My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) (9 page)

I sense Kent looking expectantly at me. “I have to work,” I remind him.

“Can I come hang out there?”

When was the last time Kent was by himself? Since I’ve moved in he’s had two girls, a party, and then his friends at Oblivion. The last time he was alone was when he showered. Although I can imagine what he fantasizes about. He’s probably never truly alone.

“As long as you promise not to hook up with anyone else I work with.”

“How’s the apartment hunting going?”

Right. Wing-woman. “Fine. You can come hang out. But I need a key.”

“I’ll make you one. As soon as I get your rent money I’ll fix the A/C.”

I hold up a finger and grab my purse from my room. When I return to the table I set it down and push it to him. “Count my tips. I’ll write you a check for the rest.”

He sucks some ketchup off on his thumb and then begins sifting through the contents to pull out a thick wad of cash. The higher he counts, the deeper my surprise. There’s even a one hundred dollar bill in the pot.

“This is from me.” He grins at me.

“Kent.”

“You were hot, girl. You deserved a fat tip.”

Never mind how demoralizing that sounded. “How much is there?”

“Four hundred and fifty four dollars. Do you always make this much in tips?”

I shake my head, stunned. “Never.”

“You should shake your ass more often.” He winks at me. “That or your flirting skills have suddenly sharpened.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I am now a confident, strong woman because of it.”

“There goes that smart mouth again,” he warns quietly, giving me a dark look.

After finishing his food, James signs
thank you
, dumps his dishes in the sink, and then shuffles groggily back to his bedroom.

I bite my lip and decide to push him. “I’ve always thought I was smart. Thank you, Kent. You’re making my day with all of these compliments.”

“If you don’t stop smart-mouthing me I’m going to make you stop.” He sets my money down.

“Did Samantha smart mouth you last night?” I push away from the table when he does, trying not to get nervous when he stands up and looms over me. “Or was she too busy screaming your name to form coherent words?”

“Raina,” he threatens, “that mouth of yours needs punishing.”

That strange attraction starts to crackle between us like lightning. “Then punish it,” I whisper, feeling a foreign sense of longing radiating throughout my entire body.

He reaches over and grabs my chin, tilting my head back. His thumb trails over my bottom lip. He pulls it down a bit, wetting his thumb and my lip with my drool. I’m drooling. His touch can be felt all over my body, as if he’s trailing his fingers down my back, over my thighs, and between my legs.

“I don’t think you’re ready for the kind of punishments I give out.” His thumb dips into my mouth and runs along my bottom teeth.

I stare, silent, into his dark eyes as he enters my mouth. I know I should push him off, bite him, anything to free myself from his grip. I know all of this. But I don’t do it any of it.

I open my mouth for him.

His thumb pushes deeper and he drags it slowly over my tongue. “Suck, Raina.”

A never-before-unearthed part of me takes over. She knows what to do. She closes my lips around his large thumb and sucks on him gently. He groans and rotates his thumb in my mouth, and then he pulls it out slowly. The sensation of him in my mouth makes heat flare between my legs. I grip the edge of my chair for support, ensnared by his black unfathomable eyes.

“That shut you up, didn’t it?” His wet fingers grip my chin and he leans down. He kisses the corner of my mouth, not even my lips, and whispers in my ear. “Next time it won’t be my thumb.”

Kent pops his finger into his mouth, eyes still trapping me as he tastes me. Then he walks away, calling over his shoulder. “Thanks for breakfast, wing-woman.”

I let out a strangled breath as soon as I hear his bedroom door close. I am myself again. I am Raina O’Connor. A girl who doesn’t suck on thumbs or savor the taste of men in her mouth. I take a bite of food to wash his taste away, but it’s no use. Kent was inside of me.

I smile and groan at the same time. I’ve never felt so…sexy? Naughty? Excited? I blush remembering the feeling of him in my mouth. I’ve never felt any of those things before. I remind myself there was a good reason for that. There’s a reason why I’ve kept men at a distance. It hasn’t proved me wrong yet and I mustn’t forget those reasons because Kent is immune to them.

I dump our plates into the sink and then hide out in my room for the rest of the day, only relaxing once I hear Kent leave for school. He does so loudly, letting me know he’s gone. I wonder why he wants to notify me at all. I thought I was nothing but a wing-woman?

What was I thinking sucking on his finger? I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem. Giving myself no release whatsoever is starting to backfire. My body is searching for release anyway it can find it—through sexy men with obvious issues. I mean seriously, why are his eyes so damn magnetizing? James’s are pretty, but I don’t want to put his finger in my mouth. Or find out what he would put in my smart mouth the next time I use it.

