The Worst Kind of Promise: Chapter 11

Dinner is rowdier than usual, no thanks to Fulton’s usual foot-in-the-mouth comments. The only salvageable thing is Aeris’ surprisingly decent food—fully cooked, which I realize is a low-hanging bar.

Faye hasn’t spoken a word since we all sat down. My eyes keep straying to her from across the table, watching her stab forlornly at a small portion of heavily drenched salad. The mixed greens are practically waterboarded in ranch, and she’s stirred them enough times that I’m positive she has no interest in eating them.

Everyone else seems rather oblivious to her gloominess, but maybe that’s because they don’t know what I know. I’m honestly surprised Hayes hasn’t picked up on her body language. I’m starting to understand that no matter what I say, nothing will alleviate her pain. It’s a helpless feeling—a feeling I’ve never had to familiarize myself with, because I’ve never experienced it. I hate it. I hate not being able to help her. I hate watching her shut down. I don’t know how to pull her back to me.

“Sorry we weren’t here to give you an actual welcome,” Casen apologizes, quashing the noisy side conversations.

Dazed, Faye registers that she’s on the receiving end of the conversation and perks up from her sulking. “Oh, it’s okay. You guys really don’t have to do anything for me,” she insists.

Bristol shovels a piece of steak into his mouth. “Of course we do. You’re our guest. And our favorite Hollings.”

“I’d be offended, but they’re right,” Hayes agrees, pointing the tines of his fork at her, then biting the crispy potato on the end.

Fulton nods. “We were surprised you were coming at all.”

Gage kicks him underneath the table—which I only know because he does that frequently, and every time, Fulton winces like he’s been hit in the balls.

“Not in a bad way! We’re happy you’re here,” he corrects himself. “We just didn’t expect your next visit to be for a while.”

Faye’s face turns ashen, and the sight of it makes my heart jerk. “I just missed you all so much, you know? And my boss granted me some time off work since a lot of our students weren’t enrolled in summer classes.”

“I have no idea how you survived in a car for forty-eight hours with Kit.” Gage waves a hand in my general direction, smirking to himself while he kebabs a potato, a piece of meat, and some lettuce. “Dude has some of the worst jokes.”

“My jokes are hilarious,” I grumble.

“They aren’t that bad,” Faye murmurs quietly, a blush peeking out from the neckline of her shirt.

I’m staring straight at her like I have X-ray vision, wishing I could see those big, chocolate-brown eyes looking back at me. A smile would be nice, too, but that’s wishful thinking.

“Did he pay you to say that? Are you being held at gunpoint underneath the table? Blink twice if you’re in trouble, Faye,” Gage says.

I give Gage the middle finger, but all he does is blow me a kiss.

“Aeris, when did you learn how to cook?” Fulton questions, hoovering his dinner up like the plate will be yanked from him at any moment.

Aeris fans herself. “Oh, I mean, it’s no five-star Michelin meal, but Hayes has been showing me a few things.”

“That’s not all he’s been showing her,” Gage quips under his breath, yet somehow loud enough for the whole table to hear.

Hayes chuckles, and I know that chuckle—edged with absolute madness. “Tell me, G. How’s your sex life going?”

“Great, thank you. I do it twice a day.”

“That explains why your arm’s looking bigger.”

The dining room erupts into laughter, Fulton red in the face at his friend’s expense. I even feel some of the tension in my shoulders loosening. I miss easy nights with the guys. I love the camaraderie that’s been created in this house. Even Aeris has been a great addition to our group— a sweet, no-nonsense kind of gal, who unfortunately has to put up with a lot of our immaturity.

Aeris rolls her eyes, pivoting the conversation. “So, Faye, we were thinking it might be fun to throw a pool party here at the end of the week. We’d invite the whole team as a way to kick off the summer. Would you be up for that?”

And…tension resumed. The food I just scarfed down is working its way back up. Pool party. I don’t think Faye’s in the right headspace for a party environment. I know what she’s going to say, though, even if she doesn’t want to do it. She’s going to say yes, because Faye is a people pleaser, and she would never want to be the reason for capsized plans.

“That sounds fun,” she responds with a tepid smile, the scree of her fork on her plate sounding like a silent plea for help.

“Maybe we should keep things low-key,” I chime in, hoping that the suggestion might mollify her. Usually I’m all for a wild Reapers party, but that’s the last thing Faye needs right now, and surprisingly, I couldn’t be less interested. Since I saw her sitting alone on that gas station curb, I’ve felt protective over her. In reality, there probably isn’t any harm in throwing a party. But I never think very clearly when Faye’s involved.

“Low-key? Coming from Kit Langley?” Gage’s brow arches, chaos blazing in his eyes. “This has to be a summer blowout.”

“How big of a blowout?” Hayes asks, sharing an implicit look around the table that says, Little sister present, make good choices.

Aeris reaches over to give his arm a squeeze. “Nothing too crazy. Right, guys?”

Everyone around the table gives a nod of agreement except for me. And that’s when every head turns, giving me the much-unwanted spotlight. I’m halfway through chewing a rather gristly cut of steak.

I swallow. “What?”

“You didn’t nod,” Gage notes.

“I did nod.”

“I didn’t see your head move.”

