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They're messy. Quick.
Her eyes are brighter than normal.
Bolder.
She sits on the lounge chair, next to me. Her thigh presses against mine. Her fingers skim the edges of my sketchbook.
She leans over my shoulder, pressing her chest against my arm, looking up at me with those doe eyes. "Can I see?"
Not the sketchbook. The shit I have in here, of her, will terrify her. Kaylee is sweet. Innocent. I haven't asked, but I'd bet—I have bet Dean—she's a virgin.
My cock rouses at the thought of being the first inside her. Fuck, my lips, my tongue, my fingers—every part of me wants to be her first.
Not happening.
"You looking for a nautical tattoo?" I shoot back.
Her smile spreads over her cheeks. "Maybe. What do you suggest?"
I drag my fingertips over her shoulder, drawing the shape that best suits her. It's a bad idea, touching her like this. It's doing shit to me.
And from the way her eyelids are pressing together and her lips are parting with a sigh, I'm pretty sure it's doing shit to her.
Fuck, I need a thousand cold showers.
Even if Kaylee wasn't Em's best friend, she's a sweet girl. Someone who deserves a nice guy. A guy who can give her a normal life. Not an asshole who destroys everything he touches.
Even so, I trace the outline of a would-be tattoo up to the tip of her shoulder. "A mermaid."
"I like it."
"I know. You've seen The Little Mermaid a thousand times."
"At least two thousand." She looks up at me. "What do you say? Right now? I'm finally old enough to sign the form."
"Okay." I take her hand and pull her to her feet. "Let's walk to the shop. One topless mermaid."
Her eyes go wide. She stammers, presses her toes together. The plastic of her heels clicks. Her teeth sink into her lip. "I, uh..."
"Hate having your bluff called?"
"No, I just... I need to think about it a little more."
"Bullshit." I can't help but smile. She's adorable flustered.
"No, just regular... uh... that isn't why I came out here."
I arch a brow.
She scoots toward me. It's a tiny movement. Soft. More like the Kaylee I know. The sober one.
"Well, it's my birthday." Her fingers curl around my wrist. "And I want a birthday kiss."
How about a birthday fuck? How about a birthday coming on my face until my lips are numb?
"I only give birthday spankings." My voice is steady even though my heart is pounding against my chest. Fuck, the thought of bending Kaylee over that table and—
"Okay." She presses her lips together. "Let's go. Right here, right now."
"You can handle eighteen?"
She nods.
She can't, but it's tempting anyway...
"Let's go, Brendon." She takes my hand and places it on her hip. Her eyes meet mine. They bore into mine. They demand every thought in my head. Or at least all the ones about stripping her naked. "Or did I call your bluff?"
"Bend over and plant your hands on the glass if you want to find out." She is calling my bluff. And now I'm calling hers.
Only this is one time—
My sister saves me from my filthy thoughts. She bounces out the door, throws her arms around Kaylee, and pulls her from her seat. "Stop hiding from all the guys at the party."
"Your brother is a guy."
Emma scoffs. Her nose scrunches. It lights up her dark eyes—the same deep brown as mine. She runs her fingers through her violet hair and just barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes.
Kaylee's fingers brush the back of my hand as she turns toward Emma. "Sorry, Em, but it's undeniable. Just look at him."
Emma sticks out her tongue and mouths gross. "Mr. Look What a Brooding Bad Boy I Am will be here tomorrow." She grabs Kaylee's hand and pulls her toward the door. "These other guys won't." Emma looks to me. "You don't have to stay and supervise."
"Nice try," I say.
Emma laughs. She blows me a kiss then turns back to her best friend. "Don't wait up."
Kaylee's eyes meet mine. "Did you mean it?"
One part of me did. The rest of me knows better. I play coy. Shrug.
"I'll collect eventually."
"Birthdays only."
"Even so."
I watch her round hips sway as she walks away.
Fuck, that dress...
Fuck me.
How the hell am I going to get this girl out of my head?
