Page 25 of The Worst Kind of Promise
I don’t expect that to garner such a genuine laugh from him, but it does, and the melodious sound parades through my ears, ephemeral in nature but lasting in effect, like a brand on my heart.
Once Kit schleps all my bags upstairs, I get to work unpacking, occasionally fighting guilt when I see my very colorful, very girly clothing smushed beside Kit’s very dull, very plain clothing. It’s like a giant glitter bomb has gone off in his bedroom. I feel terrible for exiling him to the couch, but he insisted on giving me space.
After my comically extensive line of skincare has been put away, he comes to check in on me, doing that dreaded thing where he leans against the doorframe. This is one of my romance books come to life. Except Kit Langley is more attractive than any woman-written book boyfriend in existence. A Brazilian heartthrob. He doesn’t even need to flex for me to see every muscle through his clothing—from the defined washboard of his abdominals to the way the bulk of his chest stretches his shirt thin-tight. Broad shoulders that impede my line of sight, biceps big enough to crush my head, a robust back that’s been handcrafted from stone, a tapered waist that brags the largest appendage hanging between his thighs.
I know I shouldn’t be looking…down there. But when he was hard at the hotel, I got a clear outline ofeverything. His dick is like a goddamn third hockey stick, probably as thick and long as my forearm. So huge that I’m pretty sure I’d need to use an entire bottle of lube, or he’d have to break my legs over my shoulders—
“You done unpacking?” Kit asks, snapping me from my reverie.
I nod, tight-lipped, my stomach tumbling in a gold-winning gymnastics floor routine. I can feel the muscles in my face working, holding a smile, but with the curious look Kit’s throwing my way, it doesn’t seem to be very convincing.
“The rest of the guys just got here. I think Aeris is cooking dinner,” he relays.
“Aeris can cook?”
Kit shrugs. “I have no idea, but she wanted to have a special family dinner since this is your first night here.”
I think he expects me to jump for joy at the sound of food, but my unremitting anxiety’s been sponging up my hunger for the past hour. I pinch my lower lip between my teeth.
“If this is all too much, I can just tell them to cool it.”
Sometimes even the best environments can be overstimulating for me, and I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’m preoccupied with a lot on my mind.
“It’s not that,” I sigh, fingering the thin, silver chain around my throat. “A lot’s just happened these past few days. A lot of change. I don’t deal well with change, which is ironic because nothing in my life has been very permanent. Boyfriends, parents. I’ve always had to adapt to change, but it’s like pulling teeth for me. And now I’m here, on a vacation where I should be relaxing, when all I can think about is how I’m keeping this secret from my brother. It was easier when he wasn’t physically around.”
Kit sits down next to me. “You think he’ll be mad?”
I want to laugh. I almost do, but my brain doesn’t quite get the signal. “I don’t know. I’m just…ashamed more than anything. I haven’t reached out for help. I haven’t toldanyone. Nobody except for you, Kit,” I confess, tears clumping on my lashes. “My dad wasn’t around to care. And I just…I felt like my brother wouldn’t understand. I think that he’d try to, but deep down, nobody could understand unless they’ve experienced the same thing. I don’t trust therapists. I don’t want people knowing this happened to me.”
“But you told me.”
“I did.”
“Do you regret it?”
The static between us crackles, traveling from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers, which I yearn to transmit into Kit’s mouth, to fill him with the same surface-of-the-sun warmth that circulates through me. But then I glance at the ajar door, remind myself I can’t go there, and that newborn flame gutters.
“I—”
“Dinner!” a voice calls from downstairs, capturing our attention.
I do my best to blink away the tears, glad that I hadn’t entered the sniffling stage yet. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
11
FRIENDS WITHOUT BENEFITS
KIT
Dinner is rowdier than usual, no thanks to Fulton’s usual foot-in-the-mouth comments. The only salvageable thing is Aeris’ surprisingly decent food—fully cooked, which I realize is a low-hanging bar.
Faye hasn’t spoken a word since we all sat down. My eyes keep straying to her from across the table, watching her stab forlornly at a small portion of heavily drenched salad. The mixed greens are practically waterboarded in ranch, and she’s stirred them enough times that I’m positive she has no interest in eating them.
Everyone else seems rather oblivious to her gloominess, but maybe that’s because they don’t know what I know. I’m honestly surprised Hayes hasn’t picked up on her body language. I’m starting to understand that no matter what I say, nothing will alleviate her pain. It’s a helpless feeling—a feeling I’ve never had to familiarize myself with, because I’ve never experienced it. I hate it. I hate not being able to help her. I hate watching her shut down. I don’t know how to pull her back to me.
“Sorry we weren’t here to give you an actual welcome,” Casen apologizes, quashing the noisy side conversations.
Dazed, Faye registers that she’s on the receiving end of the conversation and perks up from her sulking. “Oh, it’s okay. You guys really don’t have to do anything for me,” she insists.