On my way out of the bathroom after getting ready for work, I pause and stare at Kent’s door. Why does he insist on bagging girls on the couch when he has a perfectly good bedroom?

My curiosity is piqued.

I risk opening his door. Light shines in through beige curtains, warming his bedroom in a golden haze. His king bed is made with comfortable-looking swaths of black sheets and white pillows. It smells like cologne, clean clothes, and citrus. I spy an orange candle by his bed and suspect that’s why. There isn’t a single thing out of place. I push his closet open and am not surprised to find it organized impeccably. His shirts hang from hangers, his jeans are folded by color, and his shoes line the floor. The man is organized.

I leave his closet alone and examine his dresser. Cologne bottles, hairbrushes, and hair products that he obviously never uses decorate the top. There’s a large mirror behind it. Stuck to the corner is a picture of a woman. She can’t be any older than us. She has long onyx hair and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Her face is sharply beautiful, all angles and clear skin. She’s smiling at the camera like the man she loves is taking the picture. For some reason I can’t stop looking at her. I’m struck by how much I want happiness like that. I want to smile at a man and know he’s never going to leave me.

Why does Kent have a picture of this girl?

I quickly put her back where I found her and then leave his bedroom. So his room isn’t the problem. If anything, it’s kind of a turn on. He’s so clean in his separate life. Why can’t he be that way all the time? His social life is sloppy, scattered, and unsafe. He’s with different women, drinking that drink, and worrying about tomorrow as if it weren’t the same as yesterday.

We’re all running from something in our lives. Some of us don’t have to run as hard, and others have to sprint for their lives. I had a feeling Kent has been running as fast as he can away from something. Or from someone. I’ve run from my childhood every chance I get. From the nights waking up alone without my parents, having to rely on Becca. From the mornings waking up with colds and an empty belly with no one there to take care of me but my sister who was only two years older than me. Becca was my parent, but at the same time she was her own kind of messed up. She searched for in men what she didn’t get from our father. I avoid men because of him.

We’ve been running in our own ways. Every choice I make is to prevent my future from looking like screaming and fighting. Every man Becca sleeps with was an attempt to prove they aren’t all like our father.

But they are.

Men are the reason I fear my own emotions.

Chapter Four

When I get to Oblivion it’s no different than last night. I take a deep breath, enjoy the few seconds of sanity I still possess, and then enter into the chaos.

Henley is at the computer system, drumming her fingers on the touch screen when I come in. “Samantha called in sick,” is her greeting.

“Let me guess. I get all of her tables?”

“You got it. Can you handle it? Maybe one of the other girls will help out.”

I try not to show my irritation. I’m not mad at Henley or even Samantha. I’m mad at Kent. “No, I can handle it. Catch me up.”

As she lets me know about the tables I’m serving tonight, I think about what made Samantha call in sick. Is she upset with herself? Is she sore? Kent did sound like he was hurting her. Or maybe she doesn’t give a shit that she left me during the busiest shift because she fell for Kent’s BS. Something I absolutely refuse to do again. No more thumbs in my mouth. I’ll let girls like Auburn Hair and Samantha fall for it from now on.

I grab my order pad and approach a new table. After taking and putting in their orders I start my rounds. I pour beer, pick up wings, and work Oblivion like a madwoman. The first three hours fly by and so does my break. I’m coming back into the main floor when Henley taps me on my shoulder.

“Handsome requested he sit in your section.” She nods toward the entrance.

I spot Kent immediately. He’s wearing sunglasses tonight. His hands are in his pockets and he looks kind of lost.

“Put him at table twenty-one.”

“You and him…?” She lets the suggestion hang in the air.

“No,” I mutter. “We’re just roommates.”

She laughs at me. I wonder what about. “Poor thing. Okay, I’ve got to check on my tables. Get going. Table twenty-nine looks pissed.”

Poor thing? What does that mean?

I fix my face and go and meet him, even if I would rather him not show after what happened in the kitchen this morning. My stomach knots with nerves and my mouth is dry. I’m glad he’s wearing sunglasses. Even though as I approach him I feel his eyes all over me, I pretend he can’t see me.

“Kent,” I greet him, forcing a smile out. “You’re by yourself tonight.”

He shrugs and follows me over to his table. “Zeke won’t shut up about you. And since Jake won’t go anywhere without him I’m flying solo tonight.”

“You won’t let Zeke come?” I guess, frowning as I set his menu and silverware down in front of him.

“I don’t want him looking at you all night. He’s got the creepiest stalker gaze.”

