My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) (3 page)

What am I doing?

Chapter Two

The second Kent mentions the word ‘party’ James gets up with a pizza box and leaves. I stare after his back despondently. I thought he’d be the one to keep me company. I don’t find the idea of being left alone with Kent comforting.

“Don’t look so afraid,” Kent teases. “I’m the one doing all of the heavy lifting tonight. Well, me
and
the couch, but the couch is a supporting character. I’m the lead.”

I groan and roll my eyes at his grinning face. “Do you really only have sex with girls on the couch?”

His eyes narrow at my insulting comment. “It isn’t simply sex. I’m taking them to outer space. Be careful or I’ll give you the tour. I hear Earth looks great from up there.”

My cheeks blaze. “No thanks. I’ll enjoy the sights from down here.”

His black eyes twinkle. “I’m making you uncomfortable. Why?”

“You said be careful or you’ll do me on the couch. How am I not supposed to be uncomfortable?”

“I was kidding. I meant what I said to James. I didn’t let you live here to sleep with you. I get enough ass for free. I don’t need to scheme for it. So don’t worry. It’s not going to happen between us.”

I should be comforted by his words. He’s trying to convince me that he won’t do me on the couch. It seems fairly simple. But the way he says it, like there’s no way he could ever want me, hurts my ego. I swallow my bite and hope I don’t choke on the offended lump in my throat.

“Great to know,” I manage.

He nods, gladdened by my response. “Anyway, you should change your clothes if you’re going to be my wingman tonight.”

I finish my second slice of pizza and wipe my mouth on my napkin. “How exactly am I going to do that?”

“You’re going to hang off of me all night. You’re going to claim me, rub up against me, and make every girl in the room jealous.” He looks excited by this new kind of chase.

“I thought you don’t scheme.”

“I’m not scheming. I’m plotting.” He gives me an exasperated look. “As my new wingman I expect you keep up with me.”

“Can I be your wing-woman instead?”

“Fine. Whatever. Now go change. Wear something sexy. Something that makes those pretty hazel eyes stand out.” He gets up and dusts crumbs off his black jeans. “I’ll make the calls. If you know anyone and want to invite them, go for it.”

He thinks my eyes are pretty? I frown at his back as he heads toward his bedroom with his cell. How much of a jerk can he be?
It’s not going to happen between us,
he’d said. Saying my eyes are pretty feels like saying my teeth are rich in calcium. What’s the damn point? He doesn’t even really think I’m attractive or I’d be who he wanted on the couch tonight.

“Do you hear yourself?” I mumble in angry shock.

I don’t want to be on his disease-infested couch. I look over at the long sectional and glare in disgust.

How many women has he done on it? And why won’t he take them to his bedroom?

I decide to take a shower. The sweat from earlier has dried on my body and I feel gross and sticky. What kind of wing-woman would I be when I smell like an animal who does in fact have wings?

I hope Kent won’t mind if I use his soap. I lather it all over my body, surprised to find it’s mild and clean. I won’t smell like car freshener like so many men at the bar do. I cringe thinking of work. It’s not that I dislike my job. My boss, Wayne, isn’t a bad guy. He took a chance on me when I came in looking for work and hired me with barely any past experience.

My problem is the men I work around. They make Kent look like a gentleman. They’re always grabbing on me, making rude comments, and giving me that disgusting leer men give you when they’re horny. I have to turn down the masses every shift. I almost considered quitting when Liam Tess grabbed a handful of my behind and made the men at his table cackle. Most of the girls who work at Oblivion were used to it, and they’re a lot tougher, like my sister Becca. They have no problem telling men where to go. I, on the other hand, have never been bold. Working at Oblivion was probably the worst choice for me, but the pay is acceptable and there are nights where the tips make it worth the hassle.

I adore Becca, and oftentimes I envy her free-spirited personality, but she’s already questioning her choice of an art degree. Her indecisiveness has always given me a headache. My job may not be my dream, but it’s steady. I can rely on it. Becca takes great joy in pushing the limits, in seeing how far she can go before she fails. Our tastes are dissimilar. She craves tattoos, piercings, and boys like Kent. She even wants to open a tattoo shop with her on and off again boyfriend, but every time they get close she does what she always does.

She changes her mind, exchanging one impassioned idea for another, leaving a trail of forgotten dreams following behind her.

I rarely dream and do not appreciate the image of those forgotten dreams coming back to haunt me.

I fear she will end up like both our parents, a future I’ve been running from for years. Everything I’ve done this far in my life was an attempt to protect myself from ever being them. I don’t make choices that might fail. Like going to college. What if I drop out? And men? What if they end up being like my father? I’m sure there are warning signs, but sometimes those things are ignored in the face of pretty eyes and a killer smile.

So far men have never been an issue.

I get out of the shower and wrap my body in a towel, shaking off my unpleasant thoughts. As I do I hear the distinctive bass of rap music explode from the living room. I start shaking my ass and open the door, dancing in the hall.

Kent walks by. “Be careful. Your towel might fall.” He looks at me intensely, almost as if he’s willing the white towel to fall to my feet.

I dance harder, shaking my hips to the side to prove my towel is wrapped around me tightly.

“I’m okay,” I assure him.

He looks disappointed.

I dance all the way to my bedroom and close the door.
Pig
. I drop my towel and grab a pair of panties and matching bra from the pile I managed to scrape from Camden’s front lawn. Thinking of my things out in the open makes me nervous. I have this feeling I’m going to have to pull double shifts at Oblivion to replace them. That means more men, more looks, and large, uneven fake smiles. I’m terrible at flirting. The other girls make obscene amounts of money flirting with the men who come in. I make good tips, but I’ve seen girls walk away with five hundred a night over touching a guy’s arms. I’m not willing to employ their methods for more money. With the rent now I’ll have three hundred and some change for my living expenses. It will be cutting it close, but so far I’ve done that my entire life.

