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I’m aware of the connection between Ted Sloane and Kai’s father. Maybe that’s why Kai is so pissed. Maybe he’s found himself caught between his family’s business and me.
Well, there is nothing I can do about it.
I just need to know if this thing works. Not me and him. My new job and his father.
Fuck that little douchebag, Ted Sloane. And how he screwed up my life.
Why did he have to set his eyes on me? There were so many women at these parties.
And if I remember correctly, he’s always had someone with him. Why did he have to mess with me?
I close my eyes.
Sleep won’t come easy. I can tell. I’m tense like a brick. And my skin is cold and covered in goosebumps from that icky cold.
I feel like I’m suspended naked hundreds of feet above the ground, and the wind blows in my hair.
Kai shifts his position, likely rolling onto his side. I can’t tell whether he’s spooning me or we’re lying back to back.
As many couples do. Sometimes. We’re not even a couple, and we’re doing it.
Strangely Alejandro’s take on Kai and me comes to mind. Up to this day, I don't know what has prompted him to say that.
How can he believe that Kai can be more than he, himself, Alejandro Garcia, has been to me?
How can he compare his warmth with Kai’s mercurial moods? And how in the world can he think he’d do the same to me if he were in Kai’s place?
Alejandro would never leave me hanging… Yeah, what do I know? Maybe he would if the stakes were high for him too.
Maybe that’s what he thought about Kai.
And maybe he was wrong.
Maybe we’ve all seen too much into it, all of us, Kai included.
You fill your head with nonsense, and then one day, something happens. And everything gets sorted out quickly, and you instantly learn what’s real and what’s not.
With that thought, I’m determined to try my best to fall asleep, even if that means to lie here with my eyes shut like a dead corpse until the morning light streams through the windows.
He gently touches my back.
“Are you asleep?” he asks quietly, his voice flowing from behind me, telling me that he is spooning me. Sort of.
We don’t touch.
“No.”
He rests his hand on my body, lower than my waist, higher than my hip, his fingers splayed over my skin.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” he says silently, his somber tone making me roll onto my other side to face him.
He sounds like it’s his fault, and I want to know why.
I wish I had left that light on.
But even without the light, I can still see his face, gray eyes, and stern features.
Why does he think it was his responsibility to prevent that from happening? Who knew that man had a few screws loose?
