Something About a Hot Guy

God, how had I ever been fool enough to think that was really meant for me?

I slipped off the counter, my body aching and shaking with my need for him. It only felt like another slap to the face.

I tried to sidestep him, to get away, and I was loosing another gasp when he snatched me by the wrist.

Fire raced up my arm, the man flames, my destruction, and the tears ran faster.

“Kenna, please, listen to me. I’m so sorry. Let me explain.”

I jerked my arm out of his hold, chest heaving with sobs, my face a mess of snot and tears and shame. “What did you want to explain to me, Kyle? That you feel sorry for me? For the pathetic virgin who’s never been kissed?”

Head shaking, I backed away. “Believe me, I don’t want your pity.”

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was remorse streaking through his expression.

Unable to stand there looking at him for a second longer, I whirled around and ran for my room, slamming shut the door and locking it. I went right for the closet, barely able to see through the sheets of torment falling down my face as I pulled the suitcase from the top shelf.

I threw it onto the bed and started ripping clothes from the hangers.

I had to get out of there.

Flee.

Because I should have known better.

Should have known that dream I was having was really a nightmare.

Because girls like me?

We didn’t get guys like Kyle Love.

And for the first time in my life, I wondered if I actually wanted him, anyway.

Four

Kyle

God damn it.

My hands went to my hair, panic gripping me in a steel fist, heart racing from being taken from one extreme to the other.

Spirit rocketing high and then the hope of finally having her crushed into the ground.

The taste of her still danced on my tongue, every inch of my body hard to the point of painful, lust and need knotting up my stomach.

But it was the expression that had been written on her face, the misery and shame that had clouded those gorgeous features, that felt like knife wound to the gut.

I’d fucked up.

Right out of the gate.

Hurt her.

And hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do.

I sucked in a shattered breath, trying to calm the riot raging inside me, trying to give her a minute to calm down so we could have a conversation.

That was until I heard the distinct sound of hangers banging in the closet, the girl trying to subdue the sobs that were coming from her mouth.

Brutal agony.

Hell no.

I wasn’t going to give up on this girl without a fight.

I flew around and rushed for her room.

Could feel the disturbance radiating from within, blasting through the closed door, so strong I didn’t know how it wasn’t busting from the hinges.

I pounded on the wood, friction coming from the other side, a storm descending over the two of us.

I could feel it.

Fierce and unrelenting. Something that had built for so many years, desperate to break free, demolished in one stupid mistake.

But it was my mistake.

I should have known the way this would make her feel. The way it’d make her question. Especially after everything I’d read last night, her heart and soul bared in those words, so private and sweet and heartbreaking that it’d only made me love her more.

“Go away!” she shouted, but it was a tremble of agitation, the words filled with her fears.

“No, Kenna. We need to talk.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

Refusal filled my tone. “Oh, there is plenty to talk about. You and I have been running on unfinished business since we were kids. I’m not going to pretend what just happened didn’t. We’re going to discuss this.”

Bitter, pained laughter echoed through the separation. “What? Talk about your pity? How you want the best for me? Tell me you’re happy to do me the favor? No, thank you.”

Frustrated, I dropped my forehead to the door, and I could feel her frantic movements on the other side, a turbulent rampage.

“Open up,” I all but growled.

No response.

I smacked my palm against the wood. “Open the fucking door, Kenna.”

I was going to tell her how I felt, and I was going to do it to her face. So there would be no mistake.

Faster than I could process, the door whipped open, and I stumbled back, caught off guard by how fucking beautiful she was. Struck by the pain rolling from her in waves. Hit by the realization that this girl needed to be carefully adored.

Not because she needed sympathy or pity.

But because she deserved to be loved in the best of ways.

“Fine, there, the door is open. Are you happy?” She was doing her best to sound firm, the girl fighting her way through her torment as she thundered by, pulling a large suitcase behind her.