But now she’s rewarded with the strength I urged her to find, rampantly coursing through her veins. She would never bow to any man, and would be above all other women. I did that. For her.
Selfishly, for me.
Sara Jane Grayson, the girl, will wither.
Sara Jane Kingwood, the woman, will rise.
The transformation has begun. Last night, she shed her childhood wish of the white picket fence and the predictable husband. I want her by my side to become the man I need to be to take on the life I’ve been given. When I look at her, my beautiful sleeping angel, I know she’ll be right there, as she was meant to be. The day I met her, fate had played its hand, and I won. Now it’s time I return the favor. Leaning down, I slide the hair covering her neck, and kiss her bare skin. “Wake up, Firefly.”
A smile lies lazily on her lips, her eyes still closed. “I think I prefer queen.”
I smack her ass. “Not yet, though you will be. I have no doubt.” Rolling over until my feet land on the carpet, I stand. “Time to get up.”
When her eyes open, I see her search out the clock. “It’s three in the morning.” She rolls over in protest, putting her back to me.
“You said no more secrets.”
“I meant in daylight hours.” Walking to my closet with a smile on my face, I laugh when she catcalls me. “You have the most amazing body.”
“You do. Now stop staring at my ass and get dressed.”
The covers fly from her body, and she sits up just as I disappear to pull a sweatshirt from the shelf, jeans from a hanger, and start getting dressed. When she appears in the closet doorway, she leans against it in a way that makes me reconsider leaving altogether. The curve of her ass, the fullness of her breasts, her hips are womanlier these days. Dirty thoughts run rampant until she asks, “Is something wrong?”
When I look into the depths of her eyes that hold my soul captive, I reply, “Nothing is wrong. Everything is right.”
Her smile outshines the sun at dawn, and she comes to me. Everything I love is wrapped in my arms, naked and bare for me, exposed to the thunderous elements of my raging heart. I’m hoping her goodness far outweighs my bad.
I hate the guilt I feel when I look at her. I met her when she was young enough to fall in love with me. I made her leave me, pushed her so she’d walk away and give herself a chance at happiness. I was cruel, but wanted her to see me for the asshole I was . . . I am . . .
“This house is huge,” Sara Jane notes as we park. I get out. She’s been to my home. She knows my friends have money. Lots of money, but she still seems surprised by the wealth when gawking at the house.
When I take her hand in mine, my fingers wrap around it, reminding me how small she is compared to me. A sinking feeling fills my stomach as I lead my innocent, intelligent, and beautiful girlfriend to the slaughter. I’ve put this off for a long time, but she insisted on meeting my “friends.”
A warning was not enough. They may have money but they aren’t sophisticated. This world is a real life cruel, teen drama. Everybody wants something and is willing to barter, steal, or trade to get it. That includes sex, drugs, and other dirty dealings that would shame their family name if it ever got out. I have a feeling, like me, they didn’t fall far from their family tree. Their parents are just as devious as we are.
I fucked Lanie Monroe’s mother a couple nights before my mother’s funeral. She came over to bring me comfort food but had forgotten the food. She was in her late thirties at the time, and hot as fuck. Her advanced yoga practice was put into use that night. I was a fucking punk and bragged to everyone the next day. Lanie found out and approached me after class. She was waiting at my car, pissed. Not twenty minutes later, I had her bent over a large rock in the woods near campus. I fucked her without regret, never even kissing her. She begged me to tell her she was better. I lied and told her what she wanted to hear.
We’re all fucked up in some way or another, the privileged lives our families afford us dooming us to seek thrills and attention in new ways. I regret how I treated Lanie that day because now I know it was never about her need for attention or the competition with her mother. It was about me and my need to ruin not just my life but everything that came in contact with it. I’ve used my gift in looks as a weapon too many times to count. A great face is like a free pass to destruction.
The moment I laid eyes on Sara Jane, I knew I would never be the same. She’s better than this, better than us. Although she’s gorgeous, it wasn’t just her looks that drew me to her. It’s not just how clever she is that keeps me on my toes. It’s not even her patience, which she seems to have in spades when it comes to me. It’s everything. How do I expose her to this seedy side of people who’ve lost their way, sold their morals for the next hit, and will eat her innocence alive, spitting her out for entertainment?
My feet stop just before we reach the front door. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to dinner and for ice cream after.”
Her hip kicks out and her head tilts as she smiles. “Are you nervous to introduce me to your friends?”
“Barely. They are barely my friends. You’ve met Cruise. You already know Chad. Those are my friends. You are my best friend, so let’s go. Anywhere you want to go I’ll take you.”
“You’re my best friend too, Alexander.” She takes the last step, and nods toward the door. “Come on. I want to see this part of your life.”
. . . I should have never done what I did to her that night. Does heaven operate on credits and debits? Can her kindness wash away my sins? Or am I destined to burn in hell?
She makes it easy to believe I’m not too far gone.
She is still too soft.
Too vulnerable.
Too good.
I kiss the top of her head, knowing I’m not going to stay, although I wish I could for her. The habits are too ingrained in me. A worse one forming now that I’m bringing her with me. It’s a habit I could get used to. “Get dressed,” I say, releasing her and leaving the confines of the closet.
Sitting on the couch, I wait for her to finish getting ready. My attention is drawn toward the bathroom when she asks, “Are we going to be out all night?”
Standing, flaunting my feathers like a damn peacock in pride, I smile. “Not with you looking that edible.”
I receive a smile as reward. “You sure can be charming, Mr. Kingwood, when you want to be.”
“I can be lots of things. Some are just more acceptable than others.”
“It’s too early in the morning to try to decipher your riddles.” She heads for the door. “Come on. The suspense is killing me.”
Meeting her at the door, I open it and wave my arm, gesturing for her to go first. We make it to the top of the stairs before she stops, looks back at me, and says, “I used to love this place. I thought it was fancy.”
“And now?”