“Fine. But I don’t want restaurant food. I want bestie food. Plus, I need to check on her, since you’re a big freakin’ tattletale. We’re going to July’s,” she tells me, and I nod reluctantly. I was hoping to take her out to eat just the two of us, to try to get to know each other a little better. But if she needs the buffer of her best friend for now, then I’ll allow it, because at least she’s saying “we” instead of just her.
When we arrive at July’s, I see Wes’s bike parked in the driveway and pull in next to it. I had to practically wrestle the keys from Kayan before we left, but there was no way I was letting her drive me around like some pussy. It put her right back into her sassy-ass mood.
She jumps out of the car before I even put the gear in Park, making me growl and jump out after her, stalking her to the front porch. She tries to barge in, but is stopped abruptly by the locked door, so she lifts her fist and pounds with all the strength in her tiny body.
“July, open the door right now!” she yells, tapping her foot.
“Kitten,” I rumble next to her, wishing she’d calm down just a little. Knowing she hasn’t eaten today, I don’t want her to pass out if she gets too upset.
She pounds on the door again, more frantically this time, and I do the only thing I can think of to snap her out of it. I grab her upraised hand from the wooden door and spin her toward me, my other hand going into her hair to tilt her head back just as my lips come down hard, cutting off her “What are you—” as I steal the breath right from her lungs.
I’m vaguely aware of the door opening next to us before slamming closed again. But I’m not quite ready to give up Kayan’s mouth. I kiss her deep and thorough, and it’s not until I feel her lower half grind against me that I know I should pull back, leave her wanting more of me in the hopes she’ll stop fighting her feelings. Feelings I know she has. Feelings that match mine.
“You can’t just kiss people,” I breathe, my body a melted pile of goo in his strong arms still holding me up, taking all of my weight.
Just then, July opens the door, and I stumble inside as I try to get out of Z’s embrace before she sees what we were doing on her front porch. I trip over the threshold, landing right where I started—wrapped up in Z’s arms right before my face becomes one with July’s floor.
“What’s going on?” she asks. Is that a hint of amusement I hear in her voice?
I swat at Z’s hands on my waist and stand to my full height before cocking my hip. “I came to make sure you were okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” She frowns.
“I may have been frustrated about Z being at my house when I got home and told him about the guy coming to the hospital. I told him not to tell Wes, but no sooner did the words leave my mouth did this big lug call Wes.” I stab a finger in Z’s direction, but all he does is smile at me, the look traveling right to my lady bits, as I can still feel where his beard scratched at my tender face only moments before. He must be a mind reader or something, because his grin grows, and I glare. “You’re annoying.”
“You’ve said that, kitten,” he reminds me, and I roll my eyes.
“You couldn’t call?” Wes asks, taking his place beside July. From his disheveled appearance, I can tell we interrupted something. Good. Serves him right for his rudeness.
July backs me up. “Don’t be rude.”
“I’m hungry,” is all he says, but I can tell he’s most definitely not talking about food by the way my best friend’s face turns a bright shade of red.
“I’m hungry too,” I chime in.
“I was going to make tacos,” she tells me, and then sighs.
“Do you have enough?” I question, begging her with my eyes not to send me off alone with the intoxicating man standing entirely too close to me.
“Yes,” she states, at the same time Wes growls, “No.”
“Yes, I have plenty,” she reiterates, glaring at Wes as if daring him to say otherwise. “Why don’t you help me make dinner, while Wes and Z do guy stuff?”
“Guy stuff.” Wes shakes his head, looking over to his friend.
“Yeah, drink beer, scratch your balls