Someone to Love (23 page)

“Kenny, wait.” I jump out of my seat just as
the bartender sets down our drinks. Kenny hops up on the bar and
sways her hips to the music like a seasoned stripper. Her jacket is
missing, and her shirt is unbuttoned all the way to the bottom with
the ends tied just under her rack, and I know damn well that’s
country for
fuck me.

“Shit,” I say, trying to squeeze my way
through the crowd. “
Kenny
,” I shout up at her, but she’s
avoiding me all together. Way to piss her off on her birthday.

“Body shots!” She yells over the music with
the enthusiasm of a cheerleader during a Hail Mary touchdown. She
lies on the bar and I lose sight of her due to the insurmountable
interest she’s drawing from the boozers sporting their boners on
their sleeves.

I try to wrestle my way through the crowd,
catching a glimpse of her between drunken frat boys, only to find
some idiot’s face buried in her chest, rocking his head side to
side.

“Shit.”

Kenny sits up and tries to bat him away as I
plow through the tangle of bodies. I lose any polite bone I may
have ever had and blow through men and women alike before snatching
the asshole by the back of his shirt and launching him across the
room like a ballistic missile.

A pair of arms yank me backward—a fist
crashes square over my lips.

Shit. Idiots usually travel in packs, so the
barrage of unexpected limbs firing in my direction doesn’t surprise
me. What does surprise me is the fact I launch my own assault and
land three of the morons on the ground in a heap.

“Kenny?” I turn back and catch her buttoning
her blouse. She looks over at me with a naughty smile pulling at
the corner of her lips. My insides explode in a ball of lust at the
sight of her. Nothing like a bar fight to confirm that the girl
you’re going to spend your life with is staring you in the
face.

My legs pull out from underneath me, and I
land hard on my side, knocking the air from my lungs. A swift blow
to the gut leaves me choking, followed by the more traditional kick
to the nuts. Then, as a grand finale, a power blow to the head
stops me cold from participating in the fine art of nursing my
balls.

The world warbles in and out like a dream as
the room fades to grey.

Kendall

The Gift

They killed Cruise.

I whimper as the bouncer dropkicks him onto
the snowy sidewalk like a rotten sack of potatoes.

“Cruise?” I rattle him by the shoulders,
demanding he come to because I’ll be damned if he dies on my
birthday. “Cruise! Wake up,” I scream, slapping him gently over the
face.

He pulls his knees in and winces. Maybe I
should have left him unconscious for a little while longer. At
least that way he could have staved off the pain of having his
balls inverted.

“Shit,” he gravels it out.

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” I help him
to his feet and land his arm around my shoulders as we amble back
to the truck.

“I’m okay,” he says, dropping his head
between his knees for a moment like he’s totally not. He looks like
he’s about to hurl, but instead he draws in a deep breath and comes
up fighting with a flicker of resolve, determined not to pass out
again.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“What for?” He plucks the keys from his
pocket, and the truck chirps to life.

“You’re hurt.” My voice cracks. Tears are
pooling, turning the world into a watery illusion, and there’s no
way to stop them. I’ve turned into a monster and inadvertently may
have cost Cruise any hope of carrying on the family name.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the
window to confirm my beastly theory. There I am, completely
disheveled. My lipstick is smeared—my shirt is buttoned wrong, and
my mascara has begun a mud slick down my cheeks. Who’s that girl,
and what the hell am I doing to the people I love?

Did I say
love
?

“You’re the one who’s hurting, Kenny. I don’t
want you to hurt.” He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my
waist, solid and strong. “I don’t want you to do this anymore.”

I lean back and take him in. His velum eyes
illuminate in the night, causing my body to quiver at the sight of
him.

“What don’t you want me to do?” I say it low
in the event I won’t like the answer.

“Pretend like you don’t care.” His dimples
press in like twin shadows. The muscles in his jaw clench as he
swallows hard. “You’re not the kind of girl who runs around after
guys for the thrill of it. You had some vendetta to prove your
stepfather wrong, and in an effort to prove a point, you came close
to degrading yourself on a level that I’d never want for you in any
lifetime.” Cruise presses in like he’s hedging for a kiss. There’s
a tenderness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before in him or
anybody else. “You’re special, Kenny. You deserve to be loved,
wanted, and desired by someone who appreciates you for the treasure
you are.”

His words cover my wounds like a balm. All of
the self-doubt, the self-incrimination, the pity parties rolled
into one—Cruise is healing them with his mouth, his kind heart.

“Do you think I’m a treasure?” The words
stream out like the plea of a child—an unpretentious question that
has its hope pinned on only one answer.

“Yes.” A smile blooms from his lips, and joy
percolates to the surface. “I thought so right from the beginning.
I never intended on throwing you to the wolves.” A rumble of
laughter ripples through his chest, and my body moves in rhythm.
“Kenny?” He tilts into me. His features grow all together serious.
“I don’t want you to become the female version of me.” His Adam’s
apple rises and falls. “I’m not so interested in being me anymore,
either. When I saw you at the party that first night, you changed
everything for the better. I think you’re the best thing that’s
ever happened to me, Kendall Jordan.” He takes in a breath as if he
were bracing himself for a leap off the Empire State building.
“And, I love you.”

