Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2 (8 page)

We sit in silence for a while. She’s staring at me, probably using some sort of mind tricks to get me to open up and spill my guts. I’m fighting nausea and the urge to get back on my bike and not come back for a month.

“You like her,” Em says softly.

I smile. “I mean, what’s not to like? She’s beautiful.” Em nods in agreement. “She’s had a shitty hand dealt to her but at the same time, she seems strong to me.”

“She’s a tortured soul, and you have a hero complex,” she adds.

“Well, fuck, Emmalyn. Just say what you really think.”

She laughs, and even confused about what to do next, the sound makes me smile. Emmalyn just has a way about her that brings out the best in everyone else.

“I’m just telling it like it is. Every one of you Devil Dogs has a hero complex. I’m thankful for Diego’s every single second of my life. I know without you guys that I’d be dead by now. Diego saved me from Bobby. You kept Khloe from jumping off the bridge. I know how territorial he was over me. Is that how you feel about Khloe?”

I let her question sink in for a moment. “I won’t touch her before her birthday.” I seem more fixated on the fact that she’s only seventeen more than anyone else.

“You need to make up your mind what you want,” she says gently as if she’s breaking terrible news to me. “Messing with the other girls in the house while waiting for her to turn eighteen isn’t going to fly. It’s wrong, and you know that as much as I do.”

“I don’t even know if she’s interested in me like that.” This is a different situation for me.

Most of my interactions with women go like my run-in with Snapper did in the hall last night. Feelings aren’t involved unless you count the tingle deep in my sack before I blow. That has always been the totality of ‘feelings’ I’ve had for any one woman before in my life.

Not one single time in my life have I gone to bed with a woman wondering what tomorrow would be like if we woke up late and had brunch someplace. I’m not saying that I treat women poorly, because I don’t. They all know I’m not looking for anything more than a good time. I’m very upfront about it; I always have been. That doesn’t mean that, on occasion, I misread one, and she gets a little huffy in the morning when I don’t hand over my phone number or promise to see her again. I hate that it happens, but at the end of the day, she shouldn’t have lied.

And then there’s Khloe.

I don’t even know her, but it’s the idea that I want to get to know her better that’s throwing me for a loop. Do I want to fuck her? No doubt about that. I feel the twitch of my cock in my jeans just sitting here thinking about it. Nothing new about that. The difference is I can actually see myself sitting down with Khloe for a meal after the deed is done. Well, breakfast in bed anyways. Let’s not go too crazy here.

“You’re not even listening to me,” I hear Em say and feel her swat at my arm.

I laugh because there’s no telling what the hell she just said while I was stuck in my own damn head.

She sighs. “She’s interested, Kid.” She smiles sweetly. “Well, she was interested, but then Snap showed up in your shirt.”

“Fuck,” I grumble.

“Yeah, fuck,” she mimics and turns the gardening show back on.

I stand from the couch, lean over and kiss Em on the head, then head to Khloe’s room. My luck would be she won’t talk to me for the next month. Problem solved.

I lean into the soft touch against my cheek before I realize that I’m supposed to be alone in this room. Simultaneously I open my eyes and attempt to shuffle back on the bed. My heart is thundering in my chest, and my breathing is ragged.

Kid is sitting on the edge of my bed looking at me with confusion and pity. A sudden urge to explain hits me. But how do I tell him about the foster home from five years ago? How do I explain how the foster dad would sneak into my room after his wife left for work? I wasn’t there long enough for it to go any further than deviant touching, but the damage had been done none the less.

It’s the pity in his eyes, and the assumptions he’s probably making that keep me from opening up. He probably wouldn’t care anyways. I’m here because he sympathizes with my situation and nothing more. When I look at him, I see the redhead in his shirt. I may not be that experienced, but I know why a woman would be wearing a man’s shirt. She clearly picked it up in the morning after taking it off of him the night before.

“Sorry,” I mutter in apology for my freak out.

“Don’t apologize,” he says softly, his hands now resting in his lap. “I should’ve knocked louder.”

“Your house,” I say before I can stop myself. How many times have I heard that? ‘My house, my rules.’ I’m pretty sure the foster parents from each and every home I’ve ever been in have said it a million times. That’s almost as popular as the whole ‘Well, your caseworker isn’t here, is she?’

“Your room,” he says sternly. “This is yours, Khloe. I shouldn’t have invaded your space without permission.”

I watch him scrub his hands over his face. The tentative touch to his beard seems like a new action for him, as if it’s not been there very long. I’ve always been attracted to men with beards. Daddy issues I suppose. Most men, or boys I should say, that had them in school were patching and disgusting. Kid’s beard is a work of art.

Brazenly, I reach over and run my own hand down it. He stills at the action, and I’m unsure if it’s because I’ve overstepped or he is surprised that I wanted to touch his face too.

“It’s new,” he says after a long moment.

“It suits you,” I say honestly.

I pull my hand away before the situation gets more awkward than it already is. My fingertips continue to tingle from the scratch of the hairs against them.

“You weren’t at breakfast.”

“I went for a ride last night,” he says. “It lasted longer than I’d planned.”

I nod. I want to ask him about the t-shirt, but I know it’s not my place. His hand on my cheek means nothing. It’s a tender way to wake someone up, less jarring than yelling from across the room or shaking their shoulder.

“Did you skip lunch?”

I grin sheepishly. “I laid down right after breakfast. I guess I was more tired than I realized. What time is it now?”

“Late afternoon,” he says after a big yawn.

“You look tired,” I observe. He rubs his eyes and yawns a second time. “You should get some sleep.”

