She ticks her head back rebuffing the idea.
Knew it. She’s a big phony.
A smile twitches on my lips, but I won’t give it.
“New Years’?” She shakes her head. “How about Valentine’s Day? That might be a nice touch. I’m sentimental that way.” She gives an impish grin.
I’m quick to do the math. “Nine weeks without sex? What planet are you from?”
She opens her mouth to protest, and I place a finger over her butter soft lips.
“I’m teasing.” I trace the outline of her mouth as she arches back with pleasure. “I haven’t forgotten your virginal standing. And believe me when I say, I’ll prepare you well.” I pull my finger down her neck, and she gives an uncontrollable shiver.
“I’d hate to take up too much of your time.” She looks down forlorn for a moment, like maybe she wouldn’t mind taking up a little more of my time than she’s letting on. “I mean, you know, I’d hate for the scoreboard on your bedpost to go stale because of me.”
I drink Kenny down with her wide-eyed innocence, her spectacular level of vulnerability that sends my testosterone into overdrive.
“The scoreboard should probably take a breather. I was thinking about taking a break, anyway. That way I can hone in all my efforts on you.” I stop shy of any sexual illustrations that were begging to fly from my lips. There’s no way I’m going to feed her to the masses at Garrison or anywhere else. I’ll simply teach her a thing or two about the male anatomy. Hell, maybe she’ll like this slice of genetic pie enough to want to stick around—come back for seconds, over and over again.
“So, I guess you’ll be my first.” She leans in and her breasts ripple out of her low-cut sweater. I try to keep my eyes level to hers, but it’s like holding up a battleship.
“I guess I will.”
I’m mesmerized by this goddess before me. The idea of being with Kenny, of touching her heated skin to mine, burying myself inside her, sends blood rushing to places that will make for an interesting conversation in a few minutes, and I start to sweat.
What the hell has me so rattled? I do this all the time. It’s practically a vocation I’m participating in on the side. I’ve completed a forensics exchange with an indiscriminate number of women every week for the last seven months, and not once have I felt like a schoolboy about to ask the prettiest girl in school to prom. Kendall Jordan simply wants me to teach her the fine art of screwing her way around campus—nothing more, nothing less.
“Where should we start?” Say bedroom.
I lean in and wait for a reply.
“Maybe take it sort of slow.” She winces. “Maybe we can start with a movie?” She shrinks a little when she says it, and I wrestle back a laugh that demands to bark from my lungs.
“A movie.” I nod. Seated in opposite ends of the theater I’m suspecting.
“Yes.” She closes her eyes a moment. “Then, we’ll round out the bases. What exactly are the bases?”
“First base.” I run my finger over her bee-stung lips. “Second base.” I drop my hand just shy of her left boob then back up. “Third base is holding me naked.” I give the impression of a wicked smile. “With the lights on.”
“Is not.” She scoffs.
“It can be. Anyway it’s just a step away from turning in your v-card, so use your imagination. We can employ the leashes if you like.”
“No thanks.” She’s quick to reject the idea. “That’s an advanced field of sexual aerodynamics I am far from ready for.”
There’s a brief knock at the door before it swings open. I keep meaning to take the key away from my mother.
Mom drops an industrial sized plastic storage bin onto the floor with the words X-Mas scrawled across the side. She gawks over at the two of us like she’s never seen a creature quite like Kenny before—and I’m damn sure she hasn’t.
“You have company!” Her frizzy blond mane has ballooned twice its size, and she’s donned her signature leopard print coat for the occasion. Kenny jumps up and is quick to greet her. I can’t remember the last time Mom met a girl I was with, although technically I’m not with Kenny. I’m little more than a talking dildo at this point, but I accept the challenge. In fact, right about now, I’m feeling kind of lucky for hitting the party last night and embroiling myself in an agreement with one of the hottest girls on both the East and West Coast.
I hop over. “Mom this is Kenny. Kenny, this is Samantha, my mother.”
“Oh please, call me Sam.” Mom lunges into her with an awkward hug and for the first time I do believe my mother is getting more action with a girl I’m “with” than I am. “Hey”—she dips into her purse and pulls out a little pink envelope—“I happen to own the hottest salon this side of New York City. Why don’t you come down and get the works, on me!”