She takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “That is all I can ask of you.” She rests her head on my chest, and my arms automatically go around her. I close my eyes, praying to a higher power to not let me screw this up. “Kent.” I glance down, and she’s looking up at me, her big brown eyes swimming in possibility. “I need to know about the drugs and the booze, and I need you to be honest with me.”
Every muscle in my body locks up, and she straightens up, feeling it. “What do you want to know?”
“Be honest with me. Do you have a problem?”
I understand why she’s asking. She’s clearly been through the wringer with Chris, and I owe her the complete truth. “There were a few years during my teens when I had a problem. When I consciously got high and drunk and I pulled all kinds of shit. Got into trouble with the law. Put my parents through hell. It’s a miracle I graduated high school and got into Harvard, but I did, and things changed for me there.”
“In what way?”
“I met someone who helped me realize I was throwing my life away. She was so strong and so brave, and she forced me to take a long hard look at myself. I chose to take back control and start living my life the way I wanted to live it. It was then I decided I was going to pursue a career in law, and I stopped a lot of the dysfunctional behaviors.”
“Yet you still do shit on the weekends. Why?”
“I guess old habits die hard, and I…I was so lonely.” I peer deep into her eyes. “Until I met you, and now I have a reason to not do that anymore.”
Tears well in her eyes. “Please don’t do it for me.” She shakes her head, and I want to remove that look of desperate sadness from her eyes. “Do it for yourself, because that’s the only way it will be meaningful.”
“I get why you’re worried. You don’t need a Chris two point oh, and I promise I don’t have a problem. It’s recreational, and I’ll stop.”
She plants her hands on my shoulders. “Just don’t lie to me about it, Kent. No matter how bad it gets, promise me you will come to me and you will be truthful.”
“I can do that. I promise.” I rub my nose against hers. “I’ve never had anyone who cared enough to want to know.”
Surprise splays across her face. “With how close your family is, I very much doubt that.”
I shrug, casting my eyes away. “I told you I am on the outskirts, and they’ve all had their own shit to deal with. None of them have ever known how to deal with me.”
She slings her arm around my neck. “Well, I’m here for you now. And I think that’s enough of the heavy.” She pecks my lips. “Just one last thing. How do you plan to handle the Whitney situation? She’s going to freak when she finds out about me.”
“She already is.” I pull her onto my lap. “She saw that picture of us online, and she’s been blowing up my phone every day.”
“You haven’t spoken to her?” I shake my head, and she purses her lips. “You need to tell her, Kent. You owe her that much, and if I’m going to be in your life, I need you to be honest with her so I’m not ambushed.”
We spend the rest of the day in my apartment, just talking, discussing my favorite book—which she took the time to read—watching back-to-back movies, and making out like we’re teenagers again. Instead of going out, I order takeout, and then I drive Presley home later. I begged her to stay again, but she has to be at the bar early to open up, and I have an eight-a.m. class, so it’s not possible.
Her comment about my bed is playing on my mind, and I wonder if that’s the real reason she didn’t stay. I want her to be comfortable here, so she’ll stay over as often as she can, which means the bed has got to go. The second I get home from dropping her off, I order a new one, trying not to reflect on how Kyler-like the gesture is.
We don’t see enough of one another in the next couple of weeks. Between my classes, extra tutorials, and studying for my exams—which start in three weeks—I have little free time, but I sneak in opportunities to see Pres whenever I can.
Presley has a full schedule too with alternating day and night shifts at the bar and her art class, which means finding time for dates is challenging. She is off every Wednesday, so it becomes our official date night, and we’ve grabbed dinner and a movie both times. The first weekend, she worked the day shifts, and I collected her after I was finished at the library both days, taking her back to my place where we stayed holed up on the couch, watching TV, and eating takeout before retreating to bed.
We still haven’t fucked, and I know she’s purposely holding back, but I won’t push her. It makes the expectation all that much sweeter, and I’m enjoying getting to know her intimately, understanding all the other ways in which I can make her body sing.
This weekend, Pres is on nights, which sucks, but I cram in extra studying so I’m not tempted to go partying with the guys.
It’s Sunday night, and I’m perched at the counter in Ramshackle, waiting for Presley’s shift to end, when my phone rings. I’m tempted to send Mom to my voicemail, but she’s tenacious, and she’ll just keep calling. I gesture at my phone to Presley as I walk outside to take the call.
“Mom. What’s up?” I ask, walking away from Bugger because that dude is nosy as fuck.
“Kent. At last. Honestly, one would swear you were living on Mars it’s that difficult to get a hold of you.”
“I’m busy, Mom.” I stop at the corner, tucking myself against the wall.
“So I’ve heard.” I can almost feel her smile.
I grunt. “Keanu told you about Presley.”
“He did, and I’m happy for you. That’s why I’m calling. I would like to invite her to Easter dinner.”
