Chapter 14: Kyle
I rolled over and groaned. My head ached. Someone had left the light on and it seeped in between my eyelids, lancing my head with pain. I groaned again. My mouth tasted awful. I sat up.
“What the…”
I looked around. It was bright daylight, soft with dawn, and it filtered through net curtains over a big, long window. The room was cluttered—bookshelves, CD player, television, a big rug and plush furniture. I was sitting up, fully dressed, alone, on a couch.
Oh heck.
Memory returned to me suddenly. I knew exactly where I was. I was on the sofa. In Bethany’s mom’s house.
“Kyle Beckham,” I scolded myself, “of all the stupid, irresponsible things! You useless, stupid…” I trailed off. Some flicker of memory returned from the previous night. Sitting at a table. In a kitchen, maybe, with Bethany opposite. Her voice, saying something.
It’s not your fault. The adults in your life couldn’t be accountable. But that doesn’t mean that it’s actually your fault.
I blinked in surprise. I didn’t know if those were her exact words, or my sense of them. But I recalled her saying that. I was surprised. Somehow, it had shifted the shame and pain I always carried. My usual newsreel of reprimands didn’t quite have the impact it usually did.
Maybe whoever said all that was lying.
It had never occurred to me not to believe it. That it could have been coming from any other motivation other than telling me the truth. I frowned. For someone who didn’t trust anyone, I sure took people’s word for it when they said something negative! I chuckled.
My head hurt and I closed my eyes, trying to make the room stop moving. I sat down again.
I should leave. Now. How the heck am I going to get to work from here?
My car was here—I recalled a memory of driving here, recklessly.
If the police had been out, they would have stopped me, I thought grimly. The image of me creeping along the streets at thirty miles an hour, focused intently, trying to avoid things, came to mind. I would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious. I must never do that again.
I stood, head swaying, and walked to the door. Maybe if I drank some water, my head would clear. I recalled a kitchen somewhere here. I looked around.
I tensed, hearing footsteps. Oh heck. What if that was Mrs. Hayworth? I stood stiffly. How was I going to explain who I was, why I was here?
I heard a footstep in the hallway and whipped round. I drew in a breath.
With the pale morning sunshine on her long pale hair, her curves lovely in a skirt and shirt, it was Bethany. I tensed. What would she think of me now? I stayed in the doorway, half hoping she wouldn’t see me there. Maybe, if I was quiet, she’d pass me. I could just get some water and sneak out to the car and she’d forget I was there.
I stood still, trying to make myself lean back against the cupboards, willing myself invisible.
She looked up, straight at my face.
Her smile was soft.
“Hello,” she said.
I stared. I couldn’t help it. Her big brown eyes were gentle in the morning light, those plump lips soft and just parted in the grin.
My loins ached despite my exhaustion and the traces of a hangover. I winced, hoping she couldn’t see the sign of my arousal. She smiled.
“You’re awake early,” she commented.
“What’s the time?” I asked, looking around for a clock. Bad idea—any sudden moves made my head ache like someone was trying to break it.
“It’s eight thirty,” she said lightly.
“What?” My heart thumped in panic. “I’m going to be late for work…” I leaned back, supporting my weight. Closed my eyes in weary resignation. “I can’t make it.”
She frowned. “Call in sick,” she suggested. “Come on. Just this once. You’re not going to be very awake today, anyway. It can last a day without you.”
I stared at her. I never called in sick. I would have felt like I was betraying some deep personal code. Hell, even when I was sick, I hesitated to do it. It felt almost as if my useless, worthless self would creep out of the woodwork if I risked being human.
“Come on,” she said gently. “Do it. You can probably even get a doctor’s certificate if you need one. I think any doctor would agree you’re not able to work.”
“Fine.”
I sank wearily onto the seat by the kitchen table. Pulled out my phone, which was still in my pocket. Dialed the work number. Melody answered.
“Melody? I…hi! Yeah. Listen. It’s me. I’m going to have to call in sick today.”
“Sir! Oh no. Well, there’s only two meetings to reschedule. We can juggle them in tomorrow’s timetable. Listen, you get well soon? Okay?”
I smiled. “Thanks,” I said tiredly. I was surprised by how simple that had been. “Thanks—I appreciate it. Bye.”
“Bye, Mr. Beckham. Get well soon!”
I hung up, feeling a little guilty for telling a lie. A small lie, admittedly. I did feel sick. I felt pretty awful.
I looked up into Bethany’s smiling stare. “See?” she said, crossing the kitchen to reach the counter behind me smoothly. “That wasn’t too hard.”
I sighed. “Bethany,” I began wearily. “Listen. I…” I frowned. What could I say? I had some memory of what I had said last night—some idea that I’d told her a lot of stuff about myself, things I never normally discussed. Alright, not ever.
I could remember even more clearly what she’d said. Her advice, her kindness. I just didn’t know where that left us. Not that I had ever really understood “us”, and our instant, amazing closeness—not ever.
“Kyle,” she said gently. “You want breakfast?”
I paused. I realized that I had missed dinner. And that, if I thought about it, I was hungry. Ravenously hungry.
“Please,” I nodded firmly. I paused. Remembered something else. “But I can’t stay. I don’t want to impose on your mother. I…” I trailed off as she smiled, laughing.
“Mom’s already out,” she said. “She wouldn’t mind anyway, but if you felt weird about it, don’t be. She’s only coming back at one.”
I stared at her. Suddenly, the ache in my loins got worse. I was here, in the kitchen, with Bethany.
