Chelsey
I roll over in bed and reach under the spare pillow next to my head. My new phone has given me a night of blissful, unbroken sleep due to no more media calls.
All thanks to Kye Burke.
The person who cared enough to make a difference. I’d like to say it’s because he’s just an all-around nice guy—which he is—but that doesn’t ring true with me for some reason.
I’m not totally stupid. I know he’s quietly pursuing me . . . us . . . something. That said, you don’t grab a girl and go buy her a phone just for that reason.
He must have studied me intently enough to realize I was just about at my breaking point yesterday. It wasn’t a pity buy either. There was a real fire to him, and I could feel the heat to it. He was a man on a mission from the second he took my phone to the moment we left the store. Inside, he was powerful and demanding. He was arrogant. He was a bit of a freaking asshole¸ actually. He was forceful and insistent over everything.
It was really hot.
It was also the quickest phone purchase I’ve ever made, even if we did fight over who’d be the regular bill payer. He tried to do that and pay the whole contract up front. Needless to say, that was the one thing I got my way on.
I yawn and open the message that’s flashing on-screen.
Did you sleep last night?
I smile. I don’t need to look at the name. Yes. Thank you, I reply.
Kye’s response comes a moment later. You’re welcome. Are you busy tonight? There’s late night shopping in Percival. Mom’s refusing to buy Mila’s present for me. I need help.
Oh, you poor baby. Of what help he thinks I’ll be regarding a present for a two-year-old is beyond me.
Please?
Fine. I finish work at five.
I’ll pick you up at six thirty. Then we’ll get food?
. . . Are we going shopping, or on a date?
I sit up when he doesn’t immediately respond. If he’s tricked me into this, I swear I will kick his ass. The only reason I won’t fight is because I need to go shopping anyway. I have no Christmas decorations in this apartment because there was nowhere for me to store my old ones when I moved from my old apartment a few months ago.
Kye Burke, I tap out. Answer me.
No.
No what?
I’ll let you decide.
I hate you.
Have fun at work, gorgeous.
Not for the first time, I wish there were such a thing as a middle finger emoji. Instead I settle for a “fuck you” meme from Google and send that. His response is a selfie. His eyes are closed and his lips are pouted right out the way kids do when they’re begging for a kiss.
Except kids don’t have scruffy dark stubble that coats their jaw and plump, pink lips that I know are incredibly soft and perfect for kissing.
I send him back a picture of the lower half of my face, with my hand covering my mouth.
Are you naked?
I glance down, although it’s stupid, because I know I am. Panic filters through me—holy shit, did I just accidentally send him a naked picture of me? I scroll up a little and click on the picture, my thumb trembling. It takes me a second to focus on the image, but when I do, I see that the frame cuts off just above where my boobs are.
Thank God.
You can, however, see that my shoulders are bare, so I’m clearly naked.
Informing Kye Burke of my state of dress at eight in the morning was not on the top of my to-do list, but I have an inkling that he’s considering moving me to the top of his.
Uhh . . . no. I’m wearing a strapless bra.
Good. I was about to tell you I was coming over. As it is . . . I’m going to shower.
Now there’s a good mental image to start the day.
Percival Town at Christmas is amazing. There’s no denying it. From the giant Christmas tree in the center of town and the decorations that adorn the lampposts to the market stalls that sit in the center, surrounding the tree, it’s kind of how you imagined the North Pole as a kid.
“Man, this Christmas is better than last year,” Kye mutters. “You don’t get this atmosphere in L.A.”
“You spent it there last year?” I ask. Dumbly. Because he just fucking said that, didn’t he?
“Yeah. It sucked, but our old manager insisted we be close to the studio and ready to record again a couple of days after. He didn’t get the meaning of the holidays, obviously.”
I nod slowly and adjust my scarf. I wish I could tell him I can’t imagine being away from my family on Christmas, but I can. I’ve spent the last five Christmas nights at Jessie’s house. Her mom practically forced me over for dinner because, and I quote, “No one should be alone on Christmas. Except assholes.”
“Where do you want to get food?” Kye turns his attention to me, and I purse my lips.
For all my trips here, I’ve never really eaten. I tend not to hang around when I have something to do—something that’s a serious sticking point in my relationship with Jessie. I’m a “walk in, get shit done, walk out” kinda girl. Jessie’s a “wander in, zigzag here, there, and everywhere, do what she needs to do, do some more zigzagging, then wander out on her fourth attempt.”
