Someone to Love(9)
Deep down inside I hope he’s not.
Cruise
In the morning, I wake with a start from a disturbing dream where I’m drowning in a sea of long, soft limbs.
I’m not sure what I find so disturbing about it since it’s otherwise classified as a typical Friday night. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and throw myself in the shower.
After, I make an effort to put on a pair of jeans that have actually seen the inside of a washing machine this month.
Kenny’s door is shut, so I can only assume she’s still here. I imagine her sprawled over the bed, naked, with her hair fanned around her like long black feathers. I’d love to see that in person. If she wasn’t so damn sweet, I would have pressed a little harder to witness the sight firsthand.
I make breakfast for the two of us while a sea of dark clouds watch silent outside the kitchen window. They lay over the sky, heavy and full, like wool blankets ready to burst.
Kenny ambles into the room with her hair swept back in a ponytail. Her long T-shirt is tight over her chest, annunciating the fact she’s not wearing a bra. Not that I mind her beautiful round nipples staring me in the face.
The air sizzles—the room sparks to life with her in it. Kenny manages to brighten the house with a glow all her own.
“Morning, sunshine.” I give a crooked smile while jabbing at a mountain of bacon. I land enough on each plate to clog both our arteries, decades before it’s time.
“Morning.” She moans into the word. Her mascara is slightly smeared. She’s sleepy-eyed and sexy as hell.
“You dream about me?” I land two fully loaded plates onto the table and dart back for coffee.
“I guess the more important question is did you dream about me?” She takes a seat and looks up with those diamond-cut eyes causing my mind to draw a fucking blank. Everything about Kenny feels like a dream, especially the part about not sleeping with me last night, which is mostly my fault. I’ve yet to corrupt a virgin, and I’m pretty sure I’m not starting with Kenny.
Her eyes drift to a pair of leashes by the backdoor, and my blood turns to ice because I know what’s coming.
“So, where are the dogs?” She says it playful, far too innocent to be faking. I thought for sure the vulgar nature of the leashes, the thick metal spikes, the red leather tassels dripping from the collar would set off the fact they were exclusively for human purposes—or inhuman, take your pick.
“Are they outside?” She peers out the window still fixing her innocence on the prospect of a furry companion.
“There are no dogs, Kenny.” I lift my chin to her slightly amused, and my stomach drops at how gorgeous she is in this slightly disheveled state of early morning glory. “Those leashes aren’t for walking, young lady.” I swallow down a laugh.
“Looks like you run a pretty sophisticated playboy-for-hire ring.”
Her eyes widen and that dimple goes off, melting my insides in a way I’ve never felt before.
“Is that my first lesson?” She breathes it out like a proposition. “Leather and lace?”
A smile digs into the side of my cheek. “You’re not ready for that, sweetie.” A heated moment passes between us as I raise my mug. “Merry Christmas.”
“That’s today!” Her face brightens. “I forgot all about the fact it’s Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas.” Her smile slowly diminishes as she runs her fork through her eggs. “It’s weird though. I’ve never been away from my mom, or my brother, Morgan. He’s out in Oregon on a baseball scholarship.”
“I have a sister you can adopt for the holiday if you feel the need to rain down gifts on someone.” Molly is a certified head-case, but I leave that part out.
Kenny could slather me with gifts of the physical variety if she felt so moved, but I’m slow to bring up that prospect.
“I would love to rain down gifts on your sister, that is if I had the money.” She makes a face. “My neighbor is a stewardess and I was on standby for a cheap flight. She helped me get the ticket so I had to come. And here I am on Christmas, pretty much alone.”
“Looks like Santa just left a perfectly good brunette in my stocking. You’ll have to spend it with me.”
“Well if Santa insists.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, and my insides burn with a fire all their own.
The sudden urge to rake the table clean and take her right here crops up, but I’m quick to resist the craving.
“Looks like we’d better get a tree,” I say, exhilarated by the idea of doing anything with Kenny. I take in the long river of ebony hair sweeping over her shoulder, her tan legs that ride up past her T-shirt, and wonder if she would ever want someone like me. “The tree—real or fake?”