Twenty - Six - Serena

“Not with you.”

 

 

 

Two hours and twelve minutes.

That’s how long they’ve been upstairs. It’s lost on me what they could be discussing, and I’m not allowed in, which I understand. But I miss Kholton, as loony as that sounds. I mean, he’s literally right upstairs.

I got sick at the amusement park earlier—no doubt from all the crap we ate—so he took me to Brock’s house and fed me Lemon Ginger tea, rubbed me down, and kissed me all over until I fell asleep.

At sundown, I woke up to an absent Kholton and present Brock, cooking chicken soup for me. Although, I refused, he forced me to drink it before I was allowed to leave.

Annoyingly bossy, that one. But I did feel better afterward.

I trekked the ten blocks home, feet kicking in the sand, heart light and happy.

“I’m still skeptical about that boy,” my father said when I got home. “But I’m willing to tolerate anyone who makes you glow like this.”

I lay my head to his chest, as I am wont to do, and he hugs me tight to him. Daddy’s girl.

We ordered dinner and ate on the upper balcony.

Kholton came over at nine. An hour late.

Though miffed and unimpressed with his tardiness, my father held his word and invited him up to the deck, then booted me downstairs.

Since then, I’ve been down here waiting on a brick of impatience.

Max strolls through the house every ten minutes, making sure I see him. I ignore him. He’s on edge because Kholton is here and it’s no secret by now that he’s more than a tutor. But screw him, he had his chance and he blew it.

Imagine Dragons spills through my speakers at a low volume while I curl up on the recliner and catch up on my reading. June, Gemini, and Alaric. What an effed-up trio. But damn if this storm chaser story isn’t one of the best damn books I’ve ever read.

My phone pings.

I snatch it up and scan the screen with eager anticipation as has become a habit since I met Kholton, but then I remember he’s upstairs. In my house. Talking to my father. And this morning he was inside me.

My stomach flips and dances. He’s with me. I have him.

The text is from my bestest.

 

Alaric: So? Are you gonna tell me what the D is like or nah?

Serena: Lol. I’m literally reading a book called Touched right now with a character who has your name.

Alaric: He betta be hot or I’ll hunt down and bludgeon the author for giving some ugly dickhead my name.

Serena: Yeah, he’s hot. So much he’s sandwiched by two sisters. How’s Dave…and Kacey?

Alaric: Noooooo. Don’t try to deflect. Tell me about the ‘tutor’. Is he good in bed?

Serena: Who said we did anything to begin with?

Alaric: His Instagram? Yours, too.

Serena: ?????

Alaric: He posted a pic of you in bed. Can’t see your face, but I know it’s you. Don’t try to deny it. Deets. Now!

 

Mind tangled, I close out of the chat with Alaric and hop onto Instagram. I check my page first. There’s a post from a few hours ago. A post I didn’t make.

It’s a selfie of us that Kholton snapped at the amusement park, a Ferris wheel looming in the background. We’re pressed together, and I’m holding a pink cotton-candy in one hand, the other hooked around his neck. My face is tilted up at him, my grin so wide my cheeks hurt. The image is cropped so only the bottom half of his face is showing, lips full and red, jaw squared with dark scruff.

The caption reads…

Exclusively his.

#ridehimlikeaTiltAWhirl #hemakesmesmilesohard

 

What the flipping heck?

When did he post this? How?

I go to his profile, and sure enough, there’s a picture of me in his bed at Brock’s place. Posted this morning.

I’m curled up on my side and my hair is a wild mess, all about my face and the white pillows, hiding my identity.

My entire back, on the other hand, is exposed, with a slight glimpse of side-boob, the white sheets draped at my waist. It’s wild and messy and not at all supposed to look sexy, but he’s used some sort of filter that makes it almost boudoir.

The caption reads…

I bit the apple.

#amfucked #bothways :)

 

His comments section is flooded with questions. Everyone wants to know who the “redhead” is. Some even comment that I’m ugly—even though my face is hidden—and that my back is fat. Goes without saying, his followers are 95% female. Understandably.

Funny how this missed me, because I check his Instagram daily like it’s my duty. Today is the one day I didn’t, for obvious reasons. 

