Chapter Thirteen
Stepping Out
Kennedy
I pressed my palm to the fogged glass and gave it a good swish. The strawberry-blonde hair I’d inherited from my mother lay in long, wet, loose curls.
I reached for my usual detangler and stopped short.
It was early. Why would I tuck myself in just to avoid him? Why would I tuck myself away and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had any effect on me at all?
I popped the white corner cabinet open, surveying my arsenal of likely outdated hair products. I selected a few and gave them a shake, snagging the straightening iron before I faced the mirror again.
“Don’t stop now,” I pepped talked myself, before spraying the long mess of it and fingering the fragrant product down to the scalp. I carefully dried and styled until my hair laid in a long, shiny curtain.
There wasn’t any frizz or dullness. No indent where the ponytail had secured it all day.
I was a completely different woman tonight.
I caught myself smiling at my reflection and decided to go the whole nine yards. My makeup box hadn’t been opened since before the funeral, so I’d kind of forgotten what was even in there.
I knew I couldn’t use most of it anymore, but my mother had always favored samples.
Like a good daughter, I’d accepted them at the time with gratitude and a smile.
Being a creature of habit, I never truly believed I’d put any of it to use.
Now, I was scrounging the bottom of my tiny trunk picking out the paler foundations and the tiniest lip liner sample I’d ever seen in my life.
The eyeshadows were a little darker than I normally played with. By the time I had them lined and the mascara on, they were so striking, I questioned whether I’d actually leave the house that way.
I took a shaky breath and went to the closet.
It wasn’t usually that hard to dress myself.
The clothes I kept didn’t really vary much in style these days.
I had distressed jeans. Some bought that way, others I’d held onto so long that they’d worn themself ragged.
I flipped past flannel after flannel until I was left with the solid-colored V-neck tees.
I sucked my teeth and glanced toward the back. It was an area that I usually avoided, ignored, and otherwise pretended didn’t exist. My old prom dresses blocked the view for the most part. They were a huge contrast to the simple things I hid in these days.
I took a deep breath, and scraped the hanger along the suspended rod, until the bags of my last shopping trip with my mother were exposed. Their handles were secured by hangers, the contents likely still tagged and folded.
I couldn’t even recall what was in them.
I’d set the stuff on my bed and left for a weekend with my friends, while she was off for a weekend hunt with my brother.
When she never returned, they’d sat in a corner until I eventually placed them in the closet. I was too afraid of what emotions would come if I actually tried putting any of it away.
I shakily took the bright, neon-green bag down and slid the hanger from the handle.
Inside was a soft, long-sleeved, form-fitting sweater. I’d never consider anything with soft peach and lilac coloring now, but I smiled recalling how she’d complimented the way it looked on me when we picked it out.
It was a different time.
A different me.
That girl was going to college, while I was heading to a biker bar.
Another bag was resting in the bottom. As soon as I saw the name of the store, I knew what it was.
She’d stopped to get her rings cleaned that day.
While we waited on the sales lady to take down her information, I’d stopped to admire a pair of threader earrings with tiny skulls on it.
Each skull alternated between diamond and onyx.
They were pricey and I never expected her to buy them, but when we’d stopped for pretzels, she’d surprised me with them.
“To go with your outfit, for the party,” she’d said.
The party! I was supposed to go to a damned Halloween party that week, I’d forgotten all about it. I left the sweater and the empty bag on my bed and took the pink bag in hand.
I really hadn’t picked out a costume at the time; I just intended to wear a bunch of gothic-looking clothes and some wild make up. I ran my hand over the suspender skirt inside and bit my lip.
If Kingston Crowe wanted to play games, I’d just have to show him that I played as good as any boy on the team.
Always had.
It didn’t take long to get ready, but it felt like I was crossing the desert when I made my way toward the bikes. I tipped my sunglasses and looked the row over, hoping I could recall which one was Royal’s.
Everyone knew which one was King’s, but I wanted to be spicy.
The door creaked, and I looked up to see Rigs stepping outside. She froze when she spotted me near King’s bike. I sniffed, straddled it backwards, and stretched out like I had all day to nap and wait on him.
