“Don’t need to hear this,” West barks, shoving his son back. “Y’all are both fucked up. Royally. Thought you mighta been abusin’ her but now I see you’re both as bad as each other.”
“She started it,” Kane retorts, glowering at me. So much for doing this without arguing.
“I’m leaving, this is pointless.” I stand but Kane puts his foot on the bar of my stool, trapping my legs between the island and his body.
“Before you’ve had the chance to tell us your story?”
I huff and glare at my ex like a petulant child. “I don’t have an interesting story to tell.”
“Lie,” he calls, staring into my eyes. “You’re lying, Imogen Hardy.”
Well… he called it that time.
17… it’s my birthday
“You are lyin’ to me, Imogen Hardy.” Kane hooks me around the back of my neck and our lips smash together. It’s painful but then his kisses always are. They never just are. They always have to be something. Painful, teasing, sweet, soft, funny, stupid, bliss, heaven. I’ve never kissed Kane Jessop and said, his kiss was okay. They’re always more than okay and his arrogant ass knows it.
“I’m not lyin’.” I’m breathless and needy and looking deep into his eyes as our bodies press flush together.
“You are so lyin’.”
“Kane, when I said don’t get me a birthday gift, I meant it.”
I didn’t mean it. I want flowers and candy, and shit along those lines. Instead he got me nothing. Though he did tie a ribbon around his erect cock this morning before telling me, “Happy birthday, babe. Now make a wish and blow my brains out.”
I sat on his face instead. That was fun.
“Come on, we’ll go buy you somethin’.” Kane leads me to his challenger just as his daddy pulls into the compound with a shiny looking black Harley. It’s the same one my grandpa used to touch fondly but could never ride because its engine had been stripped. It was more there for show than function.
West climbs off the bike and yanks off his helmet sending his shoulder length hair in all directions. He shakes out the tangles and pushes it back with a large hand before tossing the helmet at Kane who places it on the metal table by the challenger. He’s been tweaking his engine; I don’t know what he’s been doing to it but it sounds even better than before.
“Rides like a dream, not too heavy either.” West clears his throat and winks at me. “Happy birthday, kid, come by later, Felicia cooked you up a cake.”
“I’ll be sure to. Thanks Mr. Jessop.”
He slaps the bike keys against his son’s chest as he passes and Kane spins them around his finger.
“I fixed it,” Kane says, moving to the bike and motioning for me to sit on it. I often sit on this exact bike while he works on his car or someone else’s. It’s always here but it never moves.
He looks so proud of himself. “Took me two months but I fixed it.”
“You are amazing.”
“That’s the only nice thing you’ve ever said to me,” he states with a grin.
“That’s a lie.”
“Naw. We both know it ain’t.”
“Isn’t,” I correct and he glares at me.
“Are those sirens I hear?” he jests, smacking me on the ass and squeezing, his favorite thing to do. “Did someone call the grammar police?”
Laughing I smack him back and also squeeze his incredible derriere. “Can you take me for a ride?”
“Depends what kinda ride, darlin’,” he answers, still spinning the keys. I fucking love when he calls me darlin’. Especially in his husky, gruff, gravel on concrete voice. I need Jesus to help me repent from my nasty ass thoughts about Kane Jessop.
“On this,” I motion to my favorite vehicle in the whole damn world.
“Naw. It’s not mine.” He kicks a leg over the back of it and kisses my ear.
“Your daddy won’t mind.” I’m practically begging, desperate to feel this baby purr between my thighs. West and Kane have been giving me lessons over the past few months. It was hella scary to begin with but it has been so much fun.
“Not my daddy’s either.”
“Someone bought it?” I almost want to cry. This was my bike. It has been since I was little. This was my grandpa’s bike. I might even steal it. But then where would I keep it?
“Nope,” Kane plugs in the key and wraps his arms around my waist. “I fixed it for you.”
