Someone to Love (29 page)

Really?
Some people
.

I go over and take a seat next to Lauren and
Ally.

“Morning!” I sing.

Lauren’s face is bloated and patchy as if
she’s been up crying all night.

“Everything okay?” Everything is not okay,
but I’m pretty sure,
who the hell shit on you
isn’t the best
way to start a conversation.

“Lauren unearthed some serious incriminating
evidence,” Ally whispers, speaking in code. “Lace panties tucked in
the couch.” She makes a face. “That’s the calling card of every
tramp who wants to get discovered.”

“Cal?” My mouth falls open as I gape at
Lauren.

“Bright red, crotchless,” she whimpers. “I
found the matching bra under his bed.”

“Sounds like a progressive dinner was enjoyed
by all,” Ally snipes.

“I’m so sorry.” I reach over and lay my hand
over hers. I genuinely feel bad for Lauren. And, if it were the old
me, I might have given her a spiel on how love doesn’t exist, but I
don’t buy that anymore. A very real part of me wants to give her
hope. “You’ll find someone else. There’s someone special out there
just for you. Believe me, the last thing you want is someone who
strays.” I hate cheaters. This is the exact kind of bullshit my
friends in high school had to deal with. It seemed like everyone’s
boyfriend was prone to dip his wick whenever the offer presented
itself. It was part of the reason I wasn’t so quick to jump into a
relationship. Not that Cruise would ever do that. We have something
special.

“I thought we had something special,” she
bleats.

I swallow hard. There’s no way in hell Cruise
and I could ever land in the deep end of the shitter like Lauren
and Cal. What we have is forever.

“I thought we would be together forever.” Her
words meld with a cry.

“She hasn’t called him out on it.” Ally nods
into Lauren as if coaxing the truth out of her.

“He has a lot of parties at his place.”
Lauren digs her pinkies into the corners of her eyes and is quick
to recompose herself. “There’s a good chance he’s innocent.
Besides, I think I should throw a pretty brunette at him one more
time to solidify my theory.” She hardens her gaze as if to insist I
have no say in the boyfriend-trapping matter.

“He was totally resistive the last time we
tried,” I say, trying to break it to her gently. “Besides, it felt
like I was assaulting him.”

“That’s because you were in public, and Ally
works there. He knows I’m never that far from Ally. It extinguished
his potential hard-on.”

“No.” I shake my head.

“One last time, I swear,” she pleads.

I hate the thought of having her disappointed
in me, but something about it doesn’t feel right.

“Look,” I say, getting up to head to my
English class, “I know a girl who has some unspoken vendetta
against anyone with a spare appendage hanging between his legs.
She’d probably be happy to do it. I need to run.”

They offer anemic good-byes as I head out
into the cold.

It seems like everyone has a boyfriend, or
husband, that cheats. Maybe Mom’s long line of ill-gotten suitors
wasn’t such a fluke after all.

Cruise is different. I can feel it.

I wonder if my mother ever said that about
any of her ex-husbands?

Dear God, Cruise had better be different.

In the evening, under a sterile bloom of
moonlight, Cruise drives us over to an Italian restaurant called
the, Della Argento. We round out the building and find a spot not
too far from the entrance. It looks busy, but Cruise lets me know
he made reservations. Strangely, the sheer mention of reservations
makes me feel more adult than either living three thousand miles
from my mother or copulating with him like a sexed-up bunny.
Reservations require forethought and planning, a phone call—all of
which my adolescent fast-food brain quantifies as a giant leap into
adulthood.

A large gift-wrapped box sits wedged behind
his seat. I pretended not to see it when I climbed in. For all I
know, it could be a birthday gift for maniacal Molly.

“I have something for you.” The sweet kiss of
moonlight pours in through the windshield, caressing his features.
Its clean glow highlights the fact that Cruise is born of God’s own
breath and beauty.

What Cruise Elton ever sees in me I will
never know. He reaches back and pulls the gift up front. The slick
red box takes up the entire space between us. “It’s sort of a
belated birthday gift.” His dimples implode, sending an entire riot
of pleasure spasming through me. Soon, all I’ll have to do is look
at Cruise, and I’ll have a spontaneous orgasm. That should make for
an interesting hour during gender relations.

“You already gave me the perfect gift for my
birthday. It was you, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember.” His cheek digs in
with a naughty half-smile. “Maybe you can jog my memory.”

I give a little laugh and unwrap the shiny
crimson package. A glossy white box lies beneath. Even that feels
expensive, something far too opulent for me to ever own. I lift the
lid and pull back layers of tissue, revealing a dark wool coat. I
extract it with care as I feel its heft, its warmth already
radiating over my fingers. It’s so beautiful—charcoal grey with
matte silver buttons, a svelte woolen sash attached at the
hips.

“
Cruise.
” I gasp as I pull it to my
chest. “It’s gorgeous. You didn’t have to do this.” I happen to
know these are damn expensive.

“I wanted to.” He rounds out his gaze over me
with a quiet stillness.

Cruise bought me a gift. One he couldn’t
really afford. I don’t think anyone has ever done anything so
thoughtful for me before.

“Besides,” he continues, “no matter how hot
you look in that jean jacket of yours, it won’t stave off
pneumonia. And, if you get sick, who am I going to do this with?”
He leans over and indulges in a gentle kiss—the barely there flick
of his tongue caressing mine. A soft moan squeezes out of his
throat and drives me insane with pleasure. For a moment, I think of
abandoning our dinner plans, but he went out of his way to call
ahead, so I don’t say anything.

