When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(53)

I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder.

“Did you use it at least?” Violet’s laughter sings through the phone.

At her question, I hurry to the bathroom before Kennedy can stop me. My eyes skim the countertops and floors until they land on her bright pink bag. A glance into the room tells me Kennedy’s still distracted by Violet. With a single finger, I poke the pink fabric.

What the heck is all that white stuff?

“What are you doing?” Kennedy’s stern voice makes me drop my investigation.

Startled, I twirl to face her and the aggravated scowl on her lips. She taps her foot while her hands plant firm on her trim hips.

“What’s in here, Kennedy?” I tease.

She leans around me to grab it, but I yank it away before she can reach it. Holding it above my head, I mock her by sticking out my tongue.

“You’re a child.” She huffs. Kennedy’s pupils disappear as they roll behind her eyelids.

“What’s in the bag?” With a quick reflex, I dangle it between us on a single finger.

Kennedy tries again to swipe it from my possession, but I’m too fast.

“Do you really want to know? It could make you jealous.” Kennedy quirks an eyebrow and rests her hand on my lower stomach. A mere inch or two away from my dick, I might add.

My eyes bounce between the girl I love and the duffel bag holding something she doesn’t want me to find. I run through my options. The first is to hand it over, and save Kennedy the embarrassment. I, of course, go with my initial plan, and dig until I find the supposed source of jealousy. My hand wraps around what can only be called soft with rough ridges. My eyes widen, and Kennedy silently pleads with her doe eyes not to pull it out.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer. “Kennedy, please tell me what’s in my hand is not what I think it is.”

Her nose scrunches. “It’s in your hand?” Kennedy’s snicker goads me.

And right there, in my hand, is a bright pink vibrator. A rather impressive sized vibrator.

“Why pink?” I toggle it back and forth between my fingers with a grin of satisfaction on my face.

“I didn’t buy it.” She hoists herself onto the marble countertop, slipping the plush cotton between her thighs. With the slight distraction of her incredibly gorgeous legs that seem to go on for days, I regain focus, turning my eyes to her face.

“Who bought it?” Images of another guy purchasing a sex toy for my girl makes my heart pound and my palms sweat. They’re on board to kick someone’s ass. “Kennedy?” My voice sharpens as I question her again. “Who bought you this oversized, unrealistic-for-most-guys vibrator?”

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” She jumps down and runs from the bathroom.

I drop the vibrator into the bag. Besides a bunch of packing peanuts, it’s the only thing inside. Too bad she didn’t think to look last night. We could have put it to use. I need to remember to thank Violet.

Kennedy is dressed in last night’s attire when I walk into the room. Her eyes cast over my hands to find them empty. She shakes her head and grabs her purse from the table. With an overdramatic sling, she throws it on her shoulder.

“You ready to go?” she asks, exiting the room without waiting for me. She’s irritated, but not enough to let the elevator close without me.

“Quit pouting. It’s not a big deal.” I run my pinky over her bottom lip.

“It’s not a big deal that you know I Kennedy myself?” she shouts as the doors slide open, and a middle-aged couple steps in. They pay us no attention.

“What the hell does ‘Kennedy yourself’ mean?” I guide us to the back corner and take Kennedy’s hand in mine.

“You’ve clearly never seen One Tree Hill.”

“What?”

“It’s an expression for …” Her eyes shift down and she runs her fingers over the zipper of her denim shorts.

“I got that, but why don’t you cut the bullshit and just call it what it is? Say it with me. Mas-tur-ba-tion.” I draw out the word, stifling my laugh.

Our elevator guests must have overheard. The woman shifts uncomfortably as the gray haired businessman mumbles, “Amen.” His wife elbows him in the side. Kennedy hides behind her hands and misses their smirks as they step off the elevator in the lobby.

With my hand low on her back, I guide her to my car and set off in the direction of her apartment. At every stoplight, I glance over to where she sits. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s pouting. I love the way her hair falls to one side, and how she bobs her head to the faint music in the background. It’s things like this, the simple characteristics, you don’t forget about a person.

If you were to ask any man on his deathbed, what he remembers most about the woman he’s loved all his years, his answer wouldn’t be something superficial like her pearly smile or long legs. A man’s love is defined by the one thing he notices, yet goes undetected by others, about the woman he loves. The heart of a man is found in a place of love and adoration. The simplicity of a man’s love is where his soul can be found. Mine sits beside me, tapping her fingers to the beat of a song.

Kennedy reaches over to wrap her fingers through mine. Her eyes never leave the window, as though the gesture is second nature. Because holding my hand seems like the only answer to all the questions in the world, she doesn’t have to think about it. I give hers a squeeze as we pull up to her apartment. Hers is much nicer than Bea’s, equipped with a doorman and keyed access to the elevator. I sigh in relief, knowing Kennedy is tucked away in a safe tower when I’m not around.