Page 11 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“You made some good points,” she explains, reaching down to pick up the phone. When she leans past me, I catch a faint blush spill over her cheeks. She puts the phone face-down in the handset, effectively ending the call.
“I could use a distraction from all of this. And you’re right, you know. I need to work through this around people I trust.”
Am I retaining what she’s telling me? Not really. Am I memorizing whatever is responsible for her heavenly peach smell? Yes. Am I memorizing the speckles of honey strewn throughout her brown irises? Very much so.
She suddenly sobers, pushing her lower lip out and crossing her arms over her chest like she means business. “You just have to promise me something.”
God, she looks cute even when she’s trying to be intimidating.
“Promise?” My voice cracks—which I didn’t think was even possible anymore—and I pass it off as a throat clear, which may or may not be very convincing.
“Promise me you won’t tell Hayes about what happened here,” she says, something formidable lurking in her eyes, threatening to probably snipe me where I stand if I don’t agree to said promise.
Hayes is one of my best friends. No, I don’t feel great keeping the truth from him. But, given the situation, it seems justified. And it’s not really my secret to divulge.
“I gave you a chance to mull over my offer, and you accepted. You’re giving me a chance to mull over your offer, and I’m willing to do whatever I can to make this summer easier for you. If that means keeping your secret, then I, Kit Patricia Langley, promise not to tell Hayes what happened here,” I pledge, planting one hand over my heart.
Faye cocks her head, snickering. “Your middle name is Patricia?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And none of the guys know that, so I’m praying you won’t say anything.”
That spark that I know lives within Faye—the one I’ve always admired from afar but now have the privilege to witness up close—lights her up brighter than any goal lights. It’s like, in this fleeting moment, she’s sloughed off the pain, and I can see through to the depths of her very essence. And if you ask me what that essence looks like, it’s a radiant, glowing ball of fire, one that has every possibility of charring me alive.
But I don’t think I’m afraid to get a little burnt.
Her eyes hood to catlike slits, her voice roughening to a husky whisper, one that makes my dick perk up in my boxers. “I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of causing a little trouble.”
Fuck. Trouble with Faye sounds like the perfect pastime.
I swallow thickly, my Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, feigning innocence. “How else am I supposed to keep myself entertained this summer?”
I don’t know how, but she’s somehow moved even closer to me, her breasts practically brushing against my chest. This weird, primal urge washes over me to pull her closer and kiss her with abandon, using my tongue to map the inside of her mouth and the suppleness of her skin and the swell of her curves. I wonder if her pussy tastes as sweet as I’ve imagined—glistening, pink, begging to be defiled.
“You’re gonna make this summer hell for me, aren’t you?” Nervous energy thrums through my veins.
“You’re telling me that the big, bad Kit Langley is afraid of a little trouble?”
“When it’s fun sized and dangerously addictive like you, I amveryafraid.”
Easy laughter breezes out of her, lyrical sounding, soft enough to cushion my eardrums. “I never would’ve thought it’d take someone like me to bring you to your knees.”
Uncurbed desire simmers deep in my gut, popping like oil against blistering steel. “If you wanted me on my knees, Faye, all you had to do was ask,” I drawl, taking advantage of the proximity to ghost a knuckle along her jawline.
Her breath hitches from my touch, her eyes falling closed, like she’s soaking up every last second of us being alone together. “You can’t say stuff like that,” she whispers.
“Say stuff like what?”
Faye’s eyes pop open, and her short-lived smile flatlines. “Kit…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I want to say I didn’t mean it, but I did.
“It’s not that. I mean, this is all just some harmless flirting, right? It’s not like anything’s going to happen between us.”
Ouch.