“It was a subtle nod.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes stay narrowed on me, observing. Agh. I can feel him crawling underneath my skin.

Faye finally starts eating, nibbling daintily on her salad. “It’ll be great.”

Her voice is laced with a certainty that should chill me the fuck out, but her words from earlier stick in my mind, dredging up that protectiveness. Nobody told me that…infatuation…would feel like light flutters in your stomach or a bad case of indigestion. It makes me want to shield her from all the bad things in the world and take the brunt of the pain for her. I’d do it, you know. I’d go through the worst human experience in existence to make sure she’s okay, to see her eyes shine the way they usually do. And that’s when it hits me: Faye Hollings isn’t someone who drifts through your life. She’s someone who lingers, stays, and remains in your heart. And I think she’s carved her goddamn name on me.

After the dishes are washed and the guys are in their respective rooms, I head upstairs to check on Faye. My back’s currently mad at me for the less-than-stellar sleeping situation, but a few stretches and I should be as right as rain. I’ve had to sleep on the couch plenty of times when my room was occupied by strangers. Strangers I didn’t even bring into the house.

I gently knock on the door, but when I don’t hear anything, I open it to find my bed missing a tiny person. The sheets are thrown back like there’s been a wild animal piling them together for a comfortable nest, and some of Faye’s things have taken residence on the floor.

I’m about to call her name when she appears in the bathroom doorway, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, wearing nothing but a tank top and underwear. Wait a second…underwear?

I know the respectful thing to do is look away or cover my eyes, but I can’t. I can’t move. She’s hexed me, broken my legs on a voodoo doll version of me. I’m immobilized.

“Kit!” She flings her toothbrush to the carpet, her hands immediately covering her lace front. Her shirt—I’ve discovered a theme—is alarmingly short, barely concealing the stiff peaks of her nipples, and ending just above her navel. Which leaves the most delectable sliver of stomach on display, begging me to kiss, taste, lick.

The lace of her panties is a bright fuchsia, riding high on her hips, no doubt revealing the most perfect backside. Perky and small, like a Georgia peach. I can only imagine the way it’ll bounce when she rides me, how red her cheeks will be when I spank her and mark her as mine. My spit-drenched cock sliding in her asshole as I pull her hair, subdue her, fuck her like the good girl I know she is.

She slides on a pair of sweatpants, but I’m not sure if it’s for her sake or mine. Although her thong’s hidden, my fantasies don’t end there. No, Faye could be dressed in a trash bag, and I’d still find a way to rip it off her.

She leans down to pick up her toothbrush, her messy bun flopping around. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve put pants on. I forgot I wasn’t living by myself.”

Why is she apologizing? She never has to apologize for turning me on.

“Don’t apologize,” I say hoarsely, walking myself over to the other side of the bed, mainly because my traitorous dick is pitching a four-person tent in my pants.

She minces into the bathroom to spit, the sound of rushing water proposing that a cold shower might benefit me.

“Don’t worry, I promise to be fully clothed from here on out.”

I wish I could tell her how much I hate that idea. I adjust the bulge in my pants before she comes back into view. Her first night staying here, and my self-control is off the map and crash-diving somewhere in the Maldives. Two months. I’ll never last.

She wipes up the spilled toothpaste on the floor. “Thank you again. For letting me have the bed.”

I’m hot. It’s hot in here. The last time I remember being this hot was when I had a hundred-degree fever. Am I sweating? “No problem. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” The excess of saliva in my mouth makes my words sound mushy.

She sits down on the mattress, patting the spot next to her. Since she’s half-turned away from me, I can’t tell if she’s on the verge of tears or not. Is this another serious conversation? I can’t do serious right now. Not with…what’s happening downstairs.

I stand still.

She pats again.

I don’t move.

She looks at me, then looks at the bed, as if I’m a dog who needs to be shown what to do.

I should say something. I mean, she turned me on in the hotel room, but then again, we were both turned on. If I say something now, I’ll look like a total creep—which I am. She doesn’t want anything sexual.

“Kit.” Her voice goes low, a siren song meant only for me, luring me to her. It’s not supposed to be sexy, but it is. And I can’t resist her.

Her hand whacks the mattress rather aggravatedly. “Come here.”

Nothing’s more embarrassing than admitting you have a boner for your friend’s sister, right? Wrong. So wrong. Because the next set of words out of my mouth is…

“I have to shit!” I whisper-scream.

No, no, no. I did not just say that. Mouth, meet brain. Brain, meet mouth. Next time, get motor functions involved and just fast-walk out of there. You don’t need to explain. Just leave. When one encounters danger, one flees. One does not reveal bodily movements in a last-ditch effort.

Faye’s eyes are as big as saucers. “Uh…”

You can save this. Just excuse yourself.

I slowly start to inch toward the door, making sure my privates are out of view. “Yeah, don’t think the food is settling right. I’m just going to go shit. Downstairs,” I ramble, perspiration rolling down my back, heart in my jugular.

Before she can say anything—or I can see the disgusted look on her face—I hoof it out of there and run down the stairs like I’m doing high-knees. I race into the bathroom and slam the door before groaning into my hands. This summer’s already off to a bad start.

At least the boner’s gone.