Cruise comes around to my side and helps me
put the jacket on. It stops just above my knees and warms me as
proficient as a heater. I cinch the belt around my waist, and he
groans while embracing me.

“I didn’t think you could get any hotter.” He
presses out a gorgeous smile and my insides cinch just like that
first night we met. “But you are on fire, Kenny.”

“Well, thank you.” I give his lips a slow
seductive lick in lieu of a kiss.

“And frisky.” He slips an arm around my waist
while adjusting the hard-on in his pants. “You don’t even know what
you’re doing to me.”

The Della Argento is dimly lit with a
romantic ambience sponsored mostly by an arsenal of candles strewn
about. A lush red carpet rolls throughout the walkways, and
replicas of oil paintings from the Renaissance period cover the
walls. A false lattice stretches across the ceiling and rows of
grapes hang overhead like a canopy. Bodies fill the tables as if
they were giving away free booze while a moody instrumental hums
throughout the speakers.

A gorgeous blonde greets us with a pair of
menus. Her hair is curled down to her waist, and her eyes sparkle a
clear shade of green. One eyebrow is arched higher than the other,
giving her that perennial vixen appeal.

“Well, hello handsome.” She gives Cruise the
exclusive greeting as she lunges her cleavage at him. “Is it
snowing outside?” She offers a conciliatory glance in my direction.
Her teeth shine like glass, so white against her perfect red lips.
Just the sight of her turns my stomach. I’m not sure I like the
idea of her smiling so wide at my boyfriend, let alone calling him
handsome, even if he is.

“Nope. Perfect night.” He glances over at me,
and his dimples go off like sirens.

She motions for us to follow her, but she
keeps pace with Cruise, eyeing him every now and again even though
he’s openly holding my hand.

“I think I know you.” She bites her finger
playfully while inspecting him. “That’s right, you were in
Osborne’s class with me last year. I didn’t fare so well.” She
stops shy of a table and lays our menus down. “I could really use
someone who knows what they’re doing. You know, like a tutor.” She
brushes her hip against his in a not so accidental manner, and my
heart sinks like a brick.

Cruise steps out of the way like a perfect
gentleman.

“Good luck with that.” He pulls me in and
kisses the side of my cheek. I can feel the heat from his body
envelop me like a cloud born of desire. I hope the bleached bimbo
is physically and emotionally crushed from his outright disregard
for her. But she’s beautiful—far more in his league than I can ever
be.

She disappears, and we take our seats. I’m
sick over how blatantly she flirted with him. I’ll probably arrange
for her to take a terrible fall at some point this evening because
my immature and bitchy nature demands it. I never said I was above
stretching my legs at an opportune moment.

“Sorry about that.” He picks up my hand and
kisses it.

“Don’t apologize.” I take him in under the
flicker of candlelight. I wouldn’t blame every woman in the
vicinity for wanting to get on their knees for him, beg him to
tutor them—
hell
, I did. “I guess it’s an occupational
hazard.”

He shakes his head. That budding lewd grin
widens as he affixes his gaze over mine.

“Kenny”—his eyes glaze over the way they do
just before he pours out all of his lust for me—“you’re the only
woman I see. I used to wonder if love existed. I thought I knew,
but I had no idea. Before, I simply stepped off the ground, but
with you—I’m in the stratosphere. You leave me breathless.” He
needles me with a smoldering gaze, and I take off my coat, slow and
seductive. I lean in and my chest bulges from the low-cut dress I
specifically chose to entertain him with this evening.

We place our orders, and Cruise never once
looks up at the menu-wielding menace. She crimps her lips with
disappointment and stalks off while he openly molests me with those
sky-born eyes.

“Come on.” He jumps to his feet and takes up
my hand.

“Are we going to steal kisses?” I pant,
trying to keep up as he moves us toward the back in haste.

“No. I’m going to fuck you.”

Cruise

The blackened hall of the Della Argento
stretches out seamlessly like a tunnel void of reality, nothing but
a dark arid space. I pull Kenny into a private alcove laden with
spare tables rolled onto their sides, the entry partially covered
with curtains.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” I say before
plunging my tongue down her throat, my hands running wild over her
satin dress. The minute I set eyes on her tonight, she got me
going. There was a second, back in the truck, when I thought of
taking off, hell—taking off her clothes right then and there.

I pull down the top of her dress and close my
mouth over her nipple, flicking my tongue around it gently until
it’s nice and hard.

Kenny gasps and scratches at the back of my
neck just enough to let me know it’s driving her insane.

My hand slides up her dress and between her
thighs.

A dark laugh rumbles from me.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” I whisper,
already out of breath.

Kenny doesn’t say a word. She simply unzips
my pants, dips her hand into my boxers, and my dick extends like
it’s ready for a handshake, more than happy to greet her.

Kenny’s teeth shine in the dark. “Number
seven on the revised syllabus clearly stipulates a carnal act in a
public establishment is required to pass your class.” She offers a
sarcastic sigh before lifting her dress and slipping me into her,
hot and wet. A groan gets buried in my chest. “And I do plan on
passing your class,
Professor Elton
.” Kenny hikes her legs
around my waist, and I catch her by the thighs.