Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2 (9 page)

I squint my eyes against the sunlight filtering in my room. I’m disoriented for a brief second because the sun is not coming in at the same angle it usually does. I remember I fell asleep watching TV with Khloe about the same time I realize I have my arm around her middle.

I jolt suddenly and pull my arm away. The sudden action causes her to stir. I lie still recalling how she reacted yesterday when I woke her by touching her face, which is the same instinct I have right now. I fight it.

We’re facing each other, only inches apart. Thankfully I’m still on top of the covers. I don’t even want to think about how much of my body would be touching hers if the blankets didn’t keep us separated.

Her eyes flutter softly. “Hey,” she says quietly as if speaking loudly would break the perfection of the moment.

I smile at her. “Mornin’.” I wait for the urgency to run to hit my chest. We didn’t mess around last night, but not once in my life have I ever had the urge to stay in the bed with a woman once the sun came up. The only time I’ve stuck around even for the briefest of moments is when I woke up halfway down a chick’s throat.

I close my eyes in an attempt to ward off those thoughts, even though my rock solid dick is begging me to focus on the idea of sliding past her perfectly pink lips. Either set would work, he practically grumbles with a voice of his own.

“You feel like getting out of here today?” I don’t really have any plans for us, but I know I don’t want to leave this room without knowing I’ll get to spend more time with her today.

“Sure,” she answers brightly.

I turn over on the bed and sit on the edge, begging my cock to deflate enough so I don’t embarrass myself when leaving the room. It doesn’t, and I think the longer I sit here the harder it gets, so that’s not an option.

I stand up and stretch, giving me a reason to tug my t-shirt down in front of my jeans, a failure of an attempt to hide my erection. I stride to the dresser and grab my boots, holding them awkwardly in front of myself. Memories of high school and hiding the same problem behind my math book flood my head. I smirk at the thought, considering even then it was girls her age now that caused the problems back then.

“I’ll be back in like half an hour. I need to grab a quick shower,” I tell her before leaving the room.

I groan out loud when I pull her door closed and see Kincaid leaning against the wall, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“I know Shadow relayed my message to you,” he says calmly, even though I can see his pulse thrumming in his neck. “She’s off limits until she ages out of the state’s care. I’m certain I made myself clear.”

“That’s not…”

He cuts me off. “This is only the second night she’s been here and you’re already doing the walk of shame out of her fucking room, Kid.”

There’s the anger I’d expect from Kincaid for violating a direct order.

I lower my boots from in front of my straining cock and grip it in my free hand. “Do you see this? If I fucked her last night do you think I’d walk out of that room before taking care of this?”

He chuckles; it damn near enrages me.

“We watched movies,” I explain. “I fell asleep. Fuck. I even slept
on top
of the covers. I know I shouldn’t have been in her room, but I was exhausted after not sleeping for over thirty-six hours. Besides, she just lost her fiancé.”

“You still want to fuck her,” he states.

I can’t help but laugh. First, Shadow and now the damn Pres.

“Every man who looks at her wants to fuck her, Kincaid.”

“Not true,” he says looking down the hall.

A huge smile spreads across his face. It’s still new, only having begun a few months ago when Emmalyn came into his life. I follow his gaze and see his woman smiling back at him from across the living room.

“Not everyone gets what you have, man.”

I envy their relationship. It’s not something I see for myself, but I can appreciate the love they have for each other. If anyone has ever doubted that true love exists, they should spend a day with these two sappy fuckers. They’d turn into believers in less than an hour.

“And that’s a damn shame,” he says pushing himself off of the wall. “Everyone should feel like this when they see their woman.”

I harrumph at the idea. “Would definitely solve world peace.” If every man in the world only had eyes for one woman, it would solve a litany of problems.

“Kid,” he says halting me as I start to walk past him to my own room.

“I know, Pres. Keep my dick in my pants.”

He laughs at the despair even I can hear in my voice. “Twenty-seven days,” he adds before walking toward Emmalyn.

“Might as well be an eternity,” I mutter and head for the shower.

My dick is solid steel almost every second I’m around her, yet I offer to hang out with her all day. Clearly, I’m glutton for punishment.

***

Once in my room, I notice my Star Wars t-shirt folded up neatly on the end of my bed. Just like she’s done any other time she wears an article of my clothing, Snapper has laundered and returned it. I know Khloe saw her in it, and that kills me. I used Snapper to try to get Khloe out from under my skin. It didn’t work and now things are worse now that she knows I fucked Snapper the other night. I know Snap didn’t wear that shirt out of here and to breakfast as some sort of statement. She’s not the type, but the damage has been done either way.

I toss the shirt in the trash by the nightstand on my way into the bathroom. I can’t change the past, but I can sure as hell not throw that damn shirt in her face. The second she sees me wearing it again, her mind will automatically go back to my indiscretion.

Even though I’ve never had to do so in the past, I remind myself that I need to start locking my door when I leave. The last fucking thing I need is Khloe catching one of the club girls sprawled out on my bed. Bunny, a club whore that has since been kicked out, pulled that shit with Kincaid and Emmalyn, and it nearly tore them apart, more than once in fact.

The difference between his situation and mine is Kincaid could honestly say he never fucked one of the other girls here; he’d only had a couple of blow jobs. I, on the other hand, have fucked each and every one of them on numerous occasions.

I’m not saying I want some sort of exclusive thing with Khloe, but I have to take what Emmalyn said yesterday to heart. Khloe is not a club whore, and if I have any less than noble intentions with her I need to walk away. It would be beyond fucked up to think I can fuck around with the club girls while waiting for Khloe to turn eighteen.