Chapter Two
Kaylee
I'm never drinking again.
Ever.
The pounding headache, cotton mouth, and torn up stomach are reason enough.
But the loss of inhibitions?
No. Thank. You.
I push myself out of Emma's bed—she's still in her shiny silver cocktail dress and most of her makeup—and slink to the bathroom across the hall.
There's noise downstairs. The drip of a coffee maker. The scratch of a spatula. The steady footsteps of a man I can never look in the eyes again.
Not after last night.
I want a birthday kiss.
Ugh.
Inhibitions are underrated. Criminally underrated. They keep you from making a fool of yourself.
They keep you from stepping out of line.
They keep you safe, period.
If it weren't for my inhibitions, everyone would know. And no one would look at me the way they do now—like it's possible I'm on my way to becoming a strong, independent woman.
I pee. Shower. Brush my teeth. Grab my pastel pink makeup bag—the one I adorned in song lyrics—and pick out exactly what I need.
Emma is the one who got me into makeup, but we wear it so differently. For her, it's fun. A way to express herself. To experiment.
For me, it's another necessary component of my shield. No one asks if you're okay if you look polished and awake. Nobody dives past the surface. Which means nobody gets closer than they should.
After I clean every spilled drop of powder foundation from the counter and towel-dry my hair, I head back to Emma's room.
She's out like a light. Her shoes, bag, and jewelry are strewn around the room. I take a moment to put everything away—hers and mine.
I practically live here. Which is why the room is as clean as it is.
I love Emma. She's my best friend, the only person I trust. Well, besides Grandma.
I say this with love.
She's a slob. A proud slob. One who insists she prefers her room messy. Supposedly, it inspires her creativity.
I don't care.
I can't stand it.
We fight about my clean-up efforts all the time. Usually, I get Brendon on my side. Usually, he delivers one of those I don't care if you're technically an adult, my house, my rules dad lines of his.
But right now...
I'm not sure how I'm going to face him after last night.
I check my phone. No texts from my parents, not since the see you after work tomorrow, sweetie ones I got last night. My Facebook is still flush with Happy
Birthday notifications from people I haven't talked to since middle school.
It's kind of nice to feel popular. Even if it's obviously fake. Don't get me wrong. I'm friendly with lots of people. Most of the people I know, save all the reporters on the school paper who complained about my high standards, think I'm sweet, nice, easy going. And they're right. Sort of.
But they're not my friends.
They don't know me. They only know the pretty, polished Kaylee who gets straight As and smiles a perfect customer service smile no matter how ridiculous the complaint.
My stomach growls as the smell of bacon wafts into the room. Then it screams food, no thank you.
Bacon isn't happening.
But I should eat something.
I should get this torture over with.
Brendon is my best friend's older brother. I can't avoid him forever.
I pack my bag, change into my work clothes, and slink downstairs.
The white light of morning falls over the wide-open room. It casts Brendon in an angelic glow—so not him, but so right all the same.
God, those dark eyes, that black hair, the strong features—
I want to drink in every inch of him.
And I'm not even gawking at his chiseled torso or his ink yet.
He moves from his spot in the kitchen, behind the oven, and turns toward me. "Hey."
"Hey." I keep my voice even. Casual. Like I didn't ask him to kiss me. Like he didn't offer to spank me. Like I get that he was teasing, that it didn't mean anything, and not like I spent the entire night imagining him pulling me onto his lap.
"You look fucking awful, Kay."
"Hey." I brush my hair onto my right shoulder. "It's not my fault Emma threw away her blow dryer so she wouldn't fry her hair further."
His lips spread into a smile that lights up his dark eyes.
My knees knock together.
That's all it takes for me to crumble—his smile.
But, God, it's a gorgeous smile.
Has it always been this hard to breathe around Brendon? I'm not ashamed to say I've had a crush on him since the first day I saw him on that couch all tall, handsome, and brooding.
But it's been the better part of a decade.
There have been other guys. Dates. Boyfriends. Sloppy make out sessions at parties.