I’m indignant and flattered and pissed off.

What gives him the right? I have a strong, two-step lock on my phone. Which meant he legit broke in. I mean, what the heck?

And on top of invading my privacy, he went on social media and outed me. Just who does this dude think he is?

I seethe for the next half-an-hour, ignoring Alarics’ persistent texts. Finally, I hear footsteps descending the stairs. Aaron first, Kholton behind him.

My father takes one look at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”

I wag my head. “Nothing. Just this book I’m reading.”

He eyes me with skepticism, but lets it slide, pulling me into a goodnight hug. “I’m off to bed. Where’s Max?”

I shrug. “Somewhere pouting.”

He gives me a chastising look, but it’s followed by a kiss to my forehead. Letting me go, he turns to Kholton and they engage in an intense silent exchange. It’s not pleasant, and borderline uncomfortable. 

My father’s voice is cold when he bids, “Mr. Sharpe.”

Kholton nods, but it’s more than a nod. “Mr. Bentley.”

I wait until my father is gone before I give Kholton my attention.

He eyes the phone in my hand, how tightly I’m clutching it.

Through clenched teeth, I say, “Let me walk you out.”

Before he can respond, I turn and go ahead of him, not stopping until I’m a small distance from the house. Toes in the sand, fury under my tongue. The moon overhead full and bright, the sea as black as my rage.

I whirl around and cross my arms, only to realize he’s more than a few feet behind. Taking his own sweet time catching up to me.

He’s wearing powder-blue cutoff shorts, a white linen shirt, and sandals. God, I can’t stand how good he looks sometimes. Especially when I’m mad at him.

Hands loose in his pockets, he stops in front of me.

“What. The. Hell, Khol?” I grit out. 

“What?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Exclusively his?”

He shrugs. Unapologetic. “A man can only dream.”

“You hacked my phone.”

“Your fingerprint plus the last four digits of your phone number. Wasn’t that hard.”

Is he serious right now? “That’s not the point!”

He shifts on his feet, face shadowed by the darkness, yet highlighted by the moonlight. “What’s the problem here, Serena? Is it such a crime to want you to myself?”

“Why?” I half-shout. “Why do you even want this? Aren’t you supposed to be a playboy or something? Sex without attachments, ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’, yada yada.”

“You’re different.” He says this in such a gentle voice that the words almost get lost on the wind.

“No, I’m not!” I stomp my foot to drown out the sound of my exploding heart. “You hated me, remember? I pretty much forced my way into your life.”

“You’re a fool if you believe that. I never hated you,” he admits. “I was…afraid.”

“Afraid?” I shake my head. “Afraid of what?”

“Of this!” he bites out. “This bullshit argument. These bullshit feelings. All of it. You think I wanted this? Any of it? I didn’t. But the more I pushed you away, the harder you chased me. And now I’m the asshole?”

I turn away from him to the dark horizon. Because he’s right. I’ve been relentless in my pursuit of him. His response is natural. His request is not unreasonable. From where he’s standing, exclusivity should not have even been a request.

I am responsible for this. And while I can’t give him what he wants, I can’t walk away either.

“I asked you a question today and you answered with a lie,” he says to my back. “So, I’m gonna ask again. What. Do you want. From. Me?”

Cool night wind teasing my hair, I turn around to face him again. “I didn’t lie. I want you. Just not…exclusively.” The words burn my tongue on their way out, because they’re nothing but flaming lies.

The thought of him being with someone else makes me sick. I want everything with Kholton. I’m high and insanely happy when I’m with him. He’s all I never knew I needed.

But more than I want Kholton, I want a baby. And as much as he seems willing and ready to hang up his playboy hat for me, a baby will unquestionably send him running in the other direction. What is “too soon” for him is a dream for me. Aaron and I have been such a lonely duo for so long, a new addition to the family will be perfect for us. Kholton would never understand that.

Moving in, he brushes wisps of windblown hair from my face. Then he cups the back of my head and kisses me.

It’s slow. Soft. Gentle.

Breaking with a sigh, he pulls back and whispers, “If it were anybody else, Serena. If it were anybody else. But not with you. Just…not with you.”

He brushes his lips against mine one last time, before he turns and walks away from me.