“Of course.” I pat his knee. “Just let me get the lasagna in the oven, and then I’ll take care of you.” I hand him the remote. “Knock yourself out.”
Chris watches TV, sprawled across the couch, while I finish the lasagna, popping it in the oven before fixing a salad and cutting slices of fresh, crusty bread. Then I retrieve the box with his stuff from the bathroom and pull a chair into the middle of the living room, forcing him to sit down.
“Your hair is so long,” I acknowledge as I drag the comb through it. It’s almost hitting his shoulders.
“You didn’t cut it last time, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
He’d rather spend his money shooting shit in his veins than spend it on a haircut, he means, but I bite my tongue, keeping those thoughts to myself.
I cut his hair, keeping it tight to the nape of his neck and along the sides, and then I shave off his beard, using the electric razor I keep here for him.
He wolfs down two servings of lasagna, and then we watch TV for a couple hours before he falls asleep on the couch. I drape a blanket over him, tucking a pillow under his head, before switching off the lights and creeping out of the living room.
Usually when he shows up, I let him sleep in my bed for the few nights he stays, because God knows where he sleeps most nights, but not this time.
Kent and I are at the start of something good, and it doesn’t feel right to let another man into my bed, even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about it.
I drift off to sleep with thoughts of Kent swirling through my mind, wondering when I’ll see him next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kent
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Topher asks as I slam my tray down on the table in the cafeteria Friday at lunch.
“Is it anything to do with that photo of you online?” Lance inquires, shoveling pizza into his mouth as I claim the seat beside him.
I want to go back to Tuesday night and beat the shit out of that paparazzo and break his camera into a million pieces so that pic of Presley and me ceases to exist. At least I know why Whitney has been blowing up my phone again. I haven’t answered or listened to the hundreds of messages she’s left me, deleting them the second they land in my inbox. Going cold turkey with her is the only way I’ll get through to her. She needs to understand we are done for good this time.
Perhaps the pic of me and Presley will convince her once and for all. Looking at my lovesick mug in the photo pisses me off now I know I’m being played, but Whitney can be in no doubt this girl means something to me. The way we’re pressed against each other, and the look in both our eyes, conveys she is no casual hookup.
“Who’s the hottie?” Mitch asks, pulling up the picture on his cell. “You bang her yet?”
“Fuck off with the twenty questions,” I snarl, in no mood for an interrogation. I’ve been severely pissed since I showed up at Presley’s place, early yesterday morning, and spotted a guy leaving her apartment.
Fate led me to you.
Blech. I cringe as I recall my words from Tuesday night.What the fuck was I thinking?Sending her flowers and notes and obsessing over a goodnight kiss that was hotter than any kiss ever in the history of time.
I was basically turning into Kyler, so I should probably thank the mystery dude for forcing me to wake the fuck up.
Presley is probably laughing her ass off at how stupidly naïve I am. To think I believed her. I believed all of it. But it was obviously a lie, and I’m a fool because I fell for it.And do you know what’s worse?I still can’t get the bitch out of my head. It’s like she’s taken up permanent residence, and now she’s invoking squatter’s rights. There’s only one way to deal with it, and there’s little time to delay. “We hitting one of the frat parties this weekend?” I ask, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork, imagining it’s the mystery dude’s head.
“Hell yeah.” Toph blatantly eye fucks a curvy redhead as she saunters past our table, swaying her hips and making her interest known.
“Good. I need to get trashed.”
Mission accomplished, I think, the following night as I’m sprawled across a couch in the basement of the frat house, my body soaring someplace above me. We were here last night too, and I got totally wasted, spending most of today sleeping before dusting myself off and putting my party hat back on. My limbs sink into the cushions underneath me, and I’m blissfully numbed out.
Presley who?
Fuck that bitch.
“Hey, babe.” A girl crawls up my body from the end of the couch, and I can scarcely summon the energy to tilt my head in her direction.
She straddles my lap, grinding on top of me as she leans down, thrusting her ginormous fake tits in my face. “Want me to suck you off?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I joke, rolling my eyes to the ceiling as I pull on my blunt, inhaling the heady fumes, sucking them deep into my lungs.
