Country Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book #8)(2)
“What do you care?” She pulls the cherry from my daiquiri and bites down over it with her paper white teeth, twisting the stem into submission as if her life depended on it. Ten guys in the vicinity just sat up and took notice. Not surprising—cherry stem withstanding. Not only is Caila drop-dead gorgeous, but she works hard to polish herself to perfection daily with the aid of the cosmetics industry. Caila undergoes a grueling beauty routine that in some civilized nations might actually qualify as torture techniques. The low-cut top and suicide heels she’s donned help somewhat in drawing attention her way. There’s not a person who can’t help but look at Caila when she’s in the room. I’ve always admired that about her. “You never listen to a damn thing I say.”
“Honey, after you replaced salt for sugar in that snickerdoodle recipe and fed it to me for kicks—it’s been hard to believe you’re human, save for that face. The things that you say? I take them with a grain of salt.” I gift her a hard wink right along with my well-seasoned rebuttal. True as God, that girl laughed her little pink tits off after trying to do me in with sodium chloride. God forbid our grandma Mimi actually ate the condiment-laced confection—she would have stroked herself into eternity.
My sister waves her favorite finger at me with a laugh.
Caila is tough as nails, has more self-confidence than an entire high school of girls will ever need in one lifetime—not to mention, she’s damn beautiful, and she knows it. That’s where her deepest irony lies, her beauty. It’s hard to believe someone so well put together, big blue doe eyes, porcelain skin, long blonde bone-straight hair—dyed trailer park platinum and heavily ironed into submission—can be so ever-loving crude. Caila can make a sailor blush with that brash mouth of hers, but she’s stunning enough to make him beg for more.
I guess it’s odd venerating my twin’s beauty, but after nearly having half of my face chewed off, I stopped seeing us as doubles long ago. From that point on, I’ve seen her as perfection, as what could have been, and me as the twisted Brothers Grimm nightmare gone awry. My spirit broke and shattered that day right along with my features, while Caila soared to new, untouchable heights since the time of my father. I bore the curse of our family. She bore the beauty. I’ve often wondered where my life would be today if I hadn’t met up with a pack of hungry carnivores who saw me as a walking T-bone. I probably would have laughed at Whitney Briggs University and would be honing my twerking moves right alongside my sister.
A frat boy over at the table to our right winks at me before startling to attention. I can feel the searing heat of his unwelcomed lust-riddled gaze as it whistles through me like a nuclear wind. He belches and licks his lips as if those very acts were enough to land me on his inebriated lap. And, trust me, if I were an equally inebriated sorority girl, it just might be. If it’s one thing I noticed, there’s not a whole lot of coital discretion going on at Whitney Briggs—not that I’m complaining. In fact, I plan on getting in on some of this non-discretionary coital affection sooner than later myself, just not with the belching douchebag who’s currently running his tongue along the rim of his glass and nodding me over with a greasy smile.
Caila follows my gaze and grunts, “Tell me this isn’t happening.”
“Please. Are you aware of this den of depravity we’ve seated ourselves in? It was destined to happen.” I flick the tiny red straw peering out of her drink. “Watch the master.”
I give a little wave to the derelict in training and turn my face just enough for him to see my not-so good side. You can practically see his budding hard-on already rising to take a peek of me itself. Then, in a moment, his demeanor shifts. His eyes, though glossy with intoxication, round out with a slight look of horror. His brows narrow at me a moment as if to get a better look before he gives a slight wave and heads deeper into the establishment. But, it’s that brief look of pity he offers as he glances back that knifes me just as much as it amuses me—my face had sobered him up, pulled him out of his alcohol-laden sexual stupor just enough for him to realize he didn’t want any part of this action.
Caila leans in hard, her violently straight vanilla hair falls over her face in pieces like twin curtains. I keep meaning to try that middle part. It looks so sultry on her, but then, sultry is her business.
“Would you stop with that barbaric pit maneuver of yours?” she hisses before checking her phone for the tenth time.
“What you call a ‘pit maneuver,’ I call effective communication skills.”
“Look, I don’t have time to debate your questionable communication skills. I need to haul my ass to work.” She smirks at the idea before pulling my hand across the table. For the life of me, I can’t imagine why she’s smirking. Caila averages $800 to a $1000 on a bad night. She’s not merely a seasoned pro at the pole, she’s teaching future stripper hopefuls, and hausfraus alike how to shimmy and shake with the best of them at an hourly rate that could be better spent toward designer shoes. She gives my hand a tug in an effort to gain my full attention. “Would you please stop?”
“No,” I flatline without even the intention of bothering to ask what it is she’d like for me to cease because, well, I already know.
“Stop using your face as a weapon, honey.” Her voice sweetens. Her faux party lashes bat up at me like trembling butterfly wings. “There are more effective ways to ditch the unwanted *s of the world. Just please stop using your pretty face.” She leans in, her lids are hooded and pleading in a quasi-sexual manner. Caila can’t help it. She’s been hardwired at an early age to do just about everything in a quasi-sexual manner. It’s just a side effect of growing up bombshell. “God gave you a finger that adequately communicates exactly what you wanted to say to that frat brat, and far more effectively might I add. Go ahead and try it next time.” She averts her eyes. “Never mind next time. What you need is a good f*ck—tonight.”