from behind a pane of bulletproof glass.
Challenge accepted, motherfucker, mine spat back, giving his the middle finger.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I announced in my best dominatrix voice. “You choose the implement. I choose the location of the strike.”
Ken’s eyes flashed with excitement.
Taking a step to one side, I swept my hand above the wooden drawer like Vanna White.
Ken eyed me as he approached. God, he smelled good. The piney scent of Irish Spring soap wafted off of his warm muscles as he came to stand beside me. Reaching into the drawer, Ken pulled out a metal meat mallet shaped like a blunt club with spikes on the end.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
A smile broke through Ken’s mask.
“Put that back. I am not murdering anyone today.”
With a shrug, Ken placed the mallet back in the drawer, opting instead for a large black plastic spoon.
“Slotted?” I asked, hesitantly accepting the utensil. “You are sick.”
Ken grinned as I pointed to a spot on the wall with it. “Assume the position, scumbag.”
Ken tilted his head and arched a brow at me.
“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “Please. Assume the position, please.”
Satisfied with my manners, Ken willingly stood in front of his bedroom wall, loose as a goose.
“Hands,” I barked, pointing at the wall with Ken’s torture implement of choice. “Please.”
Ken placed his fingertips on the wall in front of him, clearly not expecting to need it for—
WHAM! I swung the spoon with all my might, slapping the outside of his thigh and leaving three white lines behind, surrounded by flushed pink flesh.
He chuckled softly through his nose.
WHACK! That time, I got him right between his broad, smooth shoulder blades.
Bastard hadn’t even flinched.
SMACK! Left butt cheek.
Ken tilted his head to the left and right, lazily stretching his neck.
CRACK! I clocked him right in the ribs, holding the spoon like a fucking baseball bat.
Ken doubled over in what I hoped was pain, but I soon realized he was laughing as he held his side.
What the fuck? That tickled?
Dropping the spoon, I reached out with both hands and jammed my fingers into Ken’s ribs, wiggling them mercilessly.
“Ahh!” Ken screamed, swatting at my hands. “Stop! Stop!”
“Is somebody ticklish?” I cooed, avoiding his grasp and diving back in.
“Fuck!” he gasped between chuckles. “Stop it!”
“I thought you were tough. You can’t handle some wittle tickles?”
“Rrrrah!” Ken growled, turning and pinning my arms to my sides. His sparkly blue eyes were alight with something I hadn’t seen in them before. Something resembling…excitement. “Fucking. Stop,” he panted, grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay.” I giggled, holding his stare as he held down my arms.
“Okay?”
“If you say I won.”
“You won?”