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She glowers, confirming I’m full of bullshit, before her face turns somewhat serious. “You know I’m all for you getting laid, but make him a booty call only. That’s it. You get an orgasm and get the hell out of there, girlfriend. His family is no joke about protecting their image and not letting outsiders in.”
She’s right. Like Kyle, his family is royalty here. His dad is the mayor, his grandfather a judge, and his mother the biggest philanthropist in the town. Blue Beech isn’t full of people with money, except the Lane family. They’ve owned this town for decades.
“Trust me,” I say. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
* * *
I don’t wearone of those skirts he likes.
I wear yoga pants and an old tee.
“I’m actually doing this,” I say to myself while pulling my hair into a sloppy ponytail.
Sure, I’ve shared drinks and meals with Kyle, but dinner at his home is intimate. There will be no crowd around and no puking involved. Kyle obviously wants to have sex, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want the same.
Last time we had dinner, it ruined me. No one was supposed to find out, but they did.
When they did, Kyle came out unscathed.
Everyone loved him, his family, and their wealth.
Guys wanted to be his best friend. Girls wanted to be his girlfriend or current screw. Even I was guilty of the last two, which was what pulled me into the mess of him. He was nice when no one else even glimpsed in my direction.
Turned out, he wasn’t the nice guy he’d played off to be, and I’m scared he’s playing the same deprived game.
I walk through Kyle’s front door without bothering to knock. He doesn’t respect my privacy. Therefore, he doesn’t deserve his. I check out the living room after the door shuts behind me. I expected the interior of Kyle’s home to scream bachelor pad with neon signs and poker tables, but it’s nowhere close. While there is a flat screen TV set up on the wall and a saddle-brown leather sofa, it’s clean with dark pillows and a bookcase filled with books and pictures of him and his family.
I follow the noise of dishes clinking and the scent of food into the kitchen to find Kyle standing at the island with a beer in his fist and dishes set out in front of him. I figured we’d have pizza or takeout, but it smells of comfort food—similar to how Kent’s mother’s would when she spent all day in the kitchen.
What the …
Surely, he didn’t cook for us.
“We need to make this quick,” I say.
He grins as if my outburst wasn’t rude. “Mmm … I’m not normally into quick the first time, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan. “I’m babysitting in an hour.”
“Not cool. You agreed to dinner.” He’s scolding me as if I were a child, like he’s the one who has to babysitme.
I throw my hands up. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He sets his beer down and walks around the island, resting against the counter and pushing his hands into his pockets. He’s in jeans, a tee fitting the vast expanse of his chest, and barefoot. “And? Our dinner will take longer than an hour.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Wrong. Whatever you’re cooking will take me ten minutes to eat.” I smile. “I’m a fast eater.”
He tsks under his breath. “You’re lucky your escape plan is kid-sitting. Otherwise, I’d make you cancel.”
Make me?
He’s given himself the control tonight, and apparently, my spine has flattened because the urge to take that control back is nonexistent.
“How sweet of you,” I mutter.
He shoves off the counter, takes the few steps separating us, and captures my chin in his hand.
I draw in a breath and surprisingly don’t jerk away.
