Page 55 of Property of Kevlar

No rest for the wicked. That was for damn sure. Exhausted but exhilarated that a new production was in the works, Kelsey went through her door and flopped onto her couch. Rent was one of her favorite musicals. While only a little local playhouse performed it, she was involved. Not onstage, of course. She was in charge of the makeup. She couldn’t wait to get started.

Leaning forward, she reached behind her and under her shirt. With a flick of her fingers, she undid the snap of her bra, and through the miracle of being a limber woman with large tatas, she slipped one and then the other arm out before she pulled the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder from her sleeve. Closing her eyes, she let out a groan and tossed it to the side.

There was nothing better in this world than letting the girls free from their prison. She hated bras. Without fail, they tried to kill her. Given enough time, the metal underwire always worked its way free and jabbed her in the sternum.

Unfortunately, considering she was blessed with quite the bounty, going without would not happen. They’d flop all over the place. So, when in public, she had to endure the travesty that was a full-coverage brassiere.

But not at home.

Her favorite place to be.

The moment she lifted her phone to relax and doomscroll, the familiar sound of a Harley-Davidson rumbled outside. A smile spread on her lips, and her heart did a somersault. Kev hadn’t stopped by all week. They were due for some horizontal mambo.

She’d missed him and wondered if he’d moved on with someone else.

Putting her phone down, she pushed off the couch and went to the door. The motor died outside, and she paused. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was another random guy riding by? It might not even be a Harley. She wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of those things. For all she knew, it would be a crotch rocket or something.

Moving the curtains aside, she peered out into the night. Better safe than sorry. A man wearing jeans, black leather, and a baseball cap strolled toward her door.

Another flutter in her chest.

It was him.

Gleefully, she twisted the knob and pulled the door open. Leaning her back against the doorframe, she raised one of her arms and rested a hand over her chest.

“Where have you been all my life?” she teased playfully.

“Oh, hell yeah.” A chill ran down her spine at the sound of his voice—not the one she’d expected. “Now we’re talking.”

Before she could react, an arm swooped around her waist, a mouth covered hers, and she was shoved into her apartment. The door slammed behind them as she tripped into her living room.

Bear paws dug into the globes of her ass. She winced as a tongue forced itself past her lips and met her teeth. Kelsey squirmed and wriggled her arms between herself and the body mashed against her. With all her might, she shoved.

Pete stumbled back.

She gasped, filling her lungs with air again.

“What the fuck?” she snarled as she ducked farther into her apartment, putting a chair between them.

With his chest heaving, he glared at her. “Carrie wouldn’t tell me why you weren’t hanging out anymore.”

She furrowed her brows at him. What was he even talking about? First of all, Carrie was the one who brought him to her apartment and that was how they met. The second occasion they were together on purpose was a stupid double date; she should never have agreed to it. All the other encounters were purely by accident and by no means intentional.

“I got tired of waiting on you, so I figured I’d pop in so we can make up.”

“Get the hell out!” She tapped a hand to her back pocket.

Shit! Her phone wasn’t there. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t call the cops or even Kevlar. She was trapped. Pete blocked her path to the only means of escape.

He sauntered deeper into the room.

“Listen.” He sighed in exasperation. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you’ve gotta get over it. Big things are happening here.”

“What part of get the fuck out did you not understand?” She did her best to hide her trembling and glanced toward the kitchen. There were sharp objects in there. If she went for it, would he stop her from getting one?

“I’m stubborn.” With a shit-eating grin, he paused and rested his forearms over the back of another chair and leaned forward. There were a few feet between them, but not enough. Kelsey wanted to be miles away from him. Unfortunately, she had no way to accomplish that.

Swallowing hard, she glanced at the kitchen again. Where was that big-ass knife she used to cut watermelon over the summer anyway?