“He’s going to fucking kill you. You better get your uppity ass off that bike, girl,” she sneered.
I trapped a laugh in my throat and flashed a playful grin as I turned my head to stare at her through the sunglasses.
It was dusk, I didn’t need them, but they gave me confidence.
So did the trail of glittering skulls that dangled from my ear and whispered across my neck every time I turned my head.
The door popped open and a small crowd erupted behind her. Some of the people began pushing against others that had stopped when they noticed me. I took the glasses off and tossed them at Rigs, leaving her no choice but to catch or be smacked with them.
“What the f–?” Kingston started, but his words trailed off when I pinned him with my gaze.
The toothpick jutting out of his mouth stopped rolling and a smile stretched around it.
“You leave me waiting like that again, I might be straddling your brother's toy next time you walk out,” I loudly warned, before reminding him, “I’m not one of these Tainted Sweet Buns that doesn’t have anything better to do than wait on the majesty of your smile to land on me again.”
“Right. Don’t forget, boys. She is top-tier coochie. The bartending variety,” my brother’s attention whore of a girlfriend crowed from beside Preach.
“What did I mi–? Oh, shit.” My brother stopped between her and Preach and stared at me.
“Oh nothing. Just your sister telling Kingston that she is better than any of us.” Sabrina rolled her eyes.
I’d not bothered looking directly at her yet. I was still trying to figure out why my brother did. Where class was concerned, she was beneath even the Sweethearts.
“Paxton, tell your skank to go back to that dumpster dive you found her in before today becomes the day her mouth outdoes her ass.” I kept my tone pleasant, but I meant every word.
The crowd broke out in titters. Meanwhile, Sabrina’s outrage was plastered on her cheap face as she poked at my brother’s ribs and rattled in his ear.
“I– I told you to stop calling her that. You can’t be calling her a skank, you’re gonna end up doing it in front of my son.”
Kingston stepped in front of me, blocking my brother and his waste of air from view.
“Right. Wouldn’t want little Pistol to learn what a slummed-up rebound looks like at such a young age. Skabrina it is.”
“Paxton,” she howled, demanding a defense.
“Shut the fuck up before I invite the boy’s mother to Thanksgiving, Skabrina,” I tormented, until Kingston finally slid his hand behind my head and brought his mouth to mine.
“Ignore that skank and get your ass up so I can climb on with you. We got business.”
“Do we?” I sang, letting him take my hand and daintily help me up.
He didn’t answer, he just got on the bike and glanced expectantly behind him.
I ran my hand up his back, through the short tufts of hair at the base of his skull and snatched what little I could at the top.
There was violence in his eyes when I forcefully tipped his head back and kissed him like I might never let him breathe again. There was something between us. A dance that was more addicting than anything I’d ever heard of.
Infatuation. Lust. Annoyance. Irritation. Passion. Hate.
It all mixed in the depths of his eyes, until I was tingling with the urge to push him to the limits of everything that stared back at me.
I tapped his cheek a little harder than necessary when I dropped my hand and settled behind him. His fingers sank into my thigh and he gunned it.
I couldn’t stop the laugh that crawled from me as I clung to him.
“You’re fun to fuck with,” I taunted, nipping at the crook of his neck.
The wind whipped around us. The engine screamed and we flew into the night.
I didn’t know where we were going.
I didn’t care.
I felt like another person, stepping away from all the predictable shit I’d built my life around these past few years.
He didn’t disappoint, either. We drove out of town, to the winding, forest-riddled rural roads. Once we were in the sticks, we coasted, admiring the dark nature around us.
Eventually, he slowed and turned into a little spot I’d have never noticed if I were driving. The lights illuminated a path ahead before he killed the engine, placed a hand on my knee, and glanced back.
“Well, don’t stop now. Fuck away, Sweetheart.”
I froze, all the fuckery fleeing me just that fast.
When I didn’t do or say anything, he gave a low, throaty laugh and stood, giving a simple command as he did so, “Up.”
I hesitantly obliged, taking care not to flash too much of my ass as I did so.