I tense, body cement, brain not working, eyes glistening. “No you fucking did not.”
“Sure did. She’s yours.”
“Seriously?” I squeak, trying to turn to look at him but his body at my back holds me in place. “You’re lyin’.”
“Why would I lie?” He gives me a tender squeeze. “Are you cryin’, Imogen Hardy?”
“No,” I fib, wiping my tears on my wrist as I look at the speed dial and the new rubber handles.
“Don’t get sentimental on me now.”
“I’m not. I still hate you.”
“Good,” he whispers, chuckling as he bites my ear. “Let’s go pick you out some leathers that aren’t Felicia’s hand-me-downs.”
“Leathers too?” I relax back against Kane’s chest. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Too scared not to. Don’t wanna black eye again for underperformin’ my duties as your boyfriend.”
Twisting, I glower at him. “I have never given you a black eye.”
His brow raises, it’s all he needs to do to remind me of the time we were playing basketball and I accidentally elbowed him right on the cheekbone. He had a shiner for about three days.
“That was not my fault. Your head got in the way of my arm.”
“Victim blamer.”
Laughing, I twist even more so I can kiss him and then sigh with contentment. A sweet moment of calm passes between us before my heart thuds, reminding me I still live with the female equivalent of a powerless Hitler. “Mee-maw is never gonna let me on this.”
“Mee-maw won’t ever know.” He licks my ear now, making me shiver. “Show me your panties, Immy.”
“I’ll show you anything you want.”
There’s a water tower just outside of town that doesn’t get used anymore. We head there with a backpack full of food on Kane’s back who is holding onto my waist, his black and yellow helmet on his head, his protective leathers zipped to his chin.
Mine flap open a little, I like to feel the breeze on my throat.
I slow to a stop in the middle of the nowhere lane, surrounded by overgrown yellow grass and a few sparse trees.
Kane climbs off first before helping me down.
“I still feel bad that all I got you was a pair of Vans for your birthday,” I grumble, it has been eating at me ever since I got given the bike and the ridiculously expensive leathers that were from his dad and Felicia as well as Kane. I chose silver and blue. I look bad ass. Kind of like an astronaut.
“I really like those sneakers,” he argues and I know he does because he wears them a lot.
I kiss his jaw which he shaved this morning just for me I bet. Then I pull the bag off his back, almost yanking him down with it.
“You know what, Kane Jessop?” I help him shake out the picnic blanket and stomp down the long grass to make a space for us both.
“What?” he asks, looking at the blanket and checking the grass for any nearby snakes or nasty bugs.
“This is just… really nice and sweet.”
He puts his fingers down his throat and pretends to gag, laughing when I jump on his back and wrestle him to the ground. We roll over, our feet getting lost in the grass but our heads on the cushioned plaid blanket. It’s so soft and it smells so good.
As he peppers kisses across my cheeks and nose, I giggle beneath him and smile at him when he stops.
“I saw you with Mandy Fucknugget yesterday.”
“Pretty sure that’s not her name,” he replies, grinning down at me. He loves it when I get jealous. And boy do I get jealous.
&n
bsp; “You’re not elaborating.”
He bites so hard on my bottom lip I squeeze my eyes shut until he lets it ping free. “Stop looking at me like that. I didn’t touch her. We were just talking. Like you talk to Ren, or Marshall.” The way he says Marshall shows his displeasure for my newer friend.
“Marshall has got nothing on you,” I whisper and his eyes soften in the way his eyes only soften for me and nobody else. “We’re just friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Dipping his head, he sucks on my neck below my ear as I hook my ankles around his thighs. “It better stay that way.”
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were worried about losing me.”
“It’s America, it ain’t that big, I’d find you if I lost you.”
I laugh and push his head away when he goes in for my neck again. I’m so ticklish there and he knows it. It can be my most sensitive zone or my most torturous one. It all depends on the approach. Like now he’s forcing his way there which has set off my tickle receptors, totally a thing.
