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Her last few remarks take me by surprise. When we’re together, Carter acts as though he only wants to use me for sex. We have some weird shit going for us right now, and it’s working. Why mess up a good thing if we don’t have to?
“Fine. I will consider it.” I slide my chair out from the table and stand, pushing my breasts back into the tight black top that leaves nothing to the imagination.
These babies have a mind of their own. Carter loves my tits. I wore this shirt special for Carter, in hopes I would see him after I have my quality time with Kennedy.
“I need some coffee. Do you want a refill?”
Staring down at her empty mug, Kennedy nods. “Yeah. I’ll have a nonfat caramel macchiato and a piece of chocolate cake.”
“Be right back.”
I stroll over to the front counter in five-inch heels that accentuate my long legs in a skirt so short and tight it had taken me ten minutes this morning to get into it. Good luck getting this thing off, Carter.
Kennedy goes back to typing up the article she was working on before I showed up, completely immersing herself once again.
“Oh, hello, darling,” I say to the teenage boy behind the register. Well, maybe he’s in college, but he sure as hell looks like a kid. I place our order, all while trying to keep his attention from lingering. With his eyes fixed on my breasts, he types the wrong drink into the computer.
This sort of thing happens all the time. One thing I hate about having big boobs is the attention I get from them. I’m always left wondering if a guy likes me for me, or if he’s only checking out my rack because he wants to take them out for a test drive. And incidents like having my order messed up because he can’t keep his eyes where they belong happen more often than I can count. Men are such idiots sometimes. Well, no, most of the time, which is why they need strong women to keep them in check.
A few minutes later, the boy has my drinks ready and on a tray. He steps out from behind the counter, through a door off to the side, balancing two coffee mugs and plates of chocolate cake on his palm. I grew up with excessive wealth. We had nannies, drivers, maids, and butlers who did everything for us. They still do. But I no longer frequent my childhood home unless summoned by my parents.
I had grown accustomed to this lifestyle as a kid, but the longer I am away from the Carroway Estate, the more I see all the things wrong with how my parents continue to live. Kennedy had a very similar childhood, with a father who worked non-stop and a mother who checked out after childbirth. Kennedy thinks I still live in my own little bubble of opulence, but it lost its appeal a long time ago.
“Thank you, darling.” I shoot the young boy a wicked grin.
He sets our drinks and food on the table, ignoring Kennedy and checking out my ass as I take a seat. “Any time,” he mutters, afraid to make eye contact with me, despite having the nerve to ogle the rest of my body, as if I didn’t notice.
The boy must be a student at Strickland University, and since we’re on the campus and sitting in their coffee shop, I can only assume he goes to school here. I thank him again before he leaves our table.
Kennedy lifts her fork and digs into the cake, devouring each bite. “This is so good,” she mutters as she chews with her mouth full and chocolate that is now stuck to her teeth.
“I’m breaking my no carb diet since every time I see you now is a celebration.” I cut a tiny piece of my cake and look down at it, the disappointment I feel probably registering all over my face.
I work out between writing sprints and sex games with Carter. The last thing I want to do is ruin all the days of busting my ass and eating low fat dinners, but this is a special day. I need to keep my body in fuck buddy shape for lover boy. At some point, I will give into Carter, and all bets will be off. When that day comes, I want my shit tight.
Holding the fork to my lips, I stuff the chocolate in my mouth and moan. “Mmm…It has been months since my last pastry. You are a bad influence, K.”
This cake tastes like heaven mixed with a lot of sin. I will have to make my peace with it later because once I start eating, I cannot control myself. Shoveling the food in my mouth, like this is my last meal, I finish in record timing and set my fork down on my plate. As always, Kennedy is done before me, washing down the food with what is left of her coffee. I swear she doesn’t chew her food before she swallows.
After Kennedy drinks the rest of her coffee, she presses her palm to her stomach, a sick look on her face. With how fast she ate, I would not be surprised if she were ready to hurl up that cake. Grasping the edge of the table, she pushes her chair out and comes to a standing, her balance a little off.
She bends forward, pressing a hand to her mouth as if she’s trying to get things under control.
I peek at her from beneath my lashes. “Are you okay, babe? You don’t look so hot.”
She shakes her head, looking as if she hopes she can make it to the restroom. “No, I think I am going to be sick. I guess I ate too fast or something.”
Before I can get in another word, Kennedy runs toward the back of the café and pushes open the ladies room door. I start to worry after a few minutes pass. Kennedy was so pale before she walked away with beads of sweat dotting her forehead and the I have to puke expression on her face.
I gather our things from the chair back and shove Kennedy’s laptop, notepad, and miscellaneous items into her messenger bag. Slinging the bags over my shoulder, I head toward the bathroom, forcing my way into the bathroom and past two girls who are hogging up the mirror.
I spot Kennedy’s feet, with her red-soled Louboutin’s we bought together last season, pressed into the dirty tile. At first, I think of what sacrilege she’s committing, a real crime against designer shoes, until I listen to her spilling the contents of her stomach. It’s as if the goddamn Exorcist is in there with her.
The girls fixing their hair in the mirror make gagging sounds, rolling their eyes in disgust before they exit. Not like she wants or needs an audience when she’s dry heaving over a disgusting public toilet.
“You okay, K?” My voice fills the quiet room. I have no idea how to help her now that she’s finished with losing her lunch.
“Syd, my stuff is out at the table. I’ll be fine just go keep an eye on things.” She flushes the toilet and unlocks the first stall, still inside and speaking to me through the door.
