Chapter Three #2
As customary, Kiyah had made herself “presentable” according to our father’s standards by removing her piercings.
She had piercings of all kinds in her ears—industrial, daith, tragus, you name it; all that remained were two diamond studs that kissed her earlobes.
She removed her eyebrow piercing and her double hoop nose piercings.
Once, I fucked up and called her Dennis Rodman, resulting in her blocking me from every means of communication and forcing me to take an unplanned trip back home from college to talk some sense into her.
It turned out she wasn’t pissed. She actually thought my joke was hilarious—she just wanted to fuck.
Which we did at a skeevy motel on the other side of town.
While Kiyah and I weren’t full-fledged members of the Morality Police, we found it disrespectful to have sex in our parents’ home and coupled elsewhere—my car, a motel, my apartment when she made the three-hour trip, and a few times in a private study room in my campus’s library.
I approached the chatty women but was intercepted by Casey. “What the hell happened in there?” he demanded, herding me away.
“Nothing,” I replied in a clipped tone. I sneered when it appeared Kiyah was exchanging phone numbers with Lorelai.
What the hell is she doing?
“I beg to differ. Dad returned from his talk with you, and it looked like he saw a fucking ghost. Mom also noticed something was wrong with him and took him outside to talk.”
“Another time, Case,” I mumbled, moving away from him. I stopped short when his hand wrapped tightly around my bicep. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“It’d be in your best interest to remove your hand,” I warned. “If you want to know what transpired between us then I suggest you ask him.”
“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” he said, emancipating me from his hold.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Not a bottle of Jack,” Casey taunted.
“You son-of-a—”
“Can you both act like you were raised in a civil household and not show your asses when we’re in public?”
Casey rolled his eyes. “Kiyah, you’re the last one who should be talking.”
“And yet I am. Daisy wants a word with you.”
“About what?” he asked.
“Something about the bachelorette party. I think she’s getting a little nervous.”
Casey’s right brow slid slowly to the top of his head. “Nervous? Why would she be nervous? I have everything under control.”
Kiyah raised her hands and said, “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
Casey left with a grumble, hoping to talk some sense into the bride.
“Why the hell are you talking to that woman?”
“Don’t be rude, Grant,” Kiyah mocked, playfully swatting my chest with the back of her hand.
“There’s no reason for you to converse with Leah.”
“Layla,” she corrected.
“I don’t give a damn what her name is.”
“Grant, be nice,” she chastised. “Layla just moved to Texas from Portland for work. She’s an architect.”
“Impressive,” I replied with a tight smile.
“You seem uptight and a little hangry. Did you skip lunch? You shouldn’t do that.
You know how you get,” she cooed with a patronizing grin.
I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and reigned it in—something I had to do often with her.
I opened my eyes, and she caught me off guard when she said, “There are those beautiful green eyes.” Her wine-colored lips curled into a seductive smile, and her long lashes batted.
If, and only if, we weren’t in mixed company, I’d devour her where she stood.
Focus, Grant.
“Why were you talking to her as if you two were best pals?” I questioned.
“I’m your wingman. I was trying to secure you a date for the wedding.”
“I don’t need your help getting a date,” I seethed.
“I have a date,” she confessed with overwhelming nonchalance.
“Who?” I demanded, backing her into a corner. She smiled again, and I recognized it as her joking smile—the one she’d use when she was just pulling my leg. My shoulders relaxed, and I stepped away from her—giving myself a much-needed break from her intoxicating perfume.
“Ronan asked me.”
I bit back a smile and shook my head. “You turned him down.”
“Of course, I turned that silver-eyed devil down. That would be disgusting. It’d be like dating my baby brother.”
“What does that say about us?” I challenged.
She smiled wryly before whispering, “We are an exception to the rule.”
“Stop being a fucking tease, Kiyah,” I warned.
“Relax, Grant.”
“I’ll relax when I’m fucking dead.”
“Hey. The table is ready,” Kieran informed.
“We’ll be there in a minute,” I said, not snatching my eyes away from the woman who torments me as if she receives a paycheck with health insurance and stock benefits.
“But—”
“Goodbye, Wesley,” Kiyah and I said, operating on the same wavelength as we always did.
Kieran huffed before giving us our space.
What did we choose to do with our moment of solitude?
Absolutely nothing. The world around us continued—the low buzz of conversation between dinner guests, ice clinking in glasses, a pianist tinkling the keys—but in the world that mattered most, I had Kiyah. We didn’t need words to communicate.
And despite what Dad says, I don’t live in some fucked up world of delusions.
My love for Kiyah is not unrequited, that I am certain.
I just need my wife to stick the fuck around and not discount our marriage as a symptom of being young and dumb.
I’m not an idiot; something happened between waking up in Vegas with wedding rings on her 21st birthday and her summer trip before law school.
But how can I fix it if she doesn’t let me in?
“G….”
Here we go.
“When are you going to sign the papers?”
“The day you tell Mom and Dad we’re married.”
“So, never?”
“Seems like we’re on the same page. Will I see you tonight?”
Kiyah’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “You know you will.”
I tipped her chin up with my finger. “I love you, Kiyah.”
Her eyes misted, turning her shiny brown eyes into deep pools of agony.
“I love you, too, Grant.”