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“I think that’s a good thing.”
“Sometimes.”
I fought a smile.
He was in such denial. I almost wanted to laugh in his face about it.
Chapter 18
Jenny
I let Kylie use my car to run off and get some ice cream with Oscar and Otto, who also brought some chick with him.
Drake and I would have tagged along but… we had other plans.
I sat in the passenger seat of his truck, my towel gripped in hand. I don’t think he was paying much attention to my jitteriness.
He went on about how the fight he had in a few hours would be quick and out of the way before he knew it. He said he was fighting someone that was very overrated named The Lawless.
“Then I can come see you again,” he said. He finally looked my way and I smiled.
“I wouldn’t mind that.”
He returned a smile, and soon we were turning into my neighborhood.
He rolled his window down at the gates when the security guard stepped out.
I peered over, waving at Malik.
“Hi Malik,” I chimed.
“Jenny?” Malik frowned, the smooth brown skin on his forehead crinkling. “This is your visitor?”
“Yes. Drake Davenport.”
He studied Drake, as if he expected someone easier on the eyes. Drake stared him down like a hawk. I slapped Drake’s arm and he looked at me, frowning.
“All right then.” Malik pressed the button for the gates to open. “Be safe.”
I grinned. “Thanks. I will.”
Drake sped off right away. “Think he’s going to tell your parents?”
“I doubt it. Malik is a cool guy.”
Drake grunted. I knew the exact reason he was upset.
Malik was hot.
He had cropped, wavy black hair and light brown eyes. I could tell he had a nice body beneath his uniform as well, but after knowing him since I was a little girl, working those gates and such, I didn’t see him as more than just our security guard.
He was a nice guy, married, and with two children. He never made me feel uncomfortable and he always kept to himself.
“You don’t have to be jealous.” I laughed, as he parked in our roundabout driveway. When the ignition was off, I climbed out of the truck.
“Who says I’m jealous?” Drake quirked a brow as he met at my side.
“I can tell you are. Stop worrying. He’s a good guy.”
“Mm-hmm.” Drake looked ahead, taking in the outside of our home. “Nice place.”
“Not mine, so I can’t really brag.” I marched for the door, pulling out my key and unlocking it. My hands were shaking a little as it clinked.
What the hell was I thinking? Now that it’d come down to the wire—after no more denying me—I was starting to freak out a bit.
Drake in my place?
Alone?
All of what he said at the pool about hurting me got to my head.
What if he did do something I didn’t like? What if he said something I didn’t approve of?
Drake followed me inside the house and when we reached the kitchen, I dropped my bag on the granite countertop. “Do you want anything to drink?” I asked. I opened the fridge and pulled out a can of strawberry soda.
“Any Gatorade?”
“Used to have a ton of that…but not anymore.” I pressed my lips. Drake looked me over. “Mitchell used to have it a lot for football.”
“Oh. Well, what about water?”
I nodded. “Water it is.” I took a bottle out and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand, cracking the lid open and then taking a swig.
“Show me your room.” His command was light and simple.
I opened my soda and drank a little, and then I set the aluminum can on the counter. “You don’t want to take a grand tour of the house?”
“We’ll get to that. All I care about right now is where you hide out the most.”
“All right,” I laughed, “but it’s not that great.”
He followed closely behind me as I walked up the staircase. I could feel his eyes on my ass—his body heat radiating. I could smell his earthy, warm cologne. He also smelled like suntan oil and pool water.
I actually got him to get in the pool while we were there. He was reluctant at first, but after giving him the doe eyes he finally caved.
I walked down the hallway, quickly past Mitchell’s old bedroom, and opened my door. The door creaked lightly on its hinges as I waltzed in.
“Well… this is it.” I held out one arm, showcasing it all at once. Drake stepped past me, taking in everything, from the color of my walls, to my king-sized bed, and even the teal rug.
He walked in, looking at the white acoustic guitar I had nestled in the corner. He plucked the strings with a smirk. “You play?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“I want to hear.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, I doubt that’s going to happen.”
“And why not?”
“Because… I just got home,” I exclaimed. “I’m all hot and sticky. I have to keep my instruments clean.”