“Move,” I demand, still giggling. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” he mumbles against the swell of my breast, having unzipped my jacket.
He goes down, getting lower and lower as I equal parts laugh and moan, but then he stops at my naval and asks the question he always asks, “Pill?”
“Oops.” I whisper. “We’re good, so long as I take it at some point today.”
He grins up at me and lifts my top so he can kiss and lick my bare skin.
I hum happily and pull on his hair. “How long have we been dating now?”
“Like six months maybe?” he replies, still kissing me. “Why?”
I lean up on my arms and grab his hair to get his attention. “Do you think you might love me?”
He blinks, stupefied and sits up onto his parted knees.
I quickly add, “Not yet. I just mean like… do you think it might happen? I don’t know much about it but I figure when you spend as much time with somebody as we have, isn’t love the next thing?”
“I don’t know dick about love.” He reaches for the bag and drops it beside me. “I don’t wanna talk about something I don’t know dick about.”
Huffing, I cross my legs and tip out the contents of the bag between us. I don’t make a big deal out of his dismissal because truth be told I don’t know how to answer that question either, and to say he has made me the happiest bitch alive would be the biggest understatement in anyone’s lifetime. Plus I don’t want to fight on my birthday.
“Do you think you might love me?” he asks, surprising me as I unwrap the PB and J sandwiches that Felicia made. Kane is the fussiest eater ever. As he said, “If it ain’t meat or it ain’t a sandwich, I ain’t interested.” Sure he’s not entirely serious but I once tried to make him Mee-maws special kale and cheese pasta. He almost vomited. I told him, “I “ain’t” ever gonna make your hillbilly, fried chicken lovin’ ass good food again.”
He annoyingly replied, “You just keep talkin’ in that accent babe and I’ll only ever eat you again.”
Did I mention how much I love it when he calls me babe?
“I don’t know dick about love,” I answer, repeating his words from before.
“You love me.” His arrogance is so fucking irritating. He’s always so sure of himself, yet he’s never sure about me. Or that’s how it seems.
“You think?”
“Yeah.” He stuffs a sandwich in his mouth.
I take a small bite of mine like the young lady I am and stare at him. He looks so much more like a man now than he did a couple of months ago. The muscles in his arms are stronger, probably from all the extra hours working on my bike. My bike. I can’t believe I have a Harley. Grandpa would be so jealous.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because no girl I know would put up with my shit like you do,” he admits, smiling softly at me. “Not even for my amazing dick skills.”
“What shit?” I ask, genuinely curious. “You mean because we fight sometimes?”
“Yeah, sometimes I goad you just because I like to see you mad at me.”
I glower at him. “That’s not funny, Kane.”
“It is.”
“It isn’t.”
“Babe… it is.”
I shove my sandwich into his laughing fly trap of a mouth and smirk when he gags. “Too far?”
“You’re such a bitch.” His words are muffled by the slop in his mouth.
“Takes one to know one.”
He rolls his eyes but holds his smile, still chewing the sandwich half in his mouth.
“Reckon we can get away with fucking on the bike out here?” I ask making him choke on the remaining food in his mouth. Laughing, I pat him on the back and hand him a soda. He chugs it down without pause and wipes his chin when a droplet trickles down from his lip. When he twists the cap back on I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again.
“I wish we’d spent more time doing this and less time fightin’,” I whisper thoughtfully and straddle his lap.
“Naw. All my best memories involve pissing you off.”
Giggling, I push my hands through his soft hair and kiss him again. “I ain’t never leavin’ you, Kane Jessop.”
Gripping my ass, he pulls our groins together. “I ain’t never gonna let you, Imogen Hardy.” Then because he’s a prick he adds, “Now take your pill so I can dick you on your new bike.”
If only those double negative promises didn’t come true.
