Falling for You
“I take it you lost that last round of beer pong?” I ask when Kelly gives up singing Katy Perry’s “I Kissed A Girl” to plant a wet one on my cheek.
“I haven’t won a game of beer pong since I was sixteen.” Kelly throws her head between her legs and tosses one empty McDonald’s cup after another behind her into the back seat. She sits up, her head finding the headrest with a thud. “I think I lost my phone.”
I press my lips onto a line and fight a scowl. Kelly is a train wreck of epic proportions. Her flip-flop broke two parties ago, she’s slept with three guys that I know of, and now she can’t remember where she tucked her phone.
Do I think she needs rehab?
No, but if you look up hot mess in the dictionary, you’ll find her picture.
“It’s in your bra.”
“Huh?” Kelly looks down, finally realizing the end of her bright pink iPhone case is visible between her massive chest and orange top. She squeals then laughs. “There it is!”
My aunt sure knows how to pick them.
“Hey, I know that truck!” Kelly pulls her phone from her shirt and squints at its backlight, somehow managing to find the number she’s looking for. “Hey, sexy thing. What are you doing?”
Her high-pitched voice falters when the mystery man on the other end talks. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but I know what he wants. By the way Kelly is licking her lips, it seems like she’s ready for round four. She hangs up and says, “Turn there.”
“No. It’s like two in the morning. I need to get you home so I can drive back to Orlando and go to bed.”
“It’s too late to drive back to your aunt’s place. Just crash at my house tonight.” Kelly folds her hands, prayer style. “Please.”
Considering I have to go back to her house for my rental car anyway, staying with Kelly tonight doesn’t sound like the worst idea. At least there I can sleep in. Aunt Tricia insists the whole house be up at five a.m, no matter what day of the week it is. “Fine.”
Kelly shrieks and points at an upcoming streetlight. “There! Turn there!”
After more wrong turns than right, we eventually make it to an empty church parking lot, seconds before a truck pulls in. Kelly jumps out of the passenger seat before it can shift into park.
I watch her wait like a kid on Christmas for her newest conquest: a lanky blonde that is attractive, but not my type.
The guy holds his arms out and Kelly runs into them, jumping and latching her legs around his waist. He fuses his mouth to hers, carries her back to his truck, and lowers the tailgate.
I lean the seat of the Nissan back and close my eyes. The last thing I want to see is someone’s white ass in the air, or any other body parts.
The car door opens again and I squeeze my lids tighter, casting out the overhead light’s brightness. I sense a body next to me, but it doesn’t smell like Kelly. It smells like whiskey, spices, and wood.
Peeling one eye open, I squint at the intruder. A black cowboy hat shadows most of the face that is looking at me, but the parts of him I can see are attractive. Strong arms. A tight button down shirt. And a pair of jeans that don’t leave much to the imagination. I open both eyes and lift my head off the seat. The guy tips the fro
nt of his hat at me. I blush, not because I’m flattered, but because people don’t do things like that where I’m from.
“Hey there.” He has a thick, southern accent, too strong for a Florida boy. I fight a smile as I sit my seat up. The passenger door closes and the overhead light goes out almost immediately, but the glow of the streetlamp is bright enough that I can somewhat make out his face. He leans forward, turns the music down, and says, “You’re pretty.”
I can’t tell if the over annunciation is from that southern twang or if it’s alcohol-induced. Either way, this guy’s accent is sexy. I feel his eyes on me, waiting for the acknowledgement I refuse to give. I watch Mr. Cowboy shift from the corner of my eye. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
What is he doing?
He sits up straight and leans closer until his warm whiskey breath tickles my cheeks. Heat climbs my neck at the thought of him kissing me. Not because I’m interested—I’m not—but I’ve only kissed one man. My ex, Ashley.
“I’m a bull rider.”
I laugh and the guy’s head cocks to the side. He didn’t honestly expect that line to work. Did he? What tiny butterflies I may have felt about Mr. Cowboy maybe kissing me disappear. Kelly needs to hurry up and finish, because I need to get as far away from this loser as possible.
Kelly is on Sam like white on rice before I can make it around the front of my truck. Sam would have fucked her right there in the parking lot, but that’s not cool. Kelly may be easy, but she still deserves some semblance of privacy.
“Y’all wanna use my—”
They climb into the back before I can finish getting the words out. Shaking my head, I make my way over to Kelly’s car. Knowing her, she left it unlocked and running for a quick get-in-get-out kind of thing.