“I know you like to strip in public, and you like to watch people fucking,” I taunt.
She opens the door enough to step out. We’re only a few inches apart as she looks up with those tantalizing blue eyes. “Well, then it looks like congratulations are in order. You also get a gold star for being an expert on the subject of Kinsley West: lover of kinky shit, Tarzan’s girlfriend, stripper, voyeur, biker chick, and despite all that,probablya good girl.”
I smile as I move in, cutting the space between us in half. “I would go as far as to say that at least three of those presumptions are true. As far as the rest, I’m not an expert yet, but I can assure you I will be.”
I back up and move my foot. She doesn’t slam the door right away as I expected but stares at me for a beat.
“I don’t think that’s in our cards.” Her voice is calm, seductive, and spiced with a hint of challenge. “But just for the record, I’m anything but good.” She steps back into the bathroom and then closes the door. The lock clicks into place.
Fuck. This girl is hot and cold, push and pull, right and all fucking wrong. I bang the wall with my fist. The picture of a dollar bill shudders in the flimsy frame. I fucking want her! Inevery way and position, I want her. And she’s the last thing I should be hungry for. If I’m not careful, she’ll destroy me and everything in my fucked-up world.
And I can’t let that happen.
11
KINSLEY
It’s pouringwhen my uncle drops me off at school with my canvas, otherwise known as my soon-to-be nonmasterpiece. The music grows louder the closer I get to the open door of the art room. At first, I can’t determine what type of music it is. As I enter the class, Nirvana’s“Smells Like Teen Spirit”becomes clearer. I assume it’s Chelsea until I see those unruly locks of mussed hair peak out from between the empty easels.I prop my canvas on the easel.
“I didn’t take you for an early-to-class kind of guy,” I say to Gunner.
He turns down the music. “Yeah, well, I guess I know you as well as you know me, which, unlike my brother, is not at all. So, let's get to know each other.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I can’t help but smile. “You’re such a joke.”
His face is stone-serious. “I wasn’t joking.” He shakes his head. “Still not kidding. We should start by just fucking. Right here, right now. Get it out of our systems.”
I slide my backpack off my shoulders. “That would be a mistake for so many reasons.”
He sets down his paintbrush and then crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah? Name one,” he challenges.
I prop my hands on my stool and look directly at him. “Because after having me once, I can assure you, it wouldn’t be enough.”
His leg jerks and bumps his table. He fumbles and catches his paintbrush before it rolls onto the floor. “Girl, you’re evil.”
I laugh. “Yeah, maybe a little.” His artwork has piqued my interest, especially since it motivates him to arrive at class extra early. I point to his canvas. “May I?”
He holds out his hands as an offering.
Moving to stand behind him, I look over his shoulder. His canvas depicts a man standing on the beach, gazing out at the incoming waves with a surfboard under one arm. The colors are incredible. It’s only half done and already well on its way to becoming a piece of art that someone would have hanging in their home. “Holy shit! You’re amazingly good.”
“I know. But you think this is awesome, you should see me?—”
“And cocky?” I say, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence.
“Yep, that, too,” he agrees with a lazy smile.
Just then, Brielle comes in with her usual attitude that her day isn’t going her way or someone pissed her off for something minuscule. “What are you looking at, trash?”
The number of insults gathering on my tongue, ready to spit back at her, almost chokes me. But deciding she’s not worth it, I glance away, not giving her the satisfaction with even one word. Luca would be so proud.
On the way to get her project from the closet, she trips over my backpack. “Pick up your shit! I almost fell.”
Pursing my lips, I hold in my laughter. “Maybe if you didn’t wear six-inch fuck-me pumps— Oh wait. You need those to get over five feet. Never mind.”
“Fuck you, trash!”
“Brielle, pipe down back there,” Chelsea says as she enters the classroom. “I won’t tolerate a dirty mouth. If I hear it again, you might as well not even take out your canvas.”