Raging Heart On (Lucas Brothers #2)(16)

"Because I need sex."

He stops walking and it might be my imagination, but he seems a little white—and I'm talking color, not his name here.

"Okay, this conversation suddenly got weird."

"You wouldn't let it go. So there you are. Can we drop it now?"

"You just broke up with Tommy and before that it was Crenshaw. I mean not to get all up in your business or anything—"

"What's to stop you, now?" I sigh.

"Well, it's just that. I mean, that's not that long of a time to go without."

"God, you and your double standards. You've had sex with three girls all in the same day before."

"Weekend technically, which is two days. And that's different."

"If you tell me it's different because you're a man, I will bash you over the head with this skillet, White Hall Lucas," I growl, rinsing the skillet off to put it in the dishwasher.

"Kay—"

"Besides, I didn't have sex with Tommy, not that it should be any of your business. And Bobby either, after about a month. It wasn't that great, which I guess is the real reason we broke up."

"How the f*ck do you get engaged to someone and never sleep with them?"

"I know this is hard for you to understand, but some people can have relationships without sex being involved right out of the gate."

"No one I know, but let’s forget all this for a minute. What's the all-fired hurry to have sex if you've gone this long without it? I don't think I'm following."

"I want to get pregnant."

"Oh," he says, his face completely confused, and then my words must hit him because he blinks. Then he blinks again. "You what?"

"I want to get pregnant."

"I don't think I'm following. No. Scratch that. I pray to God I'm not following. Are you telling me you're going to a bar to have a random hook-up with some guy you don't know, all to get knocked up?"

I wince at the way he describes it. But, since that's exactly what I'm planning, I don't shy away from it. "That'd be correct."

"That'd be correct," he whispers, like he can't believe it. "That'd be correct," he says again, but he's looking down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck so I can't really see what's on his face, or even guess what he's thinking. That doesn't last for long though because when he looks up, I have to be thankful there's a bar between us. "Are you out of your f*cking mind, Kayla?" he yells. And, just so we're clear, when I say he yells, it's not just a little yell. This is the kind of yell you can hear across a crowded room. A very noisy, crowded room.

"I want a child, White," I remind him, refusing to feel guilty.

"There's other ways here, Kayla. Jesus."

"Name one!"

"Adoption."

"Yeah I told you how that meeting went."

"Then there's artificial insemination. I've read about that."

"Yeah, I have too and there's no way I have the kind of money that would take either."

"I'll loan it to you!"

"No way. Absolutely not. You're not giving me money so I can get pregnant."

"Oh, I see. You won't take money from me, your best friend, to get pregnant, but you will hook up with some random f*cker at a bar."

"Exactly."

"I guess I should just volunteer to give you my dick. That way, no money is involved, and you will at least know I won't give you a disease that will threaten your f*cking life!"

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"You know," I whisper, unsure of how to say it. Warmth floods me at just the thought.

"Give you my dick?" he growls coarsely, and I can feel embarrassment fill my face, heating it. This is too important to back down though, so I stand my ground.

"Yes."

"No. Absolutely not. Do you even know what you're asking? I'm not having kids, Kayla, and even if I do, I couldn't sleep with you. You're my best friend. You're like my sister, for Christ's sake."

I can’t stop the flinch that happens from those words, nor the feeling of pain in my stomach.

“I think you better go,” I whisper, feeling very alone and close to the edge.

“Kayla. Buttercup, listen—”

“Leave, White. I need to be alone right now.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says after standing there silent for a few minutes.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I agree, not really looking at him. I don’t bother to look up even when he walks beside me and wraps one of his hands around the back of my neck, pulling my head to him.

“It’ll be okay, Buttercup. I love you. We’ll figure this out. Just don’t do anything rash.”

“I won’t,” I tell him, and for some reason I feel like I’m dying inside.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he repeats and he must wait for me to reply. I don’t, but a couple of minutes later my door closes. I spend another two minutes of standing there, feeling as if there are parts of me lying scattered in pieces at my feet before I sink to the floor and let the tears out. Tears for what could have been, what never will be, and for the simple fact that I’ve always felt on my own, but after White reacted the way he did and left me, I’ve never felt more alone in my life.