Someone to Love (4 page)

A bouquet of flames ignites in the small
opening, and the room picks up a rosy glow.

“Thank you,” I whisper as the heat curls
around me.

“Anything for you.” He growls it out with a
perverse smile hedging on his lips. Cruise lands himself by my
side. We watch the fire lick the air with its lusty forked tongues
while I try to surmise the definition of “anything” and the
physical agility it might entail.

“So what happened last summer?” In the event
he thinks my girl parts might be a good repository for the hard-on
blooming in his jeans, I thought I’d throw in the vague mention of
his ex. “Rumor has it, that it was pretty harsh.” I brace myself
for the unromantic tragedy that’s about to unfold. I’m thinking
bare-breasted coeds are involved.

“Just your run-of-the-mill breakup. But
everyone’s got one of those, right?” He taps my shoe with his and
scoots in. The thick veins in his arms protrude like cables, and
his muscles bulge for no good reason. It makes me want to touch
them and see what they feel like.

“No bad breakup for me,” I whisper. “If you
don’t give your heart away, you can’t get it broken.”

His pale eyes latch onto mine. He holds my
gaze, heavy as steel.

“No truer words were ever spoken,” he says it
low, sad as if he means it but too much.

Cruise softens and gives a little smile. He
washes over me with a delicate gaze, and my insides pinch
tight.

There’s something brewing inside him, inside
me, and I’ve never felt this way before. It’s probably just his
hormonal superpowers having their effect on me—our pheromones
conducting their obligatory exchange. I bet he slays women nightly
with that same “broken heater” routine. I suspect he’ll volunteer
to keep me warm by way of body heat any moment now. Or at least I’m
hoping.

“I can see why girls flock to you.” I turn my
face toward the fire in an effort to break the spell.

“Why’s that?” He catches my gaze again, and
this time its impossible to look away.

“Because anybody can have you.” I don’t
bother telling him he’s gorgeous. I’m sure he’s well aware as
evidenced by all the positive vaginal reinforcement. “You haven’t
known me for three hours, and I bet if I ripped my jeans off, you
wouldn’t turn down the offer.” Crap. I think I just subliminally
propositioned him.

“You’re a smart girl, Kenny—beautiful too.”
He gives the curve of a lewd smile and everything in me burns with
heat.

I’ve never been called beautiful by a person
of the penis before and this pleases me with a strange intensity.
It’s as if I’ve needed it, craved it like a glass of water for my
parched affection.

“So when do we get to the ripping of the
jeans?” He inquires with far more eagerness than expected, and a
titter of excitement prickles through me.

“I take it you think my experiment should
commence with you.” Please God say yes.

“The experiment in which you attack the
unsuspecting crotches of every living male on campus? Unless, of
course, you plan on including corpses in your little jaunt on the
wild side. We house those in the health and sciences building.” He
gives a disbelieving smile. “Let the good times roll, Kenny.” It
comes out a dare as he peers at me seductively from under his
hooded lids—a dirty grin forces his dimples to twitch in turn.

“I’m starting with Pennington, remember?” I’m
quick to shoot him down. Pennington probably counts as a corpse.
“Besides, it would make my mother’s life if he were my first
ex-husband. I think it’s the cash payout that has her drooling more
than it is some romantic notion that her daughter and the son of
her once upon a best friend, go down in matrimonial flames
together.”

“Sounds painful.”

“It will be.” I take in his full lips, his
high-set cheeks. He’s driving me insane by way of his five o’clock
shadow. His lids hang heavy as he openly eyes my cleavage.
“Although—I should probably get some experience under my belt
before I go after a prize like Pennington. You know, practice the
fine art of saliva swapping, among other things.” God, how I would
love to practice the fine art of transferring bodily fluids with,
Cruise Let-Me Deliver-You-from-Your-Virginity Elton.

He examines me an inordinate amount of time,
uncertain of whom I profess to be. He picks up my hand and presses
his lips over the back, soft and warm. It sets everything in me on
fire.

“I’m more than happy to offer up my tutorial
services.” He leans back and sweeps his eyes over me as if I were a
meal, but there’s a sadness lurking in them just beneath the
surface.

“So when do we begin?” I’m not sure I’m ready
to give it all away right here in Massachusetts next to a blazing
fire with a guy I hardly know, but a small part of me is begging
for just that.

“Tomorrow.” He gives a quick wink while
helping me to my feet. “Why don’t you get to bed.”

“Where you going?” My stomach bottoms out.
He’s probably got an entire stream of girls lined up for the night
who are more than qualified to handle whatever he’s willing to dish
out—and because of my incessant need to preserve my virginity, I
won’t be one of them.

“There’s a cold shower with my name on it,”
he says, walking away.

Cold shower?

I watch as Cruise disappears into the hall
and the pipes squeal to life from the bathroom.

I can’t believe a player like Cruise Elton
wouldn’t try to take advantage of me. It’s obvious virgins aren’t
high on his to-do list tonight.

Maybe Cruise Elton isn’t the player he makes
himself out to be.

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?”

“I want everything we share to be real.” She
winks a quick smile.

So do I. “Sounds like a date.”

Kendall

Magic in the Air

The Christmas tree lot is strangely
jam-packed, on this, the final night to decorate over-glorified
shrubbery. Kids run wild with cups of cocoa while clusters of
people stand about, talking and laughing. I get the feeling this is
what social gatherings will look like in the collegiate afterlife,
once you gravitate outside the Greek system and procreation
instincts take over.

The clouds overhead wear dusty purple skins,
yet somehow the evergreens still manage to lend their shadows over
the pale dirt that spreads wide for acres.

“Last day at the tree lot is always a
madhouse,” Cruise says, navigating us through the melee. I watch as
the muscles in his neck pop when he swallows, his jaw redefines
itself with even the slightest inflection. He offers a soft smile
to the kids who swim past us with glee, and that simple show of
affection warms me to him. Everything about Cruise has my interest
piqued, and it makes me wonder where these feelings came from. Had
I been saving them up for someone like Cruise all along? Had my
mother ever felt this way during one of her serial marriages? Maybe
this is the magic that starts the ball rolling, then it evaporates,
and you find yourself looking for an apartment with two kids in
tow.

“It’s the opposite back home,” I tell him as
we step through a cushion of pine needles at least a foot deep.
“Everyone I know starts decking the halls the day after
Thanksgiving—and the tree lots are bare two weeks into
December.”

“Sounds like home is a nice place.” A plume
of fog emits from his lips as he eases into a smile—this time it’s
all for me. He picks up my hand and leads me through the crowd.
“You mind?” He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Not at all,” I say as my shoes crunch over
the discarded boughs. “We need to start somewhere if you’re going
to teach me your womanizing ways.” I try to sound like it’s no big
deal, but in truth, I feel weak, nauseated, and extremely giddy at
the prospect of holding his hand. It’s electrifying—an honest to
God high that rivals any narcotic known to man. The boys back home
didn’t have the power to make me feel this way. And I certainly
don’t have any desire to touch any part of Pennington, let alone
any of his drunken frat brothers like I may have eluded. And since
when did I add the fine art of lying to my personal resume? And for
what? To trick him into some kind of twisted relationship?
Although, someone like Cruise isn’t interested in something
long-term for the same reason I’m not. It never works out in the
end.