Perfectly Imperfect(58)

I open the front doors and enter the high school. The front office area of the school is massive with a long hallway that leads into the classroom sections within. This had become a central hub of sorts. There are tables set up with different types of equipment, and a few other areas around them acting as a ground zero of sorts.

I see Kane talking to Zander and another man. When I reach Kane, he dismisses them. With a hand pressed against my lower back, he leads me over to where a table of refreshments is set up. He looks around to see if we have privacy before turning his attention toward me. His eyes look like the clearest sapphires.

“Are you ready for tonight?” he strangely questions. His tone is light, but I don’t miss the demand within his words.

“Tonight?” I probe.

His eyes linger on mine, brows slightly raised and a slow smile twitches his lips. A second later, he shifts closer toward me, closing what little space separated us.

“Yeah, baby, tonight. Fuck, I haven’t been able to get the thought of tonight off my mind yet.”

I swallow thickly and have to clear my throat. Frowning, I ask, “Kane, what—?”

His mouth opens and I stop talking; his smile dims slightly and he runs one of his hands through his thick hair. He seems to be sitting on the edge of confusion and uneasiness, but why? Didn’t we leave things in a great way last night?

“I meant every word I typed last night, Willow, but the question is, did you?”

With an uncertain tone, I open my mouth and lamely say, “Huh?”

He offers me a bemused smile, surprise dances across his handsome face before he looks at me with a question of disbelief. Clearly, he knows something I don’t.

“How about you check your phone and get back to me.” He leans down, presses his lips against mine, and breathes deeply before leaning back. He takes a few steps backward, his head shaking with silent laughter. “I’ll be waiting,” he says oddly and turns.

What in the world?

I reach behind me and pull my phone from my back pocket. I stuffed it there before I left my room, but in my rush and after Kirby’s weird lesbian act this morning, I don’t think I even looked at it once.

I don’t have any notifications. The screen just displays the date and time. I slide my finger across the glass and unlock the phone. No emails. No missed calls. No little red dots on any of my other apps. I open my email folder first and frown when I don’t see anything new or from Kane. My call log doesn’t show any voicemails. My brow pulls in slightly when I click on my messages app and see Kane’s name as one of the last received text.

When did this happen?

Pressing my thumb to his text line, I almost drop my phone when I see what takes over the screen. I know I let out a loud gasp.

Oh, holy shit! I don’t even hesitate to curse when I usually avoid it at all costs. Holy. Shit. Indeed.

My shocked eyes snap up from the evidence that my drunken self clearly had some fun last night when I hear Kane’s booming laugh from where he’s standing with one of the techs I didn't recall meeting yesterday. His eyes capture mine, and when I see him wink, I feel like I might melt into a puddle of aroused embarrassment right here in the hallways of some middle of nowhere Georgia high school.





TODAY HAS BEEN … INTERESTING.

After the shocking revelation that drunk Willow is like a hooker in heat, I’ve been avoiding Kane at all costs. Or, I should say, I know it’s more like Kane letting me avoid him than me actually succeeding in keeping him at a distance. If Kane wanted me, he would make it happen. I get the feeling this is more about him putting the ball back in my court, so to speak. The ball I all but threw into his lap with my hussy messages last night.

I need to make the next move. I know this. Otherwise, he’s going to wonder if I meant what I said last night. What I agreed to. And as terrifying as the thought of being with him is, the thought of him thinking I have doubts is more daunting.

I wring my hands together and flop down on the chair Alessandra just vacated. Kirby is busy washing her brushes, and Grant has been cleaning the same spot for the last five minutes.

Heck, he doesn’t even know me, and he can tell my mood is all over the place.

“When are you going to tell me what crawled up your ass and died?” Kirby’s voice breaking the silence makes me stop fidgeting. She doesn’t turn from her task, just waits.

I look over at Grant, who stops his cleaning and looks at me with a smile. “I’m just going to go … uh, check on … hell, I’m leaving.” Looking flustered, he grabs his kit and walks out the door.

“I have ten minutes before I need to be on set. Ten minutes, Willow. Give it to me.” She puts the last brush away, grabs her kit she will need when she leaves to go stand by for touch-ups, and snaps it closed. Finally, she turns and crosses her arms over her chest. The perfect picture of stubborn compassion.