Every cell in my body sighs with relief. It’s
as if Cruise had taken me under the shelter of his wing, covered me
in the membrane of those powerful words, and for the first time in
my entire life, I feel safe, secure in every way.

“You love me?” I whisper it breathless at the
thought of being loved by someone as kind and gorgeous as Cruise.
I’m not sure I had ever heard those words from anyone outside of my
mother, and from her, it was born with grief as if she were
apologizing for my existence on some level.

“Yes, I love you.” His brows dip in
amused—baffled I could believe otherwise. “I love you, Kenny. I
love everything about you.”

Cruise sinks a kiss over my lips that
emphasizes his newfound affection for me far greater than words
could ever hope to express. He’s pouring an intoxicating elixir
right down into my soul through his loving lingual expression. This
is ecstasy, rapture. Cruise is turning water into wine and I am
ready and willing to drink down the miracle.

The snow dances over us, soft like a
blessing. Cruise rides his warm hands up my shirt, singeing me with
his heat, and suddenly I want nothing more than his entire body
covering mine.

I pull back. My eyes remain closed an
inordinate amount of time. I’m dizzy with his words, drunk on his
kisses, and I want so much more from Cruise tonight.

I blink into him. He’s still here. He’s real.
All of this is real.

“I love you, too, Cruise. I’ve never felt
like this about anybody. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”
I press my lips against his and drag them all the way to his ear.
“Let’s go home. I want to show you exactly how much I want
you.”

Cruise glides us over iced roads and lands us
in the driveway at record speeds. He whisks me in his arms and
carries me over the threshold with his lips adhered to mine.
Perhaps he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, and this is his way of
keeping me quiet, but the love he declared just moments before
resonates through my soul like a bell you hear high and clear long
after it’s stopped ringing.

I slide down his leg, playfully tugging him
toward his bedroom.

He shakes his head and pulls me into my room
instead.

“It’s this bed I haven’t defiled. I want
everything we share to be special—pure.” He dots my forehead with a
heated kiss. “I want you to remember this.”

My heart thumps in a series of wild
convulsions. Cruise wants this to be special, memorable, and pure.
I don’t turn on the lights. I simply flick off my heels and pull
him to the mattress.

Cruise lies over me as we exchange a kiss
that pulls out for eternity—the hot bite of lust fresh on his
tongue. The bulge in his jeans aches for me already. I try to
memorize the husky moans emanating from his throat, the way his
body presses into mine as if it desires nothing more than to melt
over me—
into
me. But deep inside I don’t want to simply
remember this, I want to relive it night after night.

My hands spread over his chest in one
sweeping move and pull off his coat as I fumble with his buttons.
Cruise peels off my jacket. We’re all hands and teeth as we discard
our clothes in staccato jerks. Cruise reduces me to panties and a
bra, while I manage to strip him clean in less than a minute.

I pull back and examine him as an anemic
spray of moonlight dusts over his body—his broad chest, the curves
of his well-hewn arms. I run my hands over his skin and appreciate
the granite-like texture, nothing but skin over steel. A ragged
breath escapes me as I reach down and run my fingers through the
soft curls just below his hips. Cruise is hard, like he was this
afternoon, and this time there’s no metric distance between us, no
audience to depreciate the moment, just the two of us, all night,
nowhere to go.

I close my fingers around him, and he lets
out a heated breath.

“
Kenny
.” He buries the whisper
directly in my ear. My fingers flex over him. He’s smooth, like
velvet covering marble—a ridge traces up the back toward the tip. I
run my hand to the base and touch him underneath where the skin is
soft and tender, so incredibly full. It takes both my hands just to
hold him.

“I love you,” he whispers, dotting my neck
with kisses. His hands slide down the back of my underwear and stop
high on my hips. My body arches into his, and every ounce of me
cries out for him to remove them, to explore every intimate part of
me with his touch, his mouth. Cruise runs his fingers along the
elastic and gives a gentle tug.

His heart pounds erratic over mine, letting
me know without a doubt, he craves this as much as I do.

He pulls off my underwear, unhinges my bra,
and I’m quick to toss it to the side. Cruise pulls me in with
erotically slow, barely there kisses.

This unbearable ache to have him is mounting
to an all-out explosion.

Cruise hikes up on his elbow and washes over
me with a peaceable smile. I glance down at my pale arms, my
breasts that bloom like magnolias in the night, paper-white and
glowing.

His dimples flex as he takes me in. “I’ve
never done this before,” he whispers it like a secret buried in
midnight, and for a moment, I wonder if all the male prowess was
nothing but an act, but I doubt that.

“Done what?” I gently drag my nails across
his chest like painting a picture. “Had sex?” I tease. “Are you
feeling like a virgin?” I meant for it come out soaked in sarcasm,
but it sails from my lips as if I were presenting him with a
menu—myself as the virgin. I’m too locked up in the beauty of the
moment to leverage any of this with humor. I run my fingers through
his hair and quiver for him.

“I’ve had sex plenty of times, but I’ve never
made love.” He says it with an earnestness that can only be born
from the truth.