He smiles weakly at me. “I was hoping you’d want to hang out.”

“You’re exhausted. I’m not getting on the back of your bike when you’re this tired. I may be suicidal, but roadkill is not the way I want to go out.”

He frowns at my off-colored remark. “That’s not funny.”

“I know,” I say with a smile. “It seems like a painful way to go.”

He scoots close and cups my face in both hands. I look up at him and watch his eyes dart back and forth between mine. He’s trying to get a better read on me, and it feels like he’s delving into my soul.

“What can I do? What do I need to say to make you realize hurting yourself is not the answer?” I can feel his warm breath against my skin.

“Kiss me,” I say softly.

His eyes widen, but they continue to watch my face. My teenage heart pounds against my rib cage as he slowly leans in. My eyes flutter closed just as I feel him brush his lips faintly against mine. One second he’s there, and the next he’s pulling away.

Without releasing my face he backs away slightly. “Sealed with a kiss, Khloe. No more self-harm. You just made that promise.”

I nod my head in agreement, unable to form words right now. The soft peck is not exactly what I had in mind, but somehow it was perfect at the moment.

I miss the rough feel of his hands on my cheeks the second he pulls away.

“I was thinking we could just hang out in here,” he offers. “I could grab snacks and we could just binge on sweets, carbs, and soda. Maybe watch a movie or something.”

“You should get some sleep,” I say again. I doubt he took a nap after he dropped me off in the room yesterday, so that means he’s been up since before he came to the hospital yesterday morning.

“I’d rather watch a movie with you.”

Who am I to deny him?

“That sounds great. You grab the snacks; I’ll pick the movie?” I offer.

He grins and stands from the bed. “No sappy chick shit, though,” he says before leaving the room.

I chuckle at his insistence and grab the remote from the bedside table.

I can’t seem to find anything on satellite, so I flip over to Netflix. I haven’t just hung out and binge watched a show since before Alec left for Basic Training. I feel a small twinge of guilt at doing this with Kid. I’m not replacing Alec, I remind myself. I’m just finding a way to fill the lonely hours.

I decide on
Breaking Bad
. I’ve never watched the show, but I figure there’s not much romance in a show about cooking meth.

I stare at Kid as he walks back into the room, arms overflowing with every kind of snack you could imagine. I climb off the bed and pull the plastic ring holding four cans of soda from his mouth.

“Really?” I say cocking an eyebrow at him. “I sure hope you don’t expect me to eat even half of this mess.”

With more flare than necessary, he leans over the bed and opens his arms, letting the waterfall of treats flow from his arms.

“I didn’t know what you’d like,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed and begins to unlace his boots.

Once both boots are off, he stands from the bed and lines them up perfectly in front of the dresser. He picks the side of the bed I wasn’t sleeping on earlier and sits down on top of the covers. I follow his lead, but climb under the covers, covering my lap. I’ve always felt the need to cover up if a blanket is within reach.

I swipe my hand over the huge pile of snacks and settle on a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. He picks a bag of spicy pork skins, and I cringe at his choice.

“What?” he asks with a smirk as he tugs open the bag.

“Nothing,” I say settling against the headboard. I can never understand why someone would want to chow down on strips of fried animal fat. I grab two cans of soda. I hand him one and open the other. I hate how big the bed is. I’d love nothing more than to sit closer to him, but if I got any closer, I wouldn’t be able to reach the drink I just took a sip of and placed on the bedside table.

“You don’t like pork skins?” He asks as he makes a show of chomping loudly on the disgusting things.

“Let’s just say that if it were me and a bag of that nasty stuff alone on a deserted island, I’d probably starve to death.” He laughs loudly before reaching into my bag of Doritos for a handful.

I point the remote at the screen and start the show.

“Oh good choice,” he says finally noticing what I picked. “I’ve been wanting to start this.” He yawns again and I know the second he gets comfortable he’s going to pass out.

I smile internally, knowing this handsome devil is going to sleep in my bed tonight. That thought also reminds me of the fact that he didn’t sleep alone last night either. I chastise myself for the immaturity and do my best to harden myself against my attraction to him.

Surprisingly, we made it through three episodes before he finally gave in to his exhaustion. I mute the TV. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want it to bother him, but I really just want to hear him breathe. I laugh at the thought. I’m not a creeper or anything, but his breathing is so steady and deep, it’s soothing; relaxing to me.

I quietly move the abundance of snacks to the bedside table and snuggle deeper into the blankets. I turn on my side and face him, memorizing his face. He appears much younger in slumber, and it takes everything I have not to reach out and stroke his cheek the way he did mine earlier.

I smile weakly, my body growing tired as his breathing lulls me to sleep. This is the first time I’ve ever shared a bed with a man that wasn’t Alec. I feel the pang of guilt I’m growing used to feeling when I think about him. For some reason, I’m able to talk to Kid. We seem to click, even if he isn’t interested in me for anything other than a friend. Not exactly where I want things to go, but considering my recent loss, which brought the friend count down to a big fat zero, I’m not going to balk if that’s what Kid is offering me.

I don’t consider this a betrayal of the friendship I had with Alec; if anything I can see Kid as a heavenly gift from the only man, other than my father, that loved me more than he loved himself. I won’t ruin the friendship Kid and I are building with petty jealousy. I can’t control him and whatever he has going on with the redhead. I won’t act like a petulant child who’s not getting her way. I’ll count my small blessing and cherish every second Kid wants to spend with me, even if I’ll never feel the brush of his soft lips against mine again.