Ford

“Whoa. I’m surprised you answered. I was just going to leave you a message. Why are you up so late?” Nicolette’s voice chuckles through the receiver just past eleven o’clock Friday night.

“What am I doing up late? You’re the one with a five-year-old who wakes up before the sun.”

“You know I have insomnia. Anyway, check your email.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I sent you an article.”

Retrieving my laptop from the coffee table, I prop the lid open and pull up my email. A moment later it loads, and I sort through dozens of junk messages to find the one with her name on it.

“Is this going to piss me off?” I ask before clicking the link.

“Yes.”

Groaning, I tap the trackpad and pore over an article detailing the recent success of our stepbrother, Mason Foster. According to the write up, his tech company was started when his mother gifted him ten million dollars (of my father’s money), and over the past five years, he’s started a software firm, a wildly popular gaming app universe, and an up-and-coming social network; the latest of which he sold to Facebook for over two billion dollars.

“You done reading yet?” she asks.

I see red. It’s not about the money—I do just fine without it. It’s about the entitled, undeserving bastard and his conniving wench of a mother.

There’s a photo of Mason, perched on the edge of a desk in jeans and a blazer, the views of his office overlooking Silicon Valley as he wears a smug grin. But he’s sitting on a throne built by my parents’ time, money, and dedication. He didn’t earn any of this.

“I fucking hate him,” Nicolette says.

“Not as much as I do.” I press my phone against my chest when I hear a faint knock at the door. “Let me call you back.”

Ending the call, I peer out the window next to the front door and see the outline of a young woman standing in the dark.

Yanking the door open, I exhale. “Why?”

Her full lips curl. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

Hooking my hand into her arm, I pull her inside before anyone sees her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your date?”

Halston’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she makes a gagging sound. “I was about to die, it was so fucking boring. I made him drop me off early. Told him my curfew was eleven but it’s really midnight. Now I have an hour to kill.”

“You’ve got to stop doing this.” I rest my hands on my hips, shaking my head before releasing a deep breath. All I keep seeing is that picture of Mason, perched on his desk like some self-made man who started from the bottom. And when I glance up at her, all I see is my future going down in flames because I want nothing more than to feel her naked body on mine, her hips grinding on my cock, her full breasts bouncing with each thrust as her mouth finds mine in the dark. “You can’t keep coming over like this.”

“Okay, this is the second time. Ever. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. Tab and Vic are asleep. Bree’s babysitting overnight for some doctor’s family, and when I leave, I’ll sneak out the back door.”

She smirks, stepping toward me and clearly not taking this seriously.

“You really need to lighten up,” she says, eyeing my liquor cart in the corner. “Let me make you a drink.”

Before I have a chance to stop her, she’s pouring two fingers of Scotch into a crystal tumbler. I take a seat in the middle of my sofa, rubbing my eyes and sinking my head back.

“Here you go.” She taps my knee.

When I open my eyes, I find Halston on her knees between my legs, holding up a glass of liquor with a smile on her fuckable mouth. My cock throbs, swelling against my jeans.

“You need to leave,” I say. “Before I do something I’m going to regret the rest of my life.”

Halston’s expression fades. “What did I do? All I did was make you a drink. Now you’re kicking me out?”

“It’s not you,” I say.

“Of course it is.” She rises. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had a real connection.” She grabs her bag from the floor by the front door, flinging it over her shoulder. “And I thought maybe you were different, that we had something genuine. But now that you know you can’t fuck me, you just want to be done. So, fine. I get it. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

The notion of watching her walk out the door and never talking to her again, seeing her parading around the halls at school with that pencil dick boyfriend, sends a fire through my veins unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

This woman—this young woman—is everything I never knew I wanted in another person, everything I never knew was possible to have.

And I want her.

I want her so fucking bad it’s unreal.

“Halston.” I move toward her with steady, confident strides. “You have it all wrong.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re all talk, Kerouac. It’s all you’ve ever been and all you’ll ever be. I know that now.”

Cupping her face, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever touched her—really touched her. I let my palm linger, my thumb running over her pillowed lips.

“I’d give anything to kiss you right now,” I say, my voice a remorseful whisper. My heart thrums at a dangerous pace, the distance between our mouths closing.

But I won’t kiss her.

I can’t.

Her green eyes are lost in mine, holding for what feels like an eternity. Her scent fills the space between us, soft and wild at the same time. I’m seconds from telling her I’ll wait for her, that there’ll be a day when we can be together—until her mouth grazes mine.

Halston kisses me, pressing her lips into mine harder, slinking her arms over my shoulders and rising on her toes. For a brief moment, I lose myself, relishing in this kiss like it’s the only one that’s ever mattered in my life.

And then I push her away.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” I’m seething, jaw clenched and shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

“Wh-what?” She’s somewhere between laughing and crying as she floats back down to earth.

“This is bad. This is really fucking bad.” I pace the living room before stopping in the center, massaging my temples and refusing to look at her.

“Kerouac,” she says. “You’re overreacting. It was just a kiss.”

Turning to her, I shake my head, lips pressed into a hard line. “You don’t understand. I could lose my job over this.”

“No one’s going to know.” Her eyes widen. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

“You say that now.” I cock my head before dragging my hand across my cheek. “One day I might piss you off and—”

“God, no. I would never do that.” She approaches me gingerly at first, then rushes to my side, placing her hand on my chest. I brush it away. “I’m not like that. At all. I would never.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Halston shrugs. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. But your hand was on my cheek and we were standing so close. I thought … I thought that’s what you wanted.”

I can see how she would’ve been confused, how passion and wanton lust would’ve overtaken her in that moment.

“You have no idea how lucky you are that I stopped,” I say.

“Funny. I feel the exact opposite.”

“You shouldn’t come here anymore,” I tell her, though it breaks my heart. If she continues to stop by like this, we’re going to keep skirting the line. And one of these days, we’re going to cross it. And once the line is crossed, we’ll never be able to go back.

Halston’s emerald eyes gloss with tears, and I imagine she’s not accustomed to crying over much of anything. She’s tough, fearless, with thick skin and a resilient spirit.

But I may have just broken her.

“You should go now,” I say.

She does.

And the moment she’s gone, it’s as if someone’s blown a cannon-sized hole through my chest, heavy and gaping. I take a seat in my chair, facing the window and watching her shadow move across the yard in the dark, her arms folded across her chest and her chin tucked.

The berry-sweet taste of her full mouth lingers on mine, its taste turning bitter the second I refuse to allow myself to enjoy it a second longer. I should never have placed myself in that position—standing so close.

I knew better.

And while every part of my body craves hers with an invigorated intensity, I know deep down, I did the right thing.