Ford smirks at me, and I flip him the bird. “You still owe me, Kennedy.” He points a knowing finger in my face.
“I haven’t forgotten, pussy.”
He laughs before his expression sobers. “You need a hand, Pres?”
“Nah. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve got this.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask as she guides me outside.
“That I’m used to babying assholes who insist on abusing their bodies with shit that’s no good for them.” She glares at me, and I cower a little. “We won’t last long if I discover you’re addicted to that poison, Kennedy. I won’t go through this again.”
“I’m not addicted.” I scoff at the very thought. “I work hard all week and keep my nose clean, so I let loose on the weekend. It’s not a big deal.” I wrench my hand from hers. “I don’t need a babysitter or a lecture. I get enough of those from my family.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I care. Is that so bad?”
“You’re really not fucking your ex?” I ask because I need to know the truth.
She moves in closer, hooking her pinkie in mine. “I’m not fucking my ex. For as long as we’re dating, I won’t fuck anyone else.”
“Come home with me,” I ask. Her lips purse. “Not for sex,” I rush to add though I can’t believe those words just left my lips. “Just to sleep. I want to hold you.” Grabbing her hips, I pull her in close to me. “I make a mean scrambled eggs, so I’ll even throw in breakfast.”
“I should really go home,” she murmurs.
“Please, Pres.” I lose all trace of humor, shielding nothing from her. “You said we need to talk, so let’s go back to my place, and we can talk in the morning. I promise I won’t lay a finger on you. Scout’s honor.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were never a boy scout.”
“Actually, I was,” I correct her. “For one month—until we had our first camping trip and I was caught pissing in the scout leader’s bag.”
“I think you came out of the womb with a capital T for trouble stamped on your chest.”
“I think you’re probably right.” I circle my hands around her waist as a car pulls up to the sidewalk. “So maybe I do need a chaperone after all? Wanna escort me home?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Presley
I must need my head examined, I think as I grab the key from Kent’s hand, fitting it easily in the lock.What in the world possessed me to agree to spend the night?I’m not worried about him putting the moves on me because the guy can barely keep his eyes open. He nodded off in the Uber, and he practically sleepwalked his way into the building. But I am worried about getting invested in another guy who has controlling addictions.
Opening the door, I try not to gawk as we step foot inside the plush apartment Kent calls home. This room is a massive open-plan living room with kitchen and dining area at the back. Wall-to-wall windows are covered with luxurious silver-and-blue-striped curtains, and all the furniture is sleek and modern and clearly very expensive. Stairs lead off the right side of the room, and there are a couple of closed doors behind it, leading to other rooms.
“Up here,” Kent mumbles, stifling a yawn. I follow him up the stairs to the next level, walking down a long hallway, past another couple of closed doors, and up another flight of stairs to his bedroom. Kent’s bedroom occupies the entire floor space up here, and it’s bigger than my whole apartment. It’s magnificent with stunning views and his own private living room.
“Holy shit,” I say as Kent flops down on the bed, face-first. “This is incredible.” The curtains are open, highlighting a spectacular view of the city spread out before us. At this late hour, there is only a smattering of lights in the distance.
“Presley baby,” Kent mumbles, and I swing back around, walking toward the large king-sized bed.
I round the bed, sitting beside him, brushing strands of dark hair from his brow. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just you,” he says, reaching a hand out to cup my face. “I have shirts in my closet. Grab one to sleep in.”
I press a kiss to his cheek as I stand. “I’ll be right back.”
I step into his walk-in closet with my mouth trailing the ground. There are rows and rows of clothes and too many shoes to count. Casual clothes are lined up beside fitted suits and a collection of dress shirts and ties in every imaginable color. A collection of expensive watches and cufflinks sits atop the mahogany dressing table in the center of the room. A row of strip lighting at the top of the mirror above the dresser illuminates the room, highlighting my features in stark contrast to my surroundings. This is a world away from anything I’ve ever known, and I’m not sure if I fit in here.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I remove it, reading the reply to my text.
Chris:I’m not at your place. Had to head out. I’ll see you again soon. Thanks for looking after me. I owe you.