His hand snared my wrist so fast I nearly choked on the breath I sucked in.
“Come on.” He tugged me along, until I got with the program and matched his pace.
“Wh–? Where are we going?”
I couldn’t see him clearly, but I could feel his eyes on me. When we crossed a part of the path that wasn’t canopied by the large trees, I saw the smile in his dark-blue eyes.
“We’re hanging out.” He shrugged.
He veered left, dipping between some bushes that scratched at my arms. I was forced to concentrate on my footing instead when the ground suddenly angled downward. I didn’t mean to, but I ended up trotting after him with the momentum of things.
“What the hell?” I nervously laughed, as he trailed around a mess of felled wood and followed a creek.
He paused so abruptly, that I instinctively strained to hear. I didn’t immediately see any reason to stop and automatically assumed the worse.
“What is it?”
“A blind.”
My blank stare prompted him to snort and turn as he waved his hand behind us.
It was dark, and nothing impressive stood out, until he stepped over and swept a netting aside. It was tangled with leaves and brush. Inside there was a bench and a series of small windows that I assumed were meant for a hunter to see out of.
He settled on the bench, locked his arms around me, and hauled me onto his lap.
It was warm there. Cozy. His gentle contact was surprising enough to leave me without objection, for the moment.
His loud, chest-bumping ways had always annoyed me to the core, but his silence and that fucking stare…
I swallowed hard, not having even met it yet. I didn’t need to; I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into me.
“Tell me what I gotta do to keep you.” He whispered the words over the crook of my neck, making me shiver inside and out.
“You’re not serious enough for me to waste my time or air naming the conditions that would have to be met before I’d even joke about such a thing,” I bluntly told him, my voice stretching on a sigh that almost made it sound regrettable.
“Try me.” His voice thickened, and my smile widened.
I laughed at his simple determination, my head tilting toward a shake. His finger caught my chin and steered my face toward him, “I can be serious. For you.”
I was completely incapable of looking away, and I hated myself for it as much as I did him.
“The only thing I’ve ever seen you serious about is proving you’re the Saint with the thickest skull.”
He grunted, his eyes lighting up a bit, though he didn’t deny it. “You got no idea ‘bout me, baby.”
“Oh, boy. Cue the basic pet names.” I teased. “What’s next, should I get your inmate number tattooed on my left asscheek?”
His smile was predatory, and I could tell he had a lot more to say than the simple, “I’ve never been to prison,” that blandly fell from that overconfident mouth of his.
“That’s right. You pled out to bootcamp. I forgot.”
“I’m serious. Who the fuck else are you gonna be with? None of the others have the balls to even blow you a kiss, Kennedy. That’s what you want? A spineless–”
“Who says I have interest in anything that shares a patch and a pledge with my father? I grew up around most of you, you’ll recall.
You can’t sugar coat shit and pretend with me.
Not like you guys do all the others. And, truth being told, I’m a little glad for it.
I have no desire to end up pregnant, prison wifed, or just another pitiful mess with ruined mascara and stories about that one night or two.
None of that shit is appealing to me. Get it? ”
“So, you’re scared I’ll ruin your mascara? Here I thought it was your reputation you were protecting all along.” He teased his fingers through my hair, ignoring the way my eyes narrowed.
“You have to care what people think, in order to give a damn about your reputation, King. That’s where you and I differ.”
His fingers stopped moving and I instinctively sought his gaze, he didn’t blink.
I swear, he stared straight into my soul before he challenged, “Let me show you otherwise. Tomorrow night. No tavern. No sweethearts helping us kick off the evening. Give me one chance to prove, you’re nothing like the rest… and neither am I.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’m serious.” He stood up, and I scrambled to straighten my legs. “And since you’re agreeable, I’m going to lay a few more demands.”
I snorted, unable to help myself, “Of course, you are, big guy.”
“I want you to wear exactly what you are right now. I’m not done exploring that outfit, and those legs.”
He batted the curtain of the blind open and stepped out into the moonlight, letting it trickle inside and illuminate my path forward.
A path with Kingston Crowe.