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Okay, that…sucks.
Maybe because after three weeks of nonstop time together—other than her leaving for her showcases on Fridays—we’ve hung out like real friends. We’ve also crossed the line of friends numerous times as well.
I don’t…I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like without her here. And I really don’t want to.
“What about me?”
She smiles over at me again. “I’ll leave you with all my paintings that have kept me sane.”
Yeah…that sucks.
Then again, it’s not like I’ve done anything to make her give a damn about me. She saved my life, and she’s been taking care of me.
I’m just the invalid who has leaned on her and given her nothing in return, besides endless, whiny stories about my absent friends and family. And a few orgasms along the way. But she gives me almost just as many.
I suddenly realize just how shitty I’ve been.
I’ve been soaking up every ounce of refreshing air she’s been giving me, never once considering it had an expiration date. I’ve gotten so arrogant that I just assumed she’d stay and give up her life until we saw where this was going.
“Maybe I can see you on my next trip to LA, and you can make good on that other promise though,” she adds, not looking at me.
I see the blush on her cheeks, and my smile slowly starts to grow. It’s a start. I want to see more of her. I need more than another week with her. She’s the first real person I’ve ever had in my life.
Hell, if she’s this good to a complete stranger, I can only imagine how good she’d be to someone she really cares about. And I want to be one of those people. I’m actually greedy enough to want to be her favorite fucking person.
I never knew how fake the people I surrounded myself with were until Kylie came into my world. I’m not ready to lose her.
I haven’t even fucked her, and I’m beyond obsessed. I can only imagine how bad I’ll be if I ever get her under me.
“There’s no way you can stay longer?” I’m not ashamed to admit that I sound a little desperate.
She gives me the look.
“Something terrible would happen?” I guess.
“My family would come after me.”
“And that’s terrible?”
“LA would never be the same,” she says on a shudder, then laughs under her breath.
If I’m going to impress her and try to get her to stick around and see what could be between us, I have exactly seven days to make it happen. Which means I need to hurry the hell up.
“Let me do something for you tonight. I may not can go anywhere, but I know a chef who owes me a favor. He can—”
My door buzzes, and she hops up from her painting, coming to get the remote.
“Hello?” she asks.
I figure it’s just another delivery person, when I hear the voice that has me internally panicking.
“Hello? Who is this?” Felicia asks.
“This is Shirley Temple,” Kylie says, mocking the name I’ve called her for three weeks.
“Funny. Where’s Liam?”
“In bed,” Kylie deadpans, causing me to smile tightly, dreading the inevitable.
“Who’s she?” Kylie asks, handing me the remote.
Telling her she’s the girlfriend I forgot I had would not be a good idea. To be fair, Felicia has been out of the country for eight weeks, and we’re in an open relationship.
But…Kylie is sweet, despite her objections. Sweet girls wouldn’t understand that.
You can’t cheat on someone who has given you a permanent hall pass. Besides, it was never a real relationship—which I realize now. However, I don’t exactly have time to prepare Kylie, explain the situation, or even try to dig out of this hole.
The door opens when Felicia decides to use her “emergency” key instead of waiting to be buzzed in, and Kylie walks around to my side of the bed, just as Felicia breezes in.
Her hair is flawlessly straight. Her lips are lined in red. And she walks in wearing a power suit. Usually it does something for me.
Not today.
Like I said, I only have one idea of sexy now, and it’s the curly-haired, messy girl at my side.
I’d rather look at her bouncy, spiral curls, and her paint-covered fingernails, along with all her clothes that have paint on them. You won’t find one drop of paint on her boots. She takes her boots seriously.
“Oh, hi. You really do look like a grown up version of Shirley Temple,” Felicia says, her eyes on Kylie.
It doesn’t sound nearly as endearing as it does when I say it.
Kylie fidgets awkwardly, and Felicia grins over at me. “She’s adorable. Pick her up at one of your galleries?”
“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back for another few weeks,” I groan.
She sighs harshly, flicking her gaze at Kylie again like she’s sizing her up, then she takes in the numerous painted canvases that litter the room.