“You pick.” I shrug and adjust my scarf again. This time I keep my hands wrapped in the wooly goodness to fight off the chill that’s settling in.
“I know this really great sandwich place just around the corner. It’ll be pretty busy now, so we can shop first then drop it off in the truck before we go eat. Sound good?”
“Sounds good to me. Do you know what you’re getting Mila?”
He smacks his lips together, and the look in his eyes is sheepish. “Not a clue. I figured I could wander around and you could find it for me.”
“Do you do anythin’ yourself?”
He answers with a slow, sexy grin.
“Oh boy,” I say under my breath. My cheeks feel hot. I reach up and touch the back of my hand to one, and yep, red hot. Boiling. Like water in the desert.
I know he can do that.
“What’s up, babe? Cat got your tongue?”
I glance at him through my hair. His grin is smug now but still somehow devastatingly sexy. Seriously. I think it might just be melting my panties off. The satisfied glint in his bright blue eyes, which are focused so intensely on me, sends a shiver of remembrance through my body.
His mouth . . . My body . . . His hands . . .
Another shiver travels down my spine, and I can’t even pass it off as being one from the chill. My cheeks are getting hotter and hotter, and his grin is getting wider and wider.
Finally, he breaks into a laugh and puts his arm around my shoulders. I dip my head as he pulls me into him and continues his chuckles into my hair. “Come on,” he sputters out. “Let’s go find a damn toy store before I decide you look so hot we’re blowing this off and going to make out in my truck.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” I squeak.
“I know.” He gives me a squeeze. “But you know what they say about the best laid plans.”
“They should be followed?”
“No. They should be torn up. Which means, for all we know, I could be inside you within the hour.”
I cough on whatever response was coming from my throat. I don’t know what I planned on saying, but I know I didn’t expect him to say that. “That’s . . . uh . . .”
“It’d warm you up real quick.”
“Kye.”
“You wouldn’t even have to get naked. I know you’re wearing long socks under those boots, so I’d just lift your dress and boom. We could do it on the front seat.”
“Kye!”
“Fuck, with you on top we could be done in minutes.”
“Kye!”
“Shit.” He wipes his hand down his face. “Now I want to go and fuck you in the truck.”
That’s enough.
I grab his jacket and pull his face toward me, going on tiptoes at the same time. Our lips press together, and he freezes. It lasts barely a second. He turns into me, moving so his hands are on my waist. He pulls me against him. I reach up between us as my power over this wanes and I find myself falling back on my heels. His grip tightens as his arms go around me, but that’s not what I notice most.
I notice the warmth that spreads through me. I notice the way every part of my skin tingles, how the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and tickle against my scarf. I notice how he pauses and his hot breath cascades across my lips before he claims my mouth once more.
I notice how I don’t care, not even a little bit. Not that he’s kissing me in public. Not that people are watching us. Not that this could be all over the Internet tomorrow.
I want him to kiss me. Just once more. Another brush of his lips.
He does. Again. And again. Until my fingers tease his hair and he pulls away with a sharp inhale and closed eyes.
“You kissed me,” he rasps, his eyes opening.
They’re bright. Oh my God, they’re so bright. They’re confused, but there’s a steely determination forming in their depths. One that makes me apprehensive about what it could mean.
“Um, yes,” I whisper, swallowing. I drop my eyes to his lips—they’re swollen and pink, and I know mine are the same. I can feel them.
He slides his hands up my body until they’re resting on either side of my neck and his thumbs are curving up and over my jaw to my cheeks. He closes his eyes briefly, and those enviously long lashes fan across the tops of his cheeks. When he opens them again, that confused look has dimmed, but his gaze is no less compelling. “Next time you kiss me, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he threatens in a low voice, but there’s really nothing threatening about those words.
They’re pure temptation.
I focus on his lips again. It would be . . . easy. So easy.
“Chelsey,” he growls.
My tongue flicks out and wets my lips. “Sorry,” I breathe. I cut my eyes away from him and toward the street illuminated by fairy lights. “Should we . . .”
“Yes.” The word is tight, and he moves, slipping his arm across my shoulders again.
I look down at his hand over my shoulder, and he teases a lock of my hair around his finger. “You’re touching me.”