Since I can’t let go of the idea of Khloe, I know I have to do exactly what Kincaid ordered. I have to keep my dick in my pants; not just around Khloe, but any woman until I can figure out exactly what my end game with the beautiful, auburn-haired woman actually is.

I hit the shower and stroke it out even though I know it’s only a temporary fix for the ache in my balls.

Twenty-seven days. And that’s only if she’s interested in me. I remember the way she asked me to kiss her last night and smile. Seems like at this point, I’m a shoe-in.

I’m so glad Kid offered to hang out today; it kept me from begging him not to disappear like he did the day before. I have no idea if he works, but it’s Tuesday and he doesn’t seem to have anywhere to be. It works in my favor, I guess.

I shower quickly and once again dress in the same clothes I’ve had on for days. It’s getting pretty disgusting. I hate to be needy, but I know I’m going to have to break down and ask him for something else to wear.

I’m pulling on my shoes when I hear him knock on the door.

“Come in,” I grunt out from my bent over position.

I look up and catch him adjusting himself in his jeans, realizing he could see down my shirt as it hung loose while I was bent over.

“Sorry,” I say straightening up and tugging my shirt up higher around my neck.

He laughs softly and shakes his head.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we make our way out of the clubhouse and down toward his bike.

“I figured we could grab breakfast since we missed it this morning with everyone else.”

I take the proffered helmet from his hands and slide it over my head. I’m thankful we missed breakfast. The last thing I want to deal with is seeing the redhead again. I wonder what she’s going to think of me when she finds out I’m hanging out with her boyfriend all day.

Kid straddles the bike and uses the heel of his boot to raise the kickstand. The action is second nature to him as if he’s been doing it all his life. I climb on behind him and wrap my arms all the way around his waist. He stiffens momentarily. I try to pull my arms back, knowing I’ve overstepped once again, but he places a hand over mine. I take it as an unspoken request to leave them there, so I do.

Farmington isn’t that big at all, so it’s only a matter of minutes before we’re pulling up outside of a small country diner. I expect nothing less from him. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy that would head for Denny’s or some other national franchise.

I climb off the bike and pull the helmet off my head. I hand it to him before running my fingers through my hair. I can see my shadow, so I know it’s flying all over the place. I normally have a hair tie with me but when I woke in the hospital the one in my hair was gone, and it wasn’t in my personal belongings bag.

“I need a hair tie,” I say dismissively as I try to tamp down my out of control hair.

“I like it wild,” Kid says leaning in close to my ear.

He places a warm hand on my back and guides me to the front door of the diner, reaching around me to tug it open before allowing me to walk in ahead of him. A biker and a gentleman? Beating all the stereotypes I see.

My body responds to his proximity like it’s never done before. I have to remind myself that he’s seeing the redhead, not interested in me, and this isn’t a date. The gentle kiss last night was nothing more than him giving me what I wanted in exchange for my promise not to hurt myself. Nothing more.

We sit down at a booth and the waitress immediately steps over to take our order. She directs her attention first to Kid, and then to me. I can tell the difference in attitude the second her eyes land on me. She’s probably closer to my age than Kid’s but she looks down on me before turning her head back to Kid without even asking me what I want.

“What is your kid sister having today?”

He cocks an angry eyebrow at her. “Wife,” he says without missing a beat.

My eyes go wide at his word.

He winks at me when the waitress shifts her head back and forth between us. I smirk back at him. Serves her ass right for assuming anything about the people who walk in here.

“She’s a little young, don’t you think?” Her tone is full of malice and contempt.

“She’s twenty-one,” he says reaching his hands across the table toward mine. Playing along I put my hands in his. “Not everyone ages as gracefully as she has.” He tilts his head toward her.

“I’ll have scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee,” I say never taking my eyes off of Kid. I do my best to hide my mirth as I add, “please.”

She huffs away clearly mad that Kid is taken and not too happy about his jab that she doesn’t look as young as I do, even though she probably actually is twenty-one.

“She’s going to spit in our food,” I say trying to pull my hands from his. He gives them a final squeeze and releases them.

He looks in the direction she walked. “I should shave my beard,” he mutters.

“I like your beard,” I counter.

“It makes me look older,” he says.

“You don’t look old; I’m just young. I’ll be eighteen in…”

“Twenty-seven days,” he says completing the math for me.

I grin at him. “You counting down? Planning on throwing me a birthday party?”

He cuts his eyes to his hands. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The mood shifts too quickly. The last thing I want is our easy talk and comradery to slip away.

“What’s your real name?”

“Dustin Andrews. What’s your last name?”

He seems like a Dustin. Laid back, not a care in the world. Suits him. “Devaro. Where were you born?”

He winks at me again. “Tennessee. Where were you born?”

“I knew I heard a little southern accent in your voice. I was born in Santa Fe.”

“Where are your parents?” This is the second time he’s asked me this. If I don’t give him something, I get the feeling he’ll never stop.

“My parents died when I was nine.” His face drops. Wait for it…

“I’m so sorry, Khlo.” Those are always the words always handed out when people hear about my family. And the next question…

He reaches his hands across the table for mine, but I pull them back and place them in my lap. “What happened?”

Without fail, the two questions go hand in hand. I guess people presume after almost a decade it’s easier to talk about. It’s not.

“I came home from a sleepover.” Truth. “I found them still in the bed.” Lie. “They died from carbon monoxide poisoning.” Lie.

I dart my eyes toward the kitchen hoping the mean waitress would come back. I’d rather have to deal with her snarky comments than have this conversation with him. I hated this conversation. I hated lying, but if the lie brings on so much pity then there’s no telling what the truth would bring.