My clothes smell like grass from being thrown on the lawn. I spray my favorite perfume on my skinny jeans and my black lace peplum shirt. My breasts poke out of the low-cut top. Kent said sexy. I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror as I straighten my hair. I need to do something different with my life if my only option is being a wing-woman to some sexy manwhore.

When I emerge from my bedroom Kent has changed into a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt. He smells like spice and whiskey as he passes me in the hall. As he does, he looks me over, particularly my breasts.

“Hot,” he congratulates. “I put a shot on the counter for you. If you want more, pour me one too. We’re a team, all right? If you want me to hook you up with one of my boys I will.” He raises his eyebrow at me.

I sigh inwardly. “Cool.”

He reaches over and touches my nose with his index finger disapprovingly. “I need more enthusiasm from you, wing-woman.”

“Awesome, Kent!” I cheer. I raise my hand. He claps my palm hard. “I can’t wait to wake up with a hangover and no morals! Hear, hear to the couch!” I skip away from him, ignoring his laughter.

Sure enough there’s a shot on the counter in the kitchen. The music thumps under my feet and I wonder if the neighbors are going to call the police. I stare at the shot for a long time, contemplating its place in my life. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Out on my ass, or take the shot? End up like my dad, or stay like myself?

“Was it hard to find an apartment?” Kent asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he spies my hesitation. “I can find a roommate who can roll with me.
Like that
,” he adds, snapping his fingers.

I grumble mean words under my breath so he can’t hear me over the music and take the shot.

Making an unfeminine noise, I slam the shot down. “Happy?” I growl.

“No. Pour another. I want less of an attitude. I’m getting you shitfaced tonight. And every night after. I need you to be able to keep up.”

“I miss James,” I mumble, taking the bottle. I pour Kent and myself another and then stand back as he enters the kitchen.

“Let’s cheer. Your speech…” he pauses, hand in the air with his shot to his lips.

I put on a brave face. “Here’s to being the best damn wing-woman I can be.”

He grins at me. His smile is crooked and his eyes are gleaming sinfully. He looks bad and dark and I can’t help noticing how great his biceps appear. The black of his shirt reminds me how dark his eyes actually are.

“Atta girl, Raina.”

We clink our glasses together and throw them back, while I struggle to keep the animation out of my disgust. By the proud grin he gives me, I think I achieve it.

He licks his lips free of whiskey and his dark eyes regard me seriously, dropping his grin. “Thank you for being nice to James. Most people aren’t like that.”

I look down at my black pumps. “That’s unfortunate. Why can’t people be more accepting?”

He nods slowly. “Believe me. It pisses me off too. He’s a great guy. I’ve known him since fourth grade. When I moved here for college he came with me. The college kids in town treat him like shit. But I’m not so selfless to let him go home. Out of everyone in my life, James has always had my back and me, his. Don’t hurt him, okay?”

“How would I hurt him?”

“Because James never talks to anyone. I’m the only person he communicates with. First night here he’s apologizing to you, eating pizza, and talking shit about me. He must like you. He’s been hurt enough in his life by people. I don’t need you adding to it.”

“What makes you think I don’t like him back?”

“I’m operating from past experiences.” He glares at me. “Don’t look at me like that. I love James, but I’m honest with myself enough to admit girls aren’t begging him for the couch. Do I agree? Hell no. If they were smart they’d want him, not me. But women aren’t smart. They’re all cheating, ungrateful whores. They deserve me and the couch!” he growls.

I step back in shock. “Kent…”

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, forcing himself to calm down as he paces the kitchen. When he looks at me again he at least has the decency to be ashamed. “Just don’t hurt him. Don’t smile at him, or tease him, or do that cute thing you do when you frown. Right there,” he accuses. “Don’t do that shit.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I find that oddly not shocking.”

“You’re kind of a smart ass. You know what I do to smart-ass mouths?” He moves toward me.

I take a step back, my eyes shooting to his lips. “What?”

He mirrors my step, walking toward me until I’m backed up against the counter. “I punish them.”

“How do you do that?” I honestly want to know, trying to ease the sudden tension in the room. It’s buzzing between us, making me unable to form thoughts that do not surround his lips punishing my smart mouth.

“I’m a good kisser,” he explains offhandedly, not answering my question. I lick my lips nervously and his eyes cease boring in to me and move to my mouth instead. “You know when girls lick their lips it’s their way of begging to be kissed?”

“I don’t beg,” I whisper, licking them again. Damn!

“One more time and I’m tasting them,” he warns, but his eyes are humorous, and I know he’s messing with me.

His teasing is like throwing water on a fire. I’m soaked through and thinking straight again. I push against his chest and roll my eyes. The whiskey is burning in my belly and Kent is getting on my nerves. Just as I leave the kitchen, the door opens. Two men enter with brown bags full of alcohol and food.

They pause when they see me. Both of them are wearing tank tops and jeans shorts. Their ball caps are on backwards and they’ve got naughty smiles.

“Damn, Kent. Already?” one of them asks.

Kent smirks. “Raina, this is Jake and Zeke. Guys, this is Raina, my new roommate.”

Their eyes widen. “For real?” one of them asks.

“Real for?” the other one says.

Huh?

“Raina, these guys can party for hours. Take notes.”

“Will do,” I respond dryly. “Which one’s Jake?” He raises his hand. Black hair was Jake and brown hair was Zeke. “Hi, Jake and Zeke.”