I smirk uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to give him the wrong idea or anything.”

He nods. “Don’t feel bad. Those are the girls we want. The ones who are sexy, feisty, and smart without even trying. Of course you didn’t lead him on. He’s a dumbass. Don’t worry about it. Those are the girls we lose too,” he continues gruffly, “because we’re all dumbasses, Raina. Every last one of us. We lose them to other dumbasses and those dumbasses never appreciate what they have.”

“Kent,” I say, confused by and uncomfortable with his anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Me neither. I feel like getting shitfaced tonight. Here.” He leans over and takes his wallet out, pulling out a credit card. “Start a tab. And hook me up with one of your friends, wing-woman. I want to forget tonight.”

“Forget what?”

He removes his sunglasses, brow weighed down with something dark tonight. “No one. I want a barbecue pizza, two shots of whatever’s cheap, and a beer to start.”

I don’t mention that I asked what, not
who
. I simply write his order down before I can forget it, confused by the depressed air around him. “First round’s on me.” I pat his shoulder softly.

He smile is tainted in sadness. “Thank you, Raina.”

I turn around and frown to myself. He seems so different and lost tonight. I can figure out why he wants booze and women this evening. I don’t understand the true reason, the one inside of him, but sometimes the reason why you run rarely matters in the face of your pain. Getting away from it for one second is worth the exhaustion running causes you later. I can relate in that regard. But I’m an inquisitive person; my mind keeps flashing back to that beautiful girl on his mirror.

When I attempt to leave after bringing his drinks, he grabs my hand and gently pulls me back to him. “Stay and talk to me.”

“I have to work. My tables are waiting.”

“How was your day?” he asks, either not hearing me or choosing to overlook my excuse.

“Fine, I guess. How was school?”

“Boring.” He drops my hands and motions for me to sit down. When I don’t he glares at me. “I want to talk. Sit down.”

“I have to work. Look at that table. They’re probably discussing not leaving me a tip as we speak.” Kent gives them the finger and I gasp, trying to cover his hand from their sights. “Kent!”

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Kent looks up at me with raw emotion burning behind his usual cocky attitude. “Talk to me.”

“Oh, Kent.” I reach over and touch his face. “Can you wait a few while I get my tables situated?”

He rubs his face involuntarily against my palm, his stubble scraping in a way that makes me want to lean down and kiss him. I pull my hand back at the thought.

“I can wait. A few,” he warns.

As quickly as possible, I make my rounds on my tables. I dip in the kitchen and bring one table their food and then bring Kent’s over to him. He’s tapping his fingers against his beer mug, over and over again, eyes trained on some faraway thought.

“I can’t sit or Wayne will get on my ass.”

“Tell Wayne to talk to me. We’re cool.”

“Kent, stop. What’s wrong with you?”

“I ran into an old friend today at school. A friend of a friend. Anyway, they kindly reminded me of a few things I didn’t want to remember. Now I want to forget.”

Could he beat around the bush any further? “Okay, and? That doesn’t explain why you’re acting so odd.”

“Am I acting odd? Is it odd to want to talk to your roommate?”

“Shh,” I hush, cringing at his loud tone.

“Sit down and I will.”

I shrink and sit down, hoping none of my tables are looking this way. “Happy?” I grumble.

“No. Are you?”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to ask about your life? We’re roommates.”

He looks taken aback by my outburst. “Is that what you want to be?”

“No,” I admit. “I want to be your friend. I like you. But you’re so cold and closed off. All you want me around for is to get you laid.”

“I want you around for more than that.” He takes a bite of pizza and then licks some sauce off his bottom lip, unable to meet my eyes. “When I feel better I won’t want to talk about any of this. Maybe you should get back to work. And bring me another shot.”

I gawk at him. What was all of that for if he’s going to send me away? I grumble insults under my breath as I pour him a shot of whiskey. Men are not only unreliable, they’re a pain in my ass too. I slam his shot down and return to my job.

Kent sits there for hours. Oblivion gets crazy and I need his table, but he still won’t get up. He drinks his beers slowly and talks to a few girls, but even I can tell he’s not into them tonight. He looks as if he’s falling over an imaginary precipice. Something is pushing him and he’s fighting the fall.

At midnight I approach his table with some fried pickles and spicy garlic wings.

He looks up drunkenly from his mug and smiles at me. “Lunch time?” he guesses.

“You’re smashed.”

He giggles. “I can’t feel my face.”

I smirk at him and pop a pickle into my mouth.

“Are you laughing at me?” he demands, almost slipping off his chair.

