Page 53 of Kitty Season
I don’t do things like this.
I need to get the hell out.
“Oop, Uber’s here. Night.” I did not book an Uber. I’m not even holding my phone.
Launching herself at me is Quinn. “Don’t go yet, we need to do stuff first!” she blurts in her deliciously awkward manner. “You haven’t even seen inside the pool house.”
“Ah, yeah. Pretty sure no one could with Lotte and Noah sexing it up in there.” Troye steps closer till I feel the heat of his chest on mine then stills, eyeing me cautiously as though he’s waiting for me to run. I accidentally inhale, and God damn, he smells good. Fresh and apple-y clean like the air at home just before it rains. When I fail to move, a long, muscular arm lined with thick, ropey veins I do not notice, grabs my tie just below the knot and tugs. “We might need to hose it down before we go in, Skip. Then again, what’s the point?” Relaxing his grip, he lets his fingers slide down the fabric then tosses it over my shoulder. “We’re only going to mess it up again.”
Gulp.
“You’re pretty confident for someone who … uh … who was … um.” I have no idea what I was about to say. Partly because I’m an idiot. Partly because this close up, I can see a fractionof what might be doubt lingering in Troye’s eyes. Partly because every single thought in my head died a thousand deaths because Troye’s taken Quinn’s hand and is leading her outside. Those fucking shorts are staring me in the face, and now she’s looking over her shoulder, twisting just enough for me to see her crooked finger as she beckons me.
I go of course. Telling myself nothing will happen. This is probably his idea of a sick joke. I’ll walk in there and be blinded by the flashing lights of the entire PR team’s cameras, everyone will laugh and Quinn will think I’m a fool.
And I am, I guess.
What sort of dickwad walks into an ambush, knowing it’s an ambush, and is still sporting a semi?
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t catch on to my surroundings until the click and slide of a glass door alerts me that I’m at the threshold of the world’s largest pool house. Troye steps inside first, and turns to pull Quinn with him, the sheer curtains providing only a modicum of privacy, clinging to her body as she went.
I get it curtains. I get it.
Far larger than my dorm room and the one beside it, the space is open, flash and pristine. I’m still lingering by the door but from here I can see a leather lounge-suite, white kitchen cabinets and those fancy chandelier things you could spend a whole day dusting. They, like the rest of the normal ceiling lights, are switched off, meaning those strung around the pool are the one and only light source.
“Can I get you a drink, Brady?”
“I’ll get it.” Troye glances my way, and smirks. Like I didn’t notice his scent, or his arm veins, I don’t notice how those damn lights highlight the multitudes of hazel in his eyes.
Looking more sorrowful than a young man on the way to his girlfriend’s party ever should.That’s how Faith describedfinding him. The contrast between that and this, strutting around like he owns the place, is startling. A good party can bolster moods sure, but I can’t help but wonder if this cockiness and bravado is all an act. “Do you have Kumbotka, Kitty? That’s his favorite.”
“It’s not all I drink, you know, and it’s pronounced kom-BOO-cha, idiot. Not that hard.”
After retrieving three sodas from the fridge, he wanders back to the sofa, drops and manspreads. His eyes drop to my mouth, then blatantly head south. “Dunno. Looks pretty hard from here.” I feel myself blush, and can only hope it’s concealed by the dim lighting.
“No need to be embarrassed, Skip. We all know what we’re here for. Now, if you’re still up for it, which I can see you are, come … here.” Smug as always, he taps the empty seat beside him, and I decide I hate puns. “It’s time to give Kitty her gift.”
Something has been off with Troye all night. Despite his eagerness to party, there’s a sadness in his eyes, and he’s been so … affectionate. Holding suspicions over sweet and tender touches, says little for the health of our relationship, but in my defense, though he’s so anti-PDA, I think I can be forgiven for my skepticism.
Especially when Plum is involved. The woman screams cougar at best, predator at worst. I can’t help but wonder what happened in that car with Plum. What would he do if she made a move?
Ultimately, I could hypothesize till my ass falls off, but he seems a bit peppier now, if that’s a word you could ever use to describe Troye. All traces of lingering melancholy melting away, as Brady edges from the door he appears glued too. Guess the prospect of a threesome is a cure all.
“Kitty. Forget your drink for a bit. Come here.”
Licking my lips, I stare at the soda can Troye just handed me. I’m beyond parched, my mouth dryer than Mom’s pot roast, but a second tap to the leather upholstery has me helplessly following the command. Just like Brady.
I’m reintroduced to the size of him when we meet in the middle of the sofa, loitering between Troye’s parted thighs, nervously avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s a happy re-acquaintance. Brady is a beautiful man with huge, wide and thick arms, and biceps that I’d happily be imprisoned in for life.
Possibly thinking the same, Troye releases a low whistle, clears his throat and slides to his right. I’m the first to sit beside him, leaving the space to my left free for Brady who watches on warily. “Skip, mate. Relax. We’re just three sexy friends alone in a sexy room, thinking sexy thoughts about sexy times. Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen.” He finger guns to his temple. “It can all stay in here.”
“Yes, thanks for that. I wasn’t aware of how thoughts work,” Brady replies to the patch of carpet he seems especially interested in. “Anything else you want to explain to me, Captain Obvious?”
“Yes. In two minutes it’s going to be midnight, which means it won’t be Kitty’s birthday, which means if you are in to this, you need to come closer. If not, there’s the door.”
“Why do you call her Kitty, anyway?” Instantly, Brady winces as though there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to reach out and magically stuff his words back in his mouth.
As a blurter, it’s a feeling I am more than familiar with. I want to help him, but can’t. Fear and anticipation have left me incapable of speech.
