Still Not Over You(46)
Kenna’s silent in the passenger’s seat, looking out over the road with her fingers curled against her lips. She’s disheveled and still has grass in her hair, just another reminder of her body clinging to mine, clutching against me, wrapped around me and drawing me deeper.
What did I buy time for, really, when I have no idea what the fuck just happened between us?
*
It’s a quiet drive back. Not necessarily tense, but definitely pensive.
We pull into my place just as another ripping red California sunset blazes over the water. Kenna’s all smiles as she grabs a few of her bags and I grab the rest. The awkward moment comes when we’re taking her things upstairs, and I make a beeline for my bedroom, while she heads for the guest room.
There’s a frozen moment. A long look.
Does she belong in my bed now? We're both asking it with our eyes, but fuck if either of us say it out loud.
And by mutual truce, we leave her things in the hall for now, heading down to make dinner.
Two cats come crashing into our legs, one at a time, purr-butting their heads against us. We both reach down, having something crazy with Velvet and Mews. Something that feels way too much like a family moment.
Later, I'm fixing our supper while she settles on a barstool with her little black book, biting her lip and scribbling away. I’m busy tossing seared strips of beef, baby snow peas, chili peppers, onions, and paprika in a sizzling pan, but I can’t stop watching her from the corner of my eye.
She’s not really writing. Her pen scratches now and then, but for the most part she’s just chewing on it, wrapping those delectable lips around the cap, sucking on it in ways that give my twitching cock some evil ideas.
Fuck me.
One taste, and I’m already addicted.
I’m also worried. Last night may have been a major fuck-up, and not just because of lying to Steve.
It’s not hard to tell she’s questioning, too, dwelling on doubts, wondering where we stand. I’m kind of glad she’s not asking, because right now I’m not sure I’d have any answers that would satisfy either of us. I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Don’t know how I went from get the fuck out of my life to can’t get you out of my head.
Maybe if she hadn’t kissed me in front of Milah, none of this would've ever happened.
If she hadn't offered me an out, a fake girlfriend story that quickly fell apart. If I hadn't taken it, and used it as an excuse to bring her back.
I’m just setting dinner on the kitchen island, slinging piles of my version of stir fry onto plates piled high with steaming beds of rice, when Kenna makes an exasperated sound and slams her little black book closed hard enough to make me jump.
“Okay,” she says. “Fine. I’ll be the one to say it.”
I arch a brow over cracking a couple of beers and setting them out next to our plates. “Do what?”
“Start the conversation. We. Uh.” She’s blushing again. I don’t know how she stays conscious with all the blood rushing to her head. “We weren’t exactly in a position to talk last night.”
I dip my gaze downward. She’s still wearing what she had on last night, grass stains subtly darkening her deep tan tank top. “I remember. I was there last night, too.”
“Stop that!” She folds her arms across her chest, but that only plumps her breasts up more, keeping my attention on them. I’m listening to what she’s saying, I swear. “Landon, what was last night?”
“Reb, c'mon. I know you’re not so innocent you don’t recognize a good fuck?”
She scowls. “Don’t be coy, Mr. Strauss.”
“Perish the thought.” I settle on a barstool across from her and rest my elbow on the table. “We had sex, Kenna. I put you under me in the grass and we fucked. You came on my dick twice. And that can mean something, or it can mean nothing at all, but I’d like it if it meant something. I'd also like it if you're in my bed tonight, legs spread, moaning real sweet for my tongue while I burn the taste of your clit into my memory. Whatever we've got, it's more than casual, so let's stop pretending.”
She smiles weakly, trying to disguise a blush. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”
That pathetic little smile actually makes my heart ache. I reach across the countertop and brush my thumb under her chin. “Is it really so surprising I’d say it first?”
Her lashes lower. “A little. You’ve been pretty clear you hate me for years.”
“Fair. And I’ve been pretty damn confused over hating you for years.” I trace my touch up to her cheek. “Maybe what happened last night was meant to clear a lot of shit up. Like five years ago. When I was young and immature and stupid. And somehow, that incident between us with the black book got codified into the norm. Rejecting you before you could reject me for showing you the monster inside. The dirty fucking secret nobody else was ever meant to see.”
“I don’t see you like that. You're not a monster.” No matter how many times she says it, my gut twitches like it's been punched.
I want to believe her, but I can't.
Still, there's some relief when she presses her delicate cheek into my palm. “Some kind of wild beast? Maybe. But you expect animals to act like animals. That doesn’t make them evil.”