Page 28 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“I have to shit!” I whisper-scream.
No, no, no. I did not just say that. Mouth, meet brain. Brain, meet mouth. Next time, get motor functions involved and just fast-walk out of there. You don’t need to explain. Just leave. When one encounters danger, one flees. One does not reveal bodily movements in a last-ditch effort.
Faye’s eyes are as big as saucers. “Uh…”
You can save this. Just excuse yourself.
I slowly start to inch toward the door, making sure my privates are out of view. “Yeah, don’t think the food is settling right. I’m just going to go shit. Downstairs,” I ramble, perspiration rolling down my back, heart in my jugular.
Before she can say anything—or I can see the disgusted look on her face—I hoof it out of there and run down the stairs like I’m doing high-knees. I race into the bathroom and slam the door before groaning into my hands. This summer’s already off to a bad start.
At least the boner’s gone.
12
PROMISES ARE MADE TO BE BROKEN
FAYE
Half the week’s already flown by. Despite all the years I’ve known Kit, I havenoidea what’s going on. He’s been acting strange. Stranger than usual.
Don’t get me wrong, so have I. Fighting the attraction I have for him has been nearly impossible. Just the other morning, when I was making myself coffee, he had to scoot by to grab something, and his hand brushed my waist. The space was small. So small that my ass got pretty cozy with his dick. This is all new territory for me. New, scary territory. Especially with a man so large that he could dominate me without barely lifting a finger.
It took me a second to recover. No meditative breathing or long walks could sate the overpowering animal inside me that hungers for him.
We haven’t spent that much time together, but I’ve chalked it up to him not wanting to come off as too suspicious. Now I’m wondering if it’s something I said or did. The dynamic’s definitely changed. I was stupid to think it wouldn’t.
Aside from the Kit fiasco, everything else has been smooth sailing. My brother hasn’t pried, which is a very good thing. Aeris told me that she and Lila want to treat me to lunch soon. In a testosterone-filled house, that’s a relief I didn’t know I’d need. The guys have been respectful, accepting, treating me like the same old Faye.
But worry rears its ugly head, because I’m currently in a Costco with my brother, shopping for party necessities. I was caught off guard when the party was first mentioned, but now I need the distraction. Hell, I welcome it. Not working or having school has left me alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts and I don’t get along.
Hayes loads the cart up with 24-packs of beers, basically shoving aside the hot dogs, burger patties, and inflatable basketball hoop we’ve bought so far. My flip-flops slap against the concrete floor as we walk, one of our cart’s wheels screeching underneath the sheer weight.
“Jesus. Do you need this much alcohol?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. I only drink on occasion, but I’ve seen my brother go through cases in a single weekend.
He laughs, digging around for the crinkled list in his terrifying beach shorts. They’re bright yellow with printed tropical fish and palm trees. “Did you forget this is going to be a team party?”
“So a huge dong party basically.”
Hayes squares his jaw. “Faye, that’s disgusting.”
“Then even the ratio,” I say.
“Low-key, remember? Aeris will kill me if there’s a bunch of puck bunnies roaming the house.” Hayes pushes the cart along until we get to the condiment aisle, where he sweeps equal amounts of ketchup and mustard bottles off the shelf. As we push our way into a more miscellaneous aisle, he grabs a crossword puzzle book.
“A crossword puzzle?” Hayes doesn’t like puzzles. Never has. Says they’re manufactured to be unsolvable.
He shrugs. “Aeris likes crossword puzzles.”
His comment wrings a smile from my lips, and I sock my brother on the arm.
“Ow!” He glowers at me as he rubs the target zone.
“You’re going to marry her, right? I mean, puzzles are a pretty big deal. You don’t compromise with anyone.”
“Icompromisewith people.”
“Stop deflecting,” I hiss, grabbing the ballpoint pen from my brother’s back pocket and crossing some of the items off the list. “Do. You. Want. To. Marry. Her?”