On my birthday, Mee-maw cooks me a special dinner every year without fail. So Kane drops me off on the corner of my street and I take a brisk walk down. I really hope word of me riding around on my new bike never reaches my mee-maw.
Matthew greets me at the door and hugs me. “Happy birthday, sissy.”
“Happy birthday, broey.”
We share a smile and I rush upstairs to grab his gift after kicking my shoes off.
He does the same and we exchange presents in the hall. I got him two tickets to go and see his favorite band, Ellipses, who are touring America and are performing in Houston in a few weeks. I sorted it with Poppy behind his back. She’s going too.
He curses with excitement and beams at me like he never has. “How the fuck did you get these?”
“Stayed up until two in the morning and checked out at record speed,” I reply, slightly laughing. He spins me around but we fall into the wall.
“Now I feel bad because my gift is shit,” he admits, scratching the back of his head.
I open my envelope and tip out the contents. I read it aloud and my cheeks flame. “A two-hour slot at a tattoo parlor?”
“He’s really good, Immy, he’s the one who did the eagle on my back.”
I must admit that eagle has so much detail it looks like a photograph. “I don’t know if I want to get a tattoo.”
“I know, but it’s the final stage of your teen rebellion before you head out to college.” He punches my shoulder playfully. “Cross it off your bucket list, I know it’s on there.”
“Have you been reading my diary?”
“No, I just know it’s on there because I know you.” His eyes soften. “Do you hate it?”
“No!” I blurt, hugging him again. “Not at all. I’m just thinking of what tattoo I’m going to get.”
“That’s my girl,” he replies happily and pats my cheek. “Come on.”
2 weeks later, still 17
“Does it hurt?” I ask as Kane winces slightly. The soft buzzing sounds as the man with tattoos from his chin to his fingertips works the pen across the skin of Kane’s left underarm.
I’m not allowed to see what he’s getting, he said he wants it to be a surprise. So I’m sitting across the room, playing on my phone, chewing a piece of gum in my mouth, occasionally looking up to gauge his reaction.
“It doesn’t feel fuckin’ good,” Kane replies, his tone harsh which makes me giggle.
“You’re a pussy.”
�
�Fuck you. Wait until your turn and you’ll be crying.”
“When is my turn? You’ve been at this for nearly three hours.”
“It’s gotta be perfect,” the tattooist replies, dipping the pen into a tiny bottle of ink.
“Can I see it when it’s done?” I ask and Kane shakes his head.
“Not until you do yours.”
I look at the tattooist. “Will mine take three hours?”
“Naw,” he replies, grinning at the arm he’s marking. “Maybe an hour, tops.”
“Good.”
Kane is done not too long later. They wrap his arm and the tattooist, whose name is Stan, cleans up his workstation and rolls up the picture he was drawing from before stuffing it into the bin.
The chair and desk are completely sterile and clean by the time I’m sitting there.
“The image you gave me, you drew it right?” Stan asks and I nod. He whistles long and high. “That’s some good art. I tweaked it a little, perfected the edges…” When he shows me the new size and shape of my soon-to-be tattoo I clap a little. It’s a padlock, intricate and rustic, with a broken lock that shatters and becomes tiny little birds flying away.
“It’s perfect.”
“You sure?”
I nod and lie sideways when he reclines the bed.
I hike up my skirt and Kane wags his brows, having pulled the chair closer so he can hold my hand if needed. Truth be told, I’m shaking a bit. I’m nervous of what the pain might be like. I had a look online and found so many different responses varying from, searing burn, to light pinching, to the feeling of a million needles penetrating your flesh over and over again.
Still, I don’t want to be a massive pussy like Kane so I school my features and confirm the placing of the tattoo after he traces it onto my skin with faded black ink.
It’s on my upper right thigh, meaning this guy has an epic view of my ass.
“Show me your panties, Immy,” Kane jests, popping a cigarette between his lips.
“No smoking in here while I’m working,” Stan says firmly.
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