“Yeah. You got a problem with that, babe?”
“I . . .” I don’t, I realize. Not at all. “No.”
“Good. That makes this easier.” He kisses the side of my head and leads me toward the department store. “Now, I’m gonna make a bet that I can find one present for everyone I need to in this place.”
“That’s not really a tough bet,” I argue half-heartedly. “They do have everything here.”
“I know.” He points to the store. “Something somewhere in there has to be good enough for Miss Mila.”
I should probably let him know that I already know exactly what Mila wants because I called Sofie earlier. Apparently Mila had a Christmas list the length of Shelton Bay Beach, which is no joke, so Sofie has delegated certain items to family members.
Except Kye. She wanted to see how long he’d last before he’d break.
On that note, I think I’ll keep it to myself a little longer.
“Holy fuck. I think Santa threw up in here.”
His words pull me out of my mind and I look around. He isn’t wrong. Every inch of this floor is dripping with Christmas. I don’t even know what half the decorations are, but there’s a drunk-looking elf wandering around the candle aisle. I’m not sure if he actually works here, but if he does, someone needs to confiscate his eggnog.
“The toys are upstairs,” I say, reading the information from a board. “And the elevator is right there.”
“Right.” Kye gives the drunk elf a side eye and a wide berth as the elf almost knocks a candle in a glass jar off the shelf.
He steers me into the elevator and pushes the button for the second floor. We whiz up in seconds, and when the door opens, I correct his earlier statement.
“No, this is where Santa threw up. And a bunch of kindergarten classes tried to clean up.”
Kids. Everywhere. Literally everywhere. Some are screaming, some are crying, others are bouncing excitedly. One little boy zooms past us, pointing out almost everything on the shelves, much to the chagrin of his somewhat bedraggled mom.
“Can’t I do this online?” Kye asks, his arm finally dropping from me. “This looks like a special kind of hell.”
“You’re holiday shopping on the kids’ floor. Of course it’s a special kind of hell.” I grab his sleeve and drag him into the middle of the chaos.
He looks terrified. His eyes are wide and he’s staring blindly into the abyss of children’s toys that sing, dance, jump, and probably rap the national anthem for all I know. I shouldn’t laugh. I know I shouldn’t. But when you’re looking at a twenty-four-year-old, six feet tall, probably around one hundred and seventy pounds of pure tattooed muscle, and he’s standing in the center of a toy aisle without the slightest clue about what to do, it’s even funnier than it sounds.
Kye walks forward slowly, perusing the shelves as he does. “She’s not going to want Hot Wheels, is she?” He glances over his shoulder at me, and I shake my head “no” with a grimace.
The fact that he had to ask me that is slightly worrying.
When he nods his understanding and finds his way to the girls section after zigzagging through excited children, he looks even more out of his depth than I thought possible.
Who knew Barbies could be so scary?
I snap a sneaky picture of him looking at a talking puppy toy with confusion etched into his features and text it to Sofie. Her reply is almost instant and is nothing but laughing-crying face emojis. Kye returns the puppy to its shelf and turns, coming face-to-face with a doll dressed as a doctor with pigtails, clutching a lamb.
“I think she likes this,” he says hesitantly. “But I don’t know if she has it.”
I shrug, trying to look innocent, and peer down at my phone. I get another covert picture of him prodding at the lamb, clearly expecting it to talk. Sofie tells me Mila has Doc McStuffins, whatever the hell that is, and I take it from Kye.
“Okay. This is getting real painful.” I set the thing back on the shelf and look at him. “I already know what you need to get Mila.”
“And you just let me wander around like a clueless dick?”
“That’s an accurate summary,” I mumble. “But it was funny. And you looked kinda cute.”
Kye looks down at himself. “I’m kinda cute?”
“Moving on . . .” I walk past him. “I know what you need to buy, but I don’t actually know what it is. The extent of my knowledge about kids is . . . well, not very extensive.”
“Sounds nonexistent.”
Yeah, that works. “She wants a baby doll that cries and pees and stuff. There are a couple of them, but Sof can’t remember exactly which one she asked for. . . .”
“Great. So she’s putting the kid’s happiness in my hands.”
I grin. “She knows how to parent. Just think, if Christmas is ruined, she can blame you.”
