Chapter 37
A Mental Crisis
Kodi
Things I thought were going to happen at this gala:
Kean wouldn’t get any bids, I’d have to make one, and then he’d pout about the whole thing.
Kean would get a couple bids and I wouldn’t do anything.
However the auction went, Kean and I would share some suggestive looks, maybe exchange some flirty words, but nothing would happen.
Maybe he’d hold my hand again. Or dance with me.
Never, not in my wildest dreams, did I imagine Kean saying he was so down bad for me, he was damn near obsessed. Never did I think he’d admit that all his weird behavior was from a place of jealousy. And never would I think I’d give an honest answer about what I wanted from him.
I’d like to blame it on the fact that I was surprised. But between his swoon-worthy speech and those goddamn suspenders I wanted him to tie me up with, I just couldn’t help it.
And while saying I wanted Kean to pin me down wasn’t the most impulsive thing I’ve done, it was probably the most rewarded impulsive thing. Because as soon as those words left my mouth, his lips were on mine.
And fuck could this man kiss. His hands went to my waist, fingers splayed across my back, tugging me closer so my pelvis pressed against his.
The first kiss, he licked into my mouth and immediately groaned, the sound reverberating through me, all the way down to my cunt.
The feel of his tongue against mine set all my nerves on edge, a blast of heat coursing through my body.
With negative willpower to fight how good it felt to be kissed and with so much pent-up desire, I crossed my arms behind his neck and pulled myself up so I could wrap my legs around him.
Thank god I went with a dress with a high slit.
As soon as my legs found a steady spot, Kean moved his hands to my ass, grip tight as he pulled me closer to him and pushed my back against the column.
“Kean,” I said through heavy pants, not sure if I wanted to tell him something or just say his name.
Kean grunted in response, shuffling my weight onto his forearm so a hand could slide up my neck and tangle into my hair, his kiss intensifying, deepening, hardening.
Hard like the damn rod grinding against my cunt. And —
“You taste like whiskey.” Maybe I was too lust high to realize it the first few kisses, but as soon as I tasted the burn of alcohol, I was whatever the sober version of horniness was. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
As I pulled back from Kean, his shoulders stiffened.
“I’m not. It was just a couple of shots." His grip in my hair tightening even as his other hand lowered my ass so I could unravel myself from him.
“A couple?” I said skeptically.
“Fine, three or four. But that’s not enough to get me drunk.”
With my feet solidly on the ground, I set both hands on Kean’s chest and pushed until his hands slipped away.
I didn’t do drunk hookups anymore. One too many times I’d said things I didn’t mean, exaggerated a point, or even fucked somebody I didn’t really care about while drunk or tipsy.
And sometimes I’ve been the one guys regretted bringing home the morning after, which was the wake-up call I needed to quit drunk/tipsy hookups all together.
And after everything Kean just said and the way it hit me, if I slept with him and he woke up the next morning regretting it, I’d literally crawl into a hole and die.
So yeah, no fucking Kean while he’s even a little bit drunk.
“You’re not needed for the rest of the gala, right? It’d probably be nice for you to visit the owners' table, but not talking to them is better than talking to them drunk. So let’s go.”
“Kodi, I’m really not —” he started to say, but stopped when I looped my arm around his and started us down the gazebo stairs.
“Did you drive? I carpooled with Jimenez and Rosa, so I can drive you and take a cab back to my place.”
When we reached the bottom of the steps, Kean stopped. And when I turned to look at him, his eyes were narrowed on me, the hard-set grumpiness back in place. I straightened my back, trying to look like I meant business. Kean seemed to buy it, sighing and fishing his keys out of his pockets.
“Sure. Whatever you say, Kodi.”
“Good.” I nodded my head and, tightening my grip on his arm, walked us straight towards to parking lot, avoiding re-entering the building so I didn’t have to face Rosa.
I’m not sure if a few kisses was enough to mess up my makeup, but I just knew she’d be able to tell what happened by looking at me.
I was beginning to understand that Rosa loved to watch gossip, specifically romantic gossip, unfold.
And getting it from a friend rather than some reality show was all the more entertainment.
Normally, I’d be all for gabbing about how hot and romantic the kiss, but him being drunk soured the mood.
At his car, I opened the door for Kean and he raised an eyebrow at me, shaking his head before getting in.
I walked around, but before getting in myself, I took a second to lean back and groan.
God, it was just my luck that Kean would only confess to me when he’s drunk.
I really must have scarred someone with my flashing incident for all my Dastard-related wishes to be thwarted like this.
I guess on the bright side, I had ample material for my spank bank now.
Sighing, I got into the car, specifically not looking over at Kean as I adjusted the seat and mirrors. It wasn’t until I was settled and backing out of the parking spot that I chanced a glance at him.
His lips were set in a deep frown, eyes downcast as he fiddled with a roll of athletic tape he must’ve had in here for re-wrapping.
He unwound a long strand, ripping it off before looping it over one wrist then the other.
He pulled his hands apart and the tape tore with a loud rip. Kean hummed and pulled it off his skin.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, brow pinched.
“You said you wanted me to pin you down. I thought tying you up might be a nice way to do that. Was curious if athletic tape would work.”
“And?” I asked, heart in my throat, heat coursing through me at an embarrassing rate. Kean looked directly at me, fire in his eyes, and ripped off the rest of the tape.
“It’ll do if you don’t mind a little sting.”
I snapped my eyes back to the road, unable to take the intensity in his.
Kean huffed, but made no other ripping noises as we spent the drive to his place in silence.
