"I will."
Emma scoffs. "She's not gonna want to talk to you."
"We'll see."
"Yeah. We will." She slams the door on her way out.
The office is a
sparse room—a desk, a bookshelf, a few framed prints on the wall. Kay can make use of most of this. But the decor isn't right. It's bold, angry, loud.
She's soft. Quiet. Subtle.
She needs Monet not Lichtenstein.
I did pay attention during one class. The one class I wasn't supposed to take.
Successful guys don't know shit about art.
And certainly not about tattoos.
I move everything but the desk into my room.
There. The black workstation is too dark for Kaylee, but there's no way it's staying black for long. Within a week it will be covered in some mix of lyrics scribbled in silver Sharpie, magazine tear outs, and band stickers.
We argue all the time about the merits of pop-rock and pop-punk vs. punk. Sometimes, I admit I actually enjoy Blink 182. Other times, I tease her about her habit of falling for the broken bad boy. Then I turn over the words in my head, obsessing over the way her green eyes light up every time she sees me without a shirt.
Which is a lot more often than it should be.
Fuck, I'm already thinking about Kay. About the way she takes slow, careful steps when she's modeling a new outfit for Em. About the way she sings along with Emma's favorite Disney movies—with every ounce of emotion in the world. About the way those blue glasses frame her eyes.
I plant on the sprawling four poster bed in my room. I've given this thing a workout over the years. But not lately. Lately, every time a woman so much as touches my arm, I feel sick.
Like I'm betraying Kay.
But I'm not.
We can't be anything.
Ever.
I'm a million years older than her.
I'm her guardian.
Her caretaker.
And, fuck, as much as I'd like to say Mom was wrong, she wasn't. I'm not the kind of guy who brings home the sweet, smart girl. Not unless she's trying to piss off Daddy.
There's no way I'm avoiding Kaylee now.
Which means I need to figure something else out. Some way to resist her that doesn't involve locking myself in my room when she's around.
I stare out the window, watching the waves crash into the sand. Same dark sky. Same silver moon. It's comforting, but it doesn't offer any clarity.
I want Kaylee.
I can't have her.