10. CHAPTER TEN
I jump several times, yanking on the waistband of my khakis, trying to pull them up my thighs and over my ass. Finally in place, I run my hand around to push the white button-up in before zipping up the fly and fastening the button. Spinning around, I check myself out on the mirror inside the closet door. My backside has never been one of my points of interest, but even I have to admit how amazing it looks with the tan fabric stretched over it.
Flipping up the shirt’s stiff collar, I drape the red tie around my neck. Taking a side in each hand, I pause, staring at my reflection and forgetting what to do. Because you know I was that kid at school who got his friend—Romeo—to tie it once a year and carefully slipped it off over his head.
Leaving it be, I move to my suitcase and the shoes I’ve brought. Old Lady Handsie hadn’t specified footwear. Squatting down—the bottom of my shirt pulling free from my pants—I pull out my brown leather Chelsea boots because at least I have a belt to match. Grabbing said belt from the other side of my suitcase, I flop down on the edge of my bed and pull on my shoes. Then I’m back at the mirror, re-tucking my shirt and threading the belt through the pants loopholes. The bathroom next, where I comb my fingers through my hair, tie it back, and tuck the loose strands behind my ears.
And that’s it.
There’s nothing else left to procrastinate over before having to face the day. I have just enough time to grab something quick to eat, force down a coffee, and walk to the main hotel building.
Sliding my phone into my back pocket—it’s snug, but still fits—I shake my arms and kick my feet to flick out the residual foreboding still in my system because what my dick wants and what my brain understands are still at loggerheads.
Entering the kitchen, I immediately spot Romeo slumped on a table with his head resting on his arms. After grabbing a croissant, I make a quick detour to the coffee pot and slide a cup in front of my friend before sitting. Taking a large swig from my own cup, I wince at the cheap bitterness.
“What time do you start?” I ask, keeping my mouth open like it’s the key to making the foul taste go away.
“Meeting Cleo and Kendall out in the front at eight-thirty,” he groans without lifting his head.
I gulp down the rest of the black abomination and remind myself to add five sugars to tomorrow’s cup. “Why the fuck are you in here so early?”
A lamentable sigh almost whistles out of Romeo’s mouth as he turns his head towards me. The bags under his eyes are even bigger than Kai’s and tell me everything I need to know.
“A whisky coma might be in order to get you on the same clock as everyone else,” I snicker at him while pivoting my chair.
“Morning boys.” A firm hand lands on my shoulder, holding me in place, and I know it’s Kai without having to look. But I can’t help myself, and when I do, he locks his eyes with mine and holds them there for several long, silent seconds before claiming the seat beside me with an empty bowl. “Well, hello there, Romeo. To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing your sexy self so early on this fine morning?”
“Fuck off, Kai,” Romeo huffs, tucking his head beneath his arms.
With a satisfied smirk, Kai disappears, only to return seconds later with a Tupperware container full of cereal. “See, Jess. If you want me to stop, just tell me to fuck off. It’s that simple.”
Our gaze meets again, but this time I hold it, daring him to say something else.
His smile falls, but his eyes burn right through me.
“That guy’s a wanker,” Romeo mutters when Kai leaves to get milk.
“You get used to it… I think. At least it doesn’t bother me that much anymore… Besides, he can’t be that bad. Cleo raved about him, and she flashed her gash to you, so…”
Romeo kicks me from under the table.
“Go back to bed.”
“Yeah, alright,” he moans. “But… drinks again tonight? I need to pass out cold.”
I shake my head. “Sure. Whatever, mate.” And watch as Romeo pushes up from the table and trudges away like an old man.
“Looks like I got you all to myself again,” Kai says as he sits and mixes his cereal. “Shit. Did you want some?” He hastily plunges the spoon back into the bowl and spins in his chair.
“Na, Mate, it’s cool.” I pull the croissant towards me. “Besides, it seems like you can’t stand to be away from me for longer than thirty seconds.”
“Don’t tease me,” he winks, finally taking a mouthful of cereal.
Needing to busy my hands, I pick up the pastry and tear off a piece. Several flakes land in my lap, and before I have a chance to move, Kai reaches over with his free hand and brushes the crumbs from my thigh. “Don’t wanna dirty your uniform before the day has even started.”
Ignoring the rest of the croissant, I quickly scoot my chair further beneath the table. “It’s twenty minutes to seven,” I say, looking at the clock on the wall, searching for something to fill the silence with.
“Don’t you worry your adorable self. There’s plenty of time.”
Remaining seated, I watch Kai leave the table, rinse his bowl, stack it in the dishwasher, and then look straight back at me. Mortified, I dart my eyes away, but I know I’ve been caught.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he smirks, returning with coffee in a to-go cup.