Kye mutters something under his breath then looks at me. “When I have kids, I’m giving Sof all the hard shit on their lists. Now help me find this crying, peeing baby doll.”
We loaded our numerous bags in the back of Kye’s truck before heading to dinner, just as Kye planned. We located the required doll after Sofie saw the ad on TV and remembered its name. That made it easier for the poor sixteen-year-old store clerk who was already starstruck at having “OhmyGodthat’sKyeBurke” ask her for help. Instead of having to actually talk to him, the poor soul could simply point to the doll then run away shaking.
Apparently, that’s a regular occurrence. Even with his brothers. When I asked what she would have done if they were all there, he told me I didn’t want to know. His tone said he wasn’t joking.
Here’s the thing—although I’m used to groupies and fangirls for my dad’s set, I’m not used to teenage groupies and fangirls. And those? Crap on a cracker. They seem to be . . . I don’t know if I actually have an appropriate word, so I’m gonna go with “scary.”
I shiver as a gentle breeze chills the air, and he takes my hand in his. I take a deep breath, but the warmth of his fingers settling between mine overrides my worry.
That and the way my heart thumps inside my chest.
He guides me through the throng of people toward a sandwich place I’ve never noticed before. It’s tucked away off the main shopping street, and although there are several people here, it’s still pretty empty.
“I love this place,” he says to me with a bright smile. “They do the best meatball subs I’ve ever tasted.”
I look up at the menu on the boards above the counter. There’s a picture of the meatball sub I’m guessing is the same one he was just talking about, and while I know they never look like the pictures, I am pretty cold and it looks like the perfect thing to have after shopping.
“Sounds good.” I return his smile, although mine is smaller, and he lets go of my hand to order.
Minutes later, we leave with two piping-hot, toasted meatball subs in a bag, and he’s got my hand in his again. We find an empty bench just off the square, facing away from the Christmas tree. We sit down and Kye hands me my sandwich, and it really is as hot as I thought, so I open the wrapper and let it cool for a moment.
We’re not sitting in the best spot, temperature-wise. We’re at the edge of town here and only a stone’s throw away from the beach, so there’s a biting wind traveling up to us from the sea. If I wasn’t used to this from living almost my whole life in Shelton Bay, I’d be turning into a snowman right now.
I steal a glance at Kye. Unlike me, he’s seemingly not bothered by how hot the sandwich is and is already munching his way through it. A small smile teases my lips, and I drop my eyes to my feet.
I don’t know why he’s doing everything he can to pursue me. I don’t know why, even when I told him I wasn’t interested, he kept pushing.
I don’t know why I’m glad he did.
“Are you gonna eat that or just use it as a lap warmer? I bring you to the most amazing sandwich place in the world, and you’re just starin’ at it like it’s gonna fuckin’ eat you.”
I laugh and face him. “Sorry, but not all of us can eat scalding-hot food.”
“Ugh,” he groans. He leans back and rolls his wrapper into a ball. “I bet you wait for your coffee to cool a little, too, don’t you?”
“Will that change your opinion of me?” I lift the sandwich and take a small bite out of it. Flavor explodes in my mouth, and I moan happily as I chew.
“Not if you keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Moaning. While you eat.” His eyes burn into mine, desire flaring in the depths of the blueness.
I swallow the mouthful of food I just bit off. “Um. Sorry?”
He reaches forward and, with a gentle brush of his thumb, removes some sauce from the corner of my mouth. I peer down and grab his hand, then lick it off.
I grin.
He doesn’t.
“Fuck, Chelsey.” He says my name in a rough exhale. It’s the kind of breath you feel everywhere, and I do, even though it wasn’t my breath. “You’re makin’ it real fuckin’ hard for me to behave myself like a proper gentleman.”
My lips part and I look down. Then glance at him. “And by behave, you mean . . .”
“I mean it’s real fuckin’ hard not to throw you in my truck, drive you home, then follow you upstairs and fuck you the way I want to.”
I have no idea how to respond to that.
I wrap up the remaining half of my sandwich and hold it, careful not to squeeze out any sauce. “What . . .” My mouth goes dry as I meet his eyes. “What if I said okay?”
He runs his hand through his hair, turning away. “Then it goes against everything I’m trying to do,” he says under his breath. “Come on.” He stands and holds out his hand, still not looking at me. “I’m taking you home now.”