The whole ride, I kept my thoughts specifically on the act of driving.
Which route should I take, will that red car cut me off, will we run into tourist traffic if we take 98.
It was like I was mentally reading my options out loud so my thoughts couldn’t dwell on the ache between my thighs and the man responsible for it.
When we finally parked in his spot, I was literally just listing the state of every plate we passed. Thankfully tourist season meant a lot of variety for that game.
“All right, can you get yourself inside?” I asked, turning towards Kean but looking at the collar of his jacket instead of his face.
“Come inside with me,” he said and before I had a chance to argue, he stepped out of the car. I huffed, dropping my hands in my lap and tried to think of an excuse. Maybe I’ll get lucky on Uber and there’ll be somebody in the area. Or maybe I could say —
My door opened and Kean leaned in to unbuckle me, overwhelming me with his soft musk accented by shea butter. Seriously, what man knows to use shea butter?
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me out of the car. I didn’t have the capacity to argue, too occupied by thinking about Kean’s possible skin care routines and how I, as his PA, had no clue what soaps he used.
Kean took his keys from me when we reached the front door, scanning the key fob to open it, eyes still on me. His look was … skeptical. Like he was having an internal battle over something, brows furrowed, lip pinched between his teeth.
Maybe he was finally sobering up and regretting everything he said before. Maybe he was trying to find a way to take it all back.
“Look, Kean,” I started to say as he unlocked his door and we stepped inside. “If you want to pretend that nothing happened, then —”
“Stay right here,” he instructed, finally dropping my hand to stride down the hall to his room.
Alone, I sighed. This was so stupid. Why should I wait around for him to reject me? For things to get more awkward? No, I’ll just get my Uber set up, maybe even put it on his card, then go. I’m not gonna let this ruin my evening, I’m not gonna be upset over this. I’m not upset.
“This is so stupid,” I mumbled to myself, wiping away tears.
“Kodi?”
I turned to see Kean in the hallway, bow tie loosened, jacket left behind, and a handful of discolored envelopes in his hands.
“What?” My voice was hoarse, but I was too confused not to ask what he was doing. We’d had some tension that was doused with a fire hose and he brings out letters? What the hell was going on in this man’s head?
He stepped closer, one hand cupping my face to wipe away the tears. His other hand pressed the papers into my hands and I looked down without a single clue what this was about.
But then I saw the addresses on the envelopes and everything stopped. My heart, my breath, my ability to think. The only thing I could do was stammer, “Why do you have my Ollie’s letters?”
“Your Olli?” he said with something between a huff and a laugh.
“Yeah, my Ollie.” I started shuffling through the envelopes, ten in total, all with return labels on them. My childhood best friend, my first crush, had gotten my address wrong. He’d switched a seven with a one. “These are addressed to me. How’d you get them?”
“How’d I get them?” This time it was all scoff and I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing in anger.
Because damn, it might’ve been a hot minute since I thought of Ollie, but I was hit with all that childhood pain of losing him to a military family that moved without knowing their forwarding address.
Every so often, I tried to look him up on socials, but I had no clue what his last name was, so I never found anything.
But there’d been letters. If these had just made it a few doors down, I would’ve been able to keep Ollie in my life.
I would’ve been able to tell him about all the Dastards games I went to, shared with him the crushing defeat of the 2015 finals, gotten to know who he was as an adult.
I had a sudden chestful of grief at the thought of the friendship I could have had with the sweet boy that introduced me to my love of soccer.
“Kodi, I’m your Olli.”
“What?” Now it was my turn to scoff. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” he said, voice going rough like he was frustrated with me.
“No, you’re not. My Ollie was blond.”
“My hair darkened as I got older.”
“Well …” I guess that was a relatively common thing, but — “My Ollie spelled his name with an E at the end.”
“No, my bike plate had an E because that’s the only one I could find. Remember, we bonded over having names we could never find souvenirs for?”
“I — I remember that conversation, but it wasn’t with you,” I said, even as I started to doubt it.
“It was. And …” He paused, jaw working. “And that was the reason I was such a dick to you when you started. You didn’t remember me and I was … bitter about it.”
“I —” I looked down at the letters, at how worn the paper was. He’d gotten these letters back and kept them. Brought them move to move, kept them all throughout school and college and his adult life. Kept them until they were back in Florida, only an hour drive from the address listed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, the tears returning, letters shaking in my hands.
I wish I had it in me to be mad at Kean — at Olli for keeping this from me.
Because our relationship would be so different if he’d said something.
We could have had fun instead of me struggling to understand him.
We could have reunited, become friends again.
“I told you, I was bitter. I …” He wiped the tears away, both hands now cradling my face, his body inching closer. “I thought you completely forgot me and that hurt. So to save myself the pain of confirming that, I said nothing.”
“Kean, I —” I set the letters aside on the couch and brought my hands to his jaw, sliding my fingers into his hair. “Olli, are you really not drunk? Like not even a little bit?”
“No. I’m a big guy, a few shots won’t get me drunk. I just wanted to … steady my nerves.”
I could see the child version of him in his eyes now as they softened. I could see it in his commitment to the sport, his stubbornness, the quiet way he cares about others.
Kean was my Ollie. Olli.
He was my Olli and there were a good handful of reasons I shouldn’t kiss him right now. And it’s not that I couldn’t remember them. A part of me repeated the list over and over again in the back of my mind.
I just didn’t care about any of those things anymore.
All I cared about was getting Olli’s lips back on mine.
So I tightened my grip in his hair and got what I wanted.