I’m a sick and twisted hornbag.
I’m too ashamed to look at his face, I don’t know what his reaction to my stare-athon is.
In my mind, this is what I look like: A giant St. Bernard, huffing and panting with sloppy drool falling out of my mouth, whimpering, like I need to lick and taste a giant bone inches from my face.
He can be my giant bone. Oh. My. God. Bone.
I should lick him.
Just his chest.
NO! I’m not that wasted.
Is he? Maybe he won’t remember if I just have one lick.
I start to turn to my side and face him, my eyes on his chest.
Do it…
“Kayla?”
“Mmm?” I’m literally eye licking him.
“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna have to ask you to take your shirt off so we’re even.”
Chapter 21
*Mikayla*
I snap back to reality at that comment and jump back a bit.
I was legit 2 seconds away from licking him.
I laugh to myself and haul ass to the bathroom so I can steady my breathing and get some space.
I look in the mirror, but in my mind all I see is that St. Bernard.
I laugh out loud this time.
“What’s so funny in there?” he asks, yelling, so I can hear him through the bathroom door.
“I was totally going to lick you!”
“WHAT?!” he yells.
What the fuck? Why did I say that?
“Nothing…”
***
When I finally get out of the bathroom, he’s half lying on the bed, legs on the floor, like he just flung himself backwards from that sitting position, one arm over his eyes. He hears me coming out but doesn’t move to look.
“I’m like, in a euphoric state of buzzed right now,” he mumbles. “How are you holding up?”
“Me too, I think I’m a little worse off though.” I sit on the bed. “Hey, Jake?”
“mmm?”
“You need to put a shirt on.”
He doesn’t say anything, just gets up, goes to his bag and throws on a shirt.
He then walks over and pours two glasses of champagne, with ice, and hands one to me.
Half an hour later we’re on the floor, laughing again.
“We should play truth or dare!” I yell, like it’s the greatest idea in the world.
“Orrrrr…” he says, finger up in the air like he has a better idea, “I could braid your hair and we can watch Hannah Montana, that would be swell.”
“I’m serious.”
We’re both back to being past buzzed.
“I’m serious too, Kayla. You don’t need to pretend to play games, if you want to fool around, just say it,” he jokes, while reaching out to grab a boob.
I swat it away with my hand and giggle. He feigns disappointment. “Seriously, Kayla. Ask me anything, I’ll tell you the truth. Same goes for you though, okay?”
“Done,” I nod. “Me first, though. How many girls have you slept with?”
He moans and rolls his eyes. He pours himself another glass of champagne as he says, “Shit, I’ve gotta hit the gym tomorrow.”
“All right, ‘Caption Deflect-O’, answer the question.”
He sighs. “I can’t give you a number, Kayla.”
I look at him, eyes wide, asking him to continue. “I dunno,” he shrugs, “between like 30-50, I guess.”
My nose scrunches when I give him a disgusted look.
“Don’t look at me like that, and don’t judge me. I was a different person then,” he says.
“A different person? As in maybe there were 5 or 6 physically different persons? That would make it less pig-ish then.”
He chuckles. “My turn, I dare you…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “to let me touch your boobs.”
“Errrr, I’ll take truth thanks,” I say through a chuckle.
“Dammit!” he spits out mockingly. “Okay, is it true… that… you want me to touch your boobs?” He starts reaching his hand out for a grab. I swat it away and laugh out loud.
“You kinda turn into a horny creeper when your drunk, this game’s over.”
I start to get into bed, and he follows.
Once were snuggled under the covers and I’m nestled on his chest, his arm around me, hand on my waist, he kisses my forehead.
We’re both a little sleepy drunk.
“I was just kidding about the boob thing, Kayla,” he says through a yawn.
“I know.”
There’s silence for so long I don’t know if he’s fallen asleep. His breathing is even and his chest rises and falls rhythmically.
“Hey, Jake?” I whisper, hoping not to wake him if he has fallen asleep.
“Mmmm?”
“Have you ever been in love?”
He sounds so sleepy when he answers, “You’ve already asked me this.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get a proper answer.”
“Yeah you did, and that’s all you’ll get. Goodnight, Kayla.”
“Hey, Jake?”
“Yeah, Kayla?” He’s almost asleep.
“I more than a lot like you.”
It’s quiet for so long I don’t know if he heard me.
Then, “I more than a lot like you too, so much more than a lot.”
***
True to his word, Jake gets up early the next morning and goes to the hotel gym. I meet him there about an hour and a half later. I feel guilty about all the desert and alcohol I’ve had over the last couple of days and figure I should do something about it.
When I get there, I see Jake in his work out clothes lifting weights.
His arms, tanned and defined, flexing with every movement.
I’m not the only one that notices, a group of women, who I think are a few years older than us, pretend to be stretching in front of him, but I know what they’re really doing, and it pisses me off.
The truth is, Jake, he’s a whole other level.
Jake Andrews, the could be Pro Baseballer.
I mean, there are boys, and then there are men.
And even though we’re the same age, I still feel like a little girl next to him.
James was a big dude, he was a jock too, but with him, it felt the way it was supposed to, like we were high school sweethearts. I felt like were on an even playing field, while he felt like playing the field. I roll my eyes at the thought.
I’m in the real world now.
And in the real world, there are no Jake Andrews for me.
I suddenly don’t feel like working out anymore.
I just want to go back to the hotel room and be the frumpy stupid little girl that I am.
As I turn to leave, Jake sees me and calls out my name.
I turn back and wait for him. He puts his weights down and starts walking over, but not before a more than stunning blond stands up to block his path. Great.
He almost crashes into her, and has to hold her up, one hand on her arm, the other on her waist.
“Woah,” he says, “are you all right?”
I see her eyes widen when she hears him speak, his deep manly voice, his accent.
She puts a hand on his chest, rubs up against his side and goes on her tip toes to whisper in his hear. She’s tiny, so he as to bend down to hear what she’s saying.
After a couple of seconds his eyes widen and he raises his eyes to look at me, head still bent to listen to whatever Slutbag has to say. I few seconds later, which feel like fricken hours, Slutbag straightens up and hands him a piece of paper.
Her phone number.
Of course.
He takes it with a nod and puts it in his pocket.
My heart drops to the floor into a pool of my idiotic childish jealousy.
I can’t stand to see any more and I’m sure the lump in my throat is a sign that soon, I will burst into tears. And if I do, when I do, I sure as hell don’t want it to be here.