Not happening.
“You looking for a nautical tattoo?” I shoot back.
Her smile spreads over her cheeks. “Maybe. What do you suggest?”
I drag my fingertips over her shoulder, drawing the shape that best suits her. It’s a bad idea, touching her like this. It’s doing shit to me.
And from the way her eyelids are pressing together and her lips are parting with a sigh, I’m pretty sure it’s doing shit to her.
Fuck, I need a thousand cold showers.
Even if Kaylee wasn’t Em’s best friend, she’s a sweet girl. Someone who deserves a nice guy. A guy who can give her a normal life. Not an asshole who destroys everything he touches.
Even so, I trace the outline of a would-be tattoo up to the tip of her shoulder. “A mermaid.”
“I like it.”
“I know. You’ve seen The Little Mermaid a thousand times.”
“At least two thousand.” She looks up at me. “What do you say? Right now? I’m finally old enough to sign the form.”
“Okay.” I take her hand and pull her to her feet. “Let’s walk to the shop. One topless mermaid.”
Her eyes go wide. She stammers, presses her toes together. The plastic of her heels clicks. Her teeth sink into her lip. “I, uh…”
“Hate having your bluff called?”
“No, I just… I need to think about it a little more.”
“Bullshit.” I can’t help but smile. She’s adorable flustered.
“No, just regular… uh… that isn’t why I came out here.”
I arch a brow.
She scoots toward me. It’s a tiny movement. Soft. More like the Kaylee I know. The sober one.
“Well, it’s my birthday.” Her fingers curl around my wrist. “And I want a birthday kiss.”
How about a birthday fuck? How about a birthday coming on my face until my lips are numb?
“I only give birthday spankings.” My voice is steady even though my heart is pounding against my chest. Fuck, the thought of bending Kaylee over that table and—
“Okay.” She presses her lips together. “Let’s go. Right here, right now.”
“You can handle eighteen?”
She nods.
She can’t, but it’s tempting anyway…
“Let’s go, Brendon.” She takes my hand and places it on her hip. Her eyes meet mine. They bore into mine. They demand every thought in my head. Or at least all the ones about stripping her naked. “Or did I call your bluff?”
“Bend over and plant your hands on the glass if you want to find out.” She is calling my bluff. And now I’m calling hers.
Only this is one time—
My sister saves me from my filthy thoughts. She bounces out the door, throws her arms around Kaylee, and pulls her from her seat. “Stop hiding from all the guys at the party.”
“Your brother is a guy.”
Emma scoffs. Her nose scrunches. It lights up her dark eyes—the same deep brown as mine. She runs her fingers through her violet hair and just barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes.
Kaylee’s fingers brush the back of my hand as she turns toward Emma. “Sorry, Em, but it’s undeniable. Just look at him.”
Emma sticks out her tongue and mouths gross. “Mr. Look What a Brooding Bad Boy I Am will be here tomorrow.” She grabs Kaylee’s hand and pulls her toward the door. “These other guys won’t.” Emma looks to me. “You don’t have to stay and supervise.”
“Nice try,” I say.
Emma laughs. She blows me a kiss then turns back to her best friend. “Don’t wait up.”
Kaylee’s eyes meet mine. “Did you mean it?”
One part of me did. The rest of me knows better. I play coy. Shrug.
“I’ll collect eventually.”
“Birthdays only.”
“Even so.”
I watch her round hips sway as she walks away.
Fuck, that dress…
Fuck me.
How the hell am I going to get this girl out of my head?
Chapter Two
Kaylee
I’m never drinking again.
Ever.
The pounding headache, cotton mouth, and torn up stomach are reason enough.
But the loss of inhibitions?
No. Thank. You.
I push myself out of Emma’s bed—she’s still in her shiny silver cocktail dress and most of her makeup—and slink to the bathroom across the hall.
There’s noise downstairs. The drip of a coffee maker. The scratch of a spatula. The steady footsteps of a man I can never look in the eyes again.
Not after last night.
I want a birthday kiss.
Ugh.
Inhibitions are underrated. Criminally underrated. They keep you from making a fool of yourself.
They keep you from stepping out of line.
They keep you safe, period.
If it weren’t for my inhibitions, everyone would know. And no one would look at me the way they do now—like it’s possible I’m on my way to becoming a strong, independent woman.
I pee. Shower. Brush my teeth. Grab my pastel pink makeup bag—the one I adorned in song lyrics—and pick out exactly what I need.
Emma is the one who got me into makeup, but we wear it so differently. For her, it’s fun. A way to express herself. To experiment.
For me, it’s another necessary component of my shield. No one asks if you’re okay if you look polished and awake. Nobody dives past the surface. Which means nobody gets closer than they should.