“Why did you put your thumb in my mouth?” I know I’m taking advantage of his drunken state, but he put his thumb in my mouth and I want to know why.

His eyes widen as he recalls the moment I’m speaking of. “That was so hot, Raina. I want to know how your mouth really feels.” He looks down at his penis as if some clarification will make his comment less unapproachable. “Why did you let me?”

“Will you remember this tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” he admits, chuckling.

I lean forward and look him in the eye. “Because I’ve never reacted to a man the way I do you. I think a part of me might want more than your thumb in my mouth.”

He burps and hiccups. “What?”

A thrill goes through me. “You terrify me because you remind me of my father. You’re unreliable. You’re a drunk. You’re unfaithful. I don’t want that. I shouldn’t want that.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Unfaithful? How do you know?”

“You show me all the time. You’re an unfaithful type of guy. Tell me the truth. Have you ever been in a relationship and not cheated on the girl you were with?”

I’m shocked by the pain that unfurls in him. “I didn’t mean to cheat on her,” he slurs. “I loved her. I loved that damn woman. But I couldn’t say no to the girl. And you know what? I don’t even remember her name. Her pussy ruined my life and I don’t even remember her name.” He covers his face with his hands.

“Was she your girlfriend?” I peek around us, hoping none of my tables will overhear our conversation.

“She was my fiancée.” He dropped his hands. “And I loved her. I love her. Right? No. I don’t love her. I can’t love her. She loves someone else now.” His eyes glaze over and he blinks at me. “I saw her over the summer. I can’t forget her. I saw her over the summer. Did I say that already?” He laughs at himself and sits back, eyes closing.

I look down at my food.
Happy now?
Kent said he didn’t do the girlfriend thing. But he did the fiancée thing with her. I take a bite of my wings and then another as he hangs in the balance. “Kent?”

“Hmm?” He cracks one eye and looks at me.

“I’m driving you home tonight. Give me your keys.”

He reaches into his pocket and dangles them in front of me. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Don’t ask me stupid questions.” I snatch them from him. “Would you care if our roles were reversed?”

“I care about you,” he admits quietly. “Why’d you dance with Zeke?”

“Did that bother you?”

“Yes,” he growls. “Now when I see Zeke he wants to know where Hazel Eyes is. Eyes Hazel Where’s?”

I laugh at his interpretation of Zeke.

“You have one hell of a laugh,” he says. “It’s sexy. You should laugh more often. You want to hear a joke?”

“Sure,” I manage.
Sexy?

“Knock knock?”

“Who’s there?”

“Kent.”

“Kent who?”

“Kent on top of you.” He guffaws and slaps the table.

It might be the most horribly unfunny joke I’ve ever heard in my life, but the fact that he’s laughing so hard is infectious, and together we share a laugh until tears are streaming down my cheeks.

“See?” he says, running a hand down his face. “Sexy.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re wasted.”

“I passed wasted hours ago.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Now I am comfortably in outer space.”

“You are of an alien species.” I finish my wings and start on my pickles. If I don’t keep my mouth busy who knows what I’ll say next. I watch him attempt to lift his beer to his lips. Most of it ends up on his shirt. “You want to go lay down in the break room?”

“For what? Good I’m. I mean I’m good.”

“Can you remember what you were trying to forget?”

He looks at me hard, having a moment of clarity. “Nothing will ever make me forget her. Not even you and those hazel eyes and that laugh and those pouty lips. Not even that shit. You can’t make me forget her. No matter how much you already are.”

“Come lie down in the back. I’ll drive you home when I get off.” I ease off my chair and walk to where he’s slumped in his seat.

He looks up at me. “Not even you,” he mumbles defiantly.

I grab his hand and pull him up. “Come on, Kent.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight me. He grips my hand tightly as I sneak him into the break room.

“You always smell so good,” he whispers, sniffing my hair.

“This way,” I grunt, pulling his body over to the couches in the corner.

He falls onto his knees and then curls up in the crook of the couch. I dig into my locker and find a hoodie I save for when it rains. I place it over him and tuck it up to his face the way he slept with his blanket this morning, resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss him goodnight.

I clear his table, stuffing his sunglasses in my pocket. After that I’m in work mode. I don’t think about the things Kent said, or worse, the things I said to him. What is it about that man that makes me want to be so…not me? I’m not myself around him. Isn’t that a sign? Isn’t that a good enough reason to leave him at a safe distance? What is a safe distance when it comes to a man like Kent? A millions miles away. The idea makes me unsatisfied. Instead of considering why that is, I spend the next few hours busting my tables and pasting a smile on my face that I certainly don’t feel for my patrons.