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Sienna
The following evening…
Adoor slams. Kael jerks and hops to his feet, climbing off the couch where I was just sprawled out beneath him. My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands sliding up and down his back.
Have I mentioned how good a kisser he is?
Because he is. Kael Jenkins is an amazing kisser.
But that’s not something my fifteen-year-old brother needs to know or witness first hand. We’ve been kissing for about an hour when Bailey slams the door closed behind him and walks into the living room, dumping his duffel bag boisterously on the floor.
I sit up, and Bailey’s eyes snap in my direction. He looks tired, dark circles and darting glances are always his ‘tells.’ But I’m grateful for them because my brother isn’t the best communicator, and occasionally I need a helping hand.
“Hey, buddy, you’re home.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yes. I did.”
Bailey looks over at Kael, his eyes moving over the length of his body, slowly from head to toe and then back up again. “Kael Jenkins, bass player with Cold Neptune for ten consecutive years. Five platinum albums. Two gold. Six tours of the United States. Six-foot two. 218 pounds. Zero tattoos.”
I rest my chin on my arm, still perched on the couch. Kael’s mouth twitches with amusement. God bless you, Bailey. Sometimes he knows just what to say and when to say it, and right now his timing couldn’t be any better if he tried.
“You’ve done your sums, huh?” asks Kael, waving to Bailey, and Bailey just nods. “You didn’t mention I’m the best looking or most talented member of the band, though. Doesn’t it say that on my Wikipedia page?”
Bailey shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t.”
“You sure?”
“Three arrests in one year. Never been jailed. Public nuisance charge. And you peed on a tree.”
I try my hardest not to laugh, but with little success. Kael’s laughter isn’t as subtle. He full on belly laughs. Bailey doesn’t laugh at all. He obviously didn’t mean to be funny. He opens his mouth to say more, but I stop him mid sentence, holding my hands up in the air before we move onto the bar fights and the pole dancers.
That’s all I need. Let’s not give the kid any ideas.
“That’s enough about Kael. How was your trip? Andrea’s not coming inside?”
“Andrea thinks you will yell at her.”
“No. I’m done yelling at her. She knows not to interfere again. And she better buy me a damn good Christmas present, that’s all I’m saying.”
Bailey nods, his eyes not looking at anyone or anything in particular. “Can I get a tattoo?”
“When you’re eighteen, you can do whatever you want with your body. Until then, absolutely not… not unless you plan on becoming a hardened criminal, joining a biker gang, or becoming a rock star in the foreseeable future.”
Bailey looks owlishly across the room as if to prove a point. “Kael is a rock star. He doesn’t have tattoos.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
Kael grins, looking down at his ink-free arms. “You can still be a rock star without the tats, man. Or so I’m told. I’m scared of needles so I won’t be getting inked up anytime soon.”
“Longest guitar solo recorded live at The Staples Center.”
Kael holds one fist up in the air. “It was all me. I could teach you to play guitar sometime, if you like. Real rock stars play guitar. Whaddaya say?”
Bailey’s eyes dart toward me. “Can Kael teach me guitar, Sienna?”