“Who says you aren’t gonna kill me first?” I ask as I stand. And when I walk away, I hear a sigh that sounds a whole lot like frustration.
“Here, hold this,” Kai says once we’re both in the hallway.
Turning back to him, I see him holding out his coffee cup, and I take it from his hand as he steps closer.
Without saying a word, he takes both sides of my untied tie and runs his fingers down the silk.
Frozen in place, I don’t know where to look. But when I bravely let my gaze fall back to his, I see it downcast, studying the fabric as his hands move. When he squints, several creases form on the outsides of each eye that don’t completely disappear when he relaxes his cheeks. His eyebrows are full but neat, and he looks even more handsome with his hair swept completely back off his face. There’s a rose and a skull tattoo with a knife through the middle that spans from beneath his left ear and into his shirt collar, and he smells like cigarettes and cologne.
By the time he’s finished, my heart is pounding so hard I swear he can feel it when he clasps the top of the tie and slides his fingers all the way to the bottom.
“There.” Kai’s eyes rise to meet mine and I’m drowning in hazel. “You look perfect,” he says, reaching for his coffee cup. His fingers graze mine like they did yesterday, and he lifts his chin, beckoning for me to follow.
Matching his step, we walk side by side towards the exit.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest when the heavy dawn air punches me. “I should have brought a jacket.”
Without skipping a beat, Kai wraps his arm around me and grabs my bicep. “What do you need a jacket for when you have me to keep you warm?”
Any argument I could come up with would be mute because I don’t want him to let me go. So I don’t answer him, and we walk the two hundred meters to the back of the main hotel building with his body pressed against the side of mine.
“After you,” he offers, opening the staff entrance door and moving aside.
Walking through, I step into a cement-lined corridor that looks like it runs along the entire back of the building. When Kai closes the door behind him, it almost feels colder than outside in its starkness, and I hug myself, trying to get back some of his warmth.
“Through here,” he says, opening another door that sends bright, welcoming light and warm air into the gray hallway. Following Kai, I stand just inside the carpeted room and watch as he walks past a row of lockers—dragging his fingers across the metal doors of each before throwing his coffee cup in the garbage.
“Over here, Jess.” He summons with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get you logged in.”
Moving to a computer on a small desk, Kai leans over it and rests his palms next to the keyboard. In a flash, my eyes are on his back, and the tattoos now visible through the stretched, white cotton.
“What’s your staff ID number?”
I give it to him.
“ Jean- Jesse Kendrick, hey?”
I shudder. Fuck you, Mum.
My mother is French, pretentious, and thinks her shit doesn’t stink. So when it came to naming me, she went with family tradition. But did she take into consideration that I wasn’t going to be raised in France? Of course, she bloody didn’t. So instead of calling me John and not traumatizing me, she went with the continental spelling. And do you think kids give a fuck about pronunciation? Of course not. Children are cunts!
“Are you keeping any other secrets from me, Jean?” Kai reaches for my hand and leaves no space for me to react to him calling me that twice, or to process the fact that it dripped off his tongue like butter with the perfect French inflection. I’m as good as a deaf-mute, just standing here as he takes my hand in his left and uses the fingers of his right to single out my thumb and press it against a scanner.
I need to do something, anything , to stop from self-combusting.
“Are these shoes okay?” I pull my hand away and step back.
“Oh, babe.” Kai shakes his head and turns to rest his hip sideways on the desk. “Even if guests could see your feet, your shoes are the last thing they’d be looking at.”
“I didn’t design the uniform.”
“There are some ugly fuckers that wear this get-up. So I can promise you, the uniform is only the icing on your cake.”
I take a bold step forward until the toes of my boots are only inches from his. “You wear it pretty well yourself.”
Kai looks down at my shoes, then slowly drags his gaze up my legs, lingering far too long on my crotch before moving on to my torso and finally my eyes. “I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna get through training you this morning. You’re distracting the hell out of me already.”
“Only in good ways, I hope.”
His brow quirks. “The best ways.”
“I thought you didn’t like guys.”
“Didn’t… But now I’ve met you, I guess I don’t know what I like.”
I inch closer. “I think you just like the power. You try to make men feel uncomfortable and chalk it up as a win when they retreat or tell you to fuck off.”
Kai pushes off the desk and stands up straight, meaning I have to look up to keep eye contact. “So why haven’t you done any of those things, Jean?”
“Maybe I’m the same.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m playing my own game. And I won’t crack first.”
“I’m just narcissistic enough to be turned on by that.”
My balls tighten, and I swallow hard. “Game on, then?”
“Game on. But just know… You’ll be mine before I ever give in to you.”