Misbehaving(43)

Krit let out a hard laugh. “You wanna bet? Try me.”

Well, maybe he would. The guy was a sex fanatic.

“Come on, don’t tease me. Get naked and crawl on top, love.”

I punched his arm and he groaned, then gave me an evil laugh. “If you’re not gonna fuck me, at least come tonight.”

Going to Live Bay with everyone there watching me and wondering about what had happened didn’t sound appealing. I wasn’t in the mood for guys, either. I didn’t want to dance with any or have any of them grope me.

“I’m not in the mood for guys,” I told him.

Krit shot up in bed and looked down at me. “Holy hell, love. Are you saying you want a woman? ’Cause I’ll pay shitloads of money to see you with another woman. Fucking cut off my left nut to watch that.”

I shoved him and grimaced, causing him to laugh. “You’re so ridiculous. Of course not. That isn’t what I mean. I just don’t want the flirting and touching and all that.”

Krit lay back down beside me. “I’ll stake a claim to you tonight, and you’ll be safe. Just let me do my thing and everyone will know you’re taken. That way you can relax and enjoy the night.”

I glanced over at him. “What about your hookup for the night? Acting like you’re with me will screw that up for you,” I reminded him.

He reached over and tickled my stomach. “Let me at this body and you can make it all up to me.”

“Krit,” I said, throwing his hand off me. “Stop it.”

Krit tucked his hand back behind his head. “Fine. I get it. No touching. But tonight I’ll lay one on you and probably grab your ass at least twice so people can see. It’s the only way to show everyone you’re taken.”

He had used me more than once to get the attention of other girls before. I had used him to piss off Hank. It was a mutual-benefits thing. “If I do this, will you leave?” I asked.

He laid his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt. You want to get rid of me?”

“I don’t know how long you can lie in bed with a female before making a move. Don’t want to push my luck,” I told him.

He turned his head and winked at me. “Love, if I thought there was any way I could convince you to let me in those shorts of yours, I would already have my head between your legs.”

He had no filter on his mouth. I shook my head and shoved him off my bed. “Go on. I’ll see you tonight.”

Krit stood up. His shirt had ridden up, and the tattoos that covered his chest peeked at me. His arms were also covered, and so was his back. He pulled his shirt up and stuck his pierced tongue out at me and wiggled it suggestively. “You want some, love, you don’t have to stare. Just ask.”

I rolled my eyes and he grinned. He had the same startling blue eyes as Trisha, and his hair was just as white-blond, but he wore it short and sticking straight up all over most of the time. Both his ears were covered in piercings, and his eyebrow was pierced too—and, according to talk from the females, his penis. But that was new. Back when I had been with him, his penis was metal free.

“Bye, Krit,” I said.

He puckered up and blew me a kiss. “Tonight.”

When he was walking out the door, I realized that he was the first person to actually try to help get me out of this funk.

“Krit,” I called out, and he stopped and turned around.

“Yeah, love?”

“Thanks,” I said.

His expression became serious, and that was a rare thing. He usually either had a naughty gleam in his eyes or a wicked smile. “That dickhead is a fool,” he said, then turned and walked out of the room.

I fought back the urge to defend Jason. He wasn’t the bad guy. He had been honest the whole time. I had known it was a short fling. My being a girl and caring too much was what had screwed things up.





Chapter Fifteen





Three months later . . .

JESS

It was finally Friday night. I needed a break. Between my classes and working every day, I liked to remember I was young and could have a good time. I loved my new job and my classes weren’t bad, but they took up my entire day Monday through Friday. If the shop was busy, I had to bring things home to work on them in the evenings.

I still couldn’t get over the fact that Mrs. Dillard had hired me to work as a seamstress in her store. Not that I wasn’t good enough, because I was, but because Mrs. Dillard’s husband was a Baptist minister and I was a stripper’s daughter. She didn’t seem to care, though.

I was making more money working for her than I would waiting tables or at a bar. She had sent the dance studio to me when they needed help with costumes, and I had been hired to design them after they saw some of my ideas. After they hired me, I got a call from the dance studio in the next town over, asking me to design for them, too. I kept pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I knew that after this year at school it was very unlikely I could go to a four-year college. Junior college was all I could afford. All my momma could afford. But I was beginning to wonder if I could make a career out of this.