No one else was in the house, and I had just spent the night under her roof, connecting with her. We were alone together.
It seemed that she had the same thought at the same time. She cleared her throat. Blushed.
“So,” she said cheerfully. “We can have toast and muesli? Or something warm, if you’d prefer?” she was opening cupboards behind me, making herself busy. I stood, uncertainly.
“That sounds great,” I said. My eyes met hers and held.
She stared at me. She must have read the depth of longing in my gaze because she looked down, embarrassed, breaking the stare.
“Well,” she continued, turning away quickly, “we can have coffee, maybe, or…”
“Coffee’s great,” I said gently. I reached out and touched her shoulder. She tensed and I let my hand drop.
“I’ll put the toast out,” she said, turning to the toaster, taking slices of bread out of a brown paper packet on the sideboard.
“I’ll make coffee,” I nodded. “This the thing?” I pointed to a capsule machine. She nodded.
“Thanks, Kyle. That would help.”
I busied myself with the coffee maker while she set about getting out plates and spoons. I watched her as she did so, enjoying just being able to look at her. I was feeling better now, my headache lifting a little as we worked together.
“Kyle, can you…?” she turned and stopped. She must have seen the expression on my face. She flushed, embarrassed.
“Uh, what?” I asked gently.
“Nothing,” she said, looking down. She was buttering the toast automatically, not really watching what she was doing, cutting it in half. She nicked her finger and swore, sticking it in her mouth.
I reached out a hand. “Let me see,” I said gently.
She drew the finger out of her mouth slowly, looking up at me. My heart melted. I reached out and let my hands rest gently on her shoulders. This time she didn’t flinch or tense up.
I looked down into her eyes. Her lips were pink and parted and I bent over and, very gently, touched them with my own. I let my tongue flick gently along their separation. Then I leaned back as my groin ached and my blood thumped in my veins, head aching.
She looked up at me, brown eyes soft and frowning.
“My mouth will taste terrible this morning,” I explained with a smile. “I should brush my teeth now.”
She smiled, a happy smile. When she bent to finish the toast, she was still chuckling. “Wait till you’ve eaten,” she advised. “Then I’ll take you upstairs. Show you around.”
At those words my loins tensed. If she was trying to tease me, she was doing well. I looked at her and when she looked up she was truly smiling.
I chuckled.
“What?” she said playfully.
“Nothing,” I said.
We both laughed.
She put out bowls and dug a box of muesli out of the recess of the cupboard. I finished the coffee and put it on the table at the two places at the end, then found some teaspoons. I watched her as I did so, my body rigid and drawn to hers as if my nerves were strung out, connected to each move she was making.
“Sugar?” I asked. I cleared my throat as I did so, my voice coming out funny.
“In the corner on the left,” she said succinctly. She was replacing things in the fridge. “Thanks,” she added, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she turned around.
“Not at all,” I smiled.
She put the toast on the table and we turned to take our places at the end. I faced her, looking right into those big, gentle eyes.
I leaned closer. She leaned up and our lips met, gently and delicately, a soft kiss that didn’t hold or cling, but made me gasp as my loins ached.
She looked into my eyes. She raised a brow and moved her seat back, carefully.
“Breakfast now,” she said coyly. “Anything else can wait.”
I laughed, though I had to admit it was a tense laugh. I felt like my body would shatter, each nerve drawn to fever pitch by being so close to her.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Anything else is waiting.”
She laughed and reached across the table for the sugar bowl that I’d placed between us and ladled sugar into her cup. I watched her, looking at those pretty fingers with their pearly skin as she stirred in neat little movements. Every part of her was sexy and alluring.
I looked into her eyes when she looked up. She frowned at me.
“What?” I said.
She giggled. “Oh, Kyle,” was all she said.
I swallowed hard. Focused on eating my toast.
As I did so, my headache lessened somewhat. I was hungry and bolted down both slices of toast, grateful that she’d thought to feed me first. My toes tingled as my body got fresh nourishment and I reached for my coffee, hoping it would clear the last of the fog from my thoughts. It did.
“Right,” she said, when I was finished. She was watching me, amused. “Now you have to have some cereal.”
I made a face. “I’m fine now,” I protested. Was she deliberately drawing out my agony? I wanted to smile at the way she stood and insistently filled my dish.
“No,” she said firmly, “you aren’t. A good day begins with a good breakfast. I insist.”
I smiled. “It is a good day,” I said.
She blushed red. “It is,” she agreed.
“Well, then,” I said, gently taking the muesli from her hands, finishing what she had started, and setting it back on the table. “I will obey.”
She laughed, a naughty giggle. “I like the sound of that.”
I blushed. “You do?” I could feel my body heating up, wanting her more and more with each word she said, each graceful motion.
“I think I could get used to that,” she agreed mildly. “Which might get tiresome, at least as far as you’re concerned?” she raised a brow. Her smile was wicked. My loins ached.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily. “I can’t imagine I would get tired of that.”
She swallowed hard. Looked down at her own breakfast. Took a few mouthfuls and chewed, swallowed. I did the same. When I looked up again, she was smiling at me.
“Well?” I frowned, setting aside my spoon with a clang. Neither of us noticed. “Do you think it would be a good idea to try that?”
She smiled, her eyes alive with teasing.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that sounds like a very good idea. Shall we?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
She pushed back her chair, a slow, deliberate movement. Stood, that sweet, curvy body firm and insistent as she pushed the chair in again and then put her hands on it, smiling up at me.
I nodded and let her lead me out of the kitchen and up the wooden stairs of the old-fashioned house, toward the bedroom.