1
Kendall
Pleased to Meet You
“Coke or Pepsi?” the Adonis before me asks, as if the only thing he intends on quenching is my thirst. I think inaugurating me as his love slave for the evening is more specific to the point.
He’s tall with broad shoulders and light blue eyes the color that rain wishes it could be. He sports a five o’clock shadow, the stubble is a little darker than the caramel hair protruding from his ball cap. His cheeks are cut high and chiseled. He’s one of those guys—the ones that make your stomach squeeze tight with just one wayward look. We’ve been stealing glances for the better part of an hour even though he was seven-deep in girls, two of them gnawing on his ear and neck respectively.
The Christmas lights on the anemic tree behind him blink on and off spastically in a rainbow of holiday hues with a pink bulb winking out of synch.
“I haven’t played Questions since ninth grade,” I say, turning to the burgeoning crowd, pretending like I’m not interested. Not that I didn’t get the fact he was offering me a drink. Honestly, if a guy of his loose moral caliber wants to sleep with me, the first thing I’m going to do is make his brain cells strain a little—that is, if he has any.
All I really want to do is find Pennington and convince him to stop guzzling his high-octane beverages long enough to show me to my dorm. That was my first stupid move in what’s panning out to be a bona fide fiasco—trusting a moron with my housing arrangements.
“Questions?” The Adonis dips in with a lewd smile budding on his lips. He’s wearing a white cotton T-shirt and dark inky jeans—my all-time favorite combo on a guy. His tennis shoes look as though they’ve seen their fair share of the great outdoors. He’s probably the type who overindulges in half a dozen sex sports before breakfast. I bet he’s some kind of perverted adrenaline junky. God knows he’s pumping up mine.
He drinks me in with a fondling gaze, undressing me with those blue cellophane eyes. He’s rounding out all the bases mentally—he’s already bent me over home plate, I can tell.
“You know, Questions,” I say, “Coke or Pepsi, male or female—in or out .” I’m not sure if peppering the conversation with innuendo is the best idea, although it’s most likely his native language. I look past him at the crowd, trying to distract myself from the fact he’s even more alarmingly handsome up close than he was clear across the room.
“In or out?” He says, seductively. “Definitely in, and for sure, female.” He gives it in a heated whisper just over my ear and rips a fire through my insides, awakening something in me on a primal level. His voice resonates above the raucous music, and my eyes close involuntarily at the quasi proposition.
Shit. I startle to my senses and scan the room for the simpleton I might be moved to strangle once I locate. It’s my first day here at Garrison, and I’ve landed at some frat party hosted by my mom’s best friend’s son, at Alpha Sigma Phi, with my luggage sitting in the corner still fresh from the airport.
The Adonis pushes out a smile, and a pair of deep-set dimples go off, rendering me defenseless.
Honest to God, I’m about five minutes from pulling Mr. Coke or Pepsi into the corner and raking my body against his. Not that I’ve ever done that before, nor have I ever been motivated to do so. But after a long travel day, and a four-hour layover in five-inch heels, spontaneous sex doesn’t sound so bad.
“Cruise Elton.” He shoves his hand at me as if we were about to conduct business, and something in me softens to him. His glacial eyes burn into mine. He’s watching me, drilling his watery pools through all of the formidable layers I hide beneath. He’s inspecting me for the truth, for the underpinnings of who I really am. I bet he’s embroiled in deep philosophical questions like do I know how to properly utilize my tongue and whether or not I have a piercing that could pleasure him into an erotic nirvana.
“Kendall Jordan,” I yell over the music, taking up his warm, thick fingers. He feels safe, reliable, and something stirs in me when we touch.
“Nice to meet you Kenny.” He gives a wicked grin and swivels his hips into mine. He’s still acting like the playboy he’s been for the last hour, but something in his eyes tempers when he says my name, albeit incorrectly.
“It’s Kendall,” I repeat, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles, memorizing how he feels before letting go. I wish I were one of “those” girls. If I were ever going to be one, tonight would be the night.
“You look more like a Kenny to me. Cute and sporty.” He plucks off his baseball cap revealing dark blond waves before settling it over his head again. His shirt rises over his tan stomach, offering me a glimpse of rippling muscles, solid as granite, and I resist the urge to run my fingers over him like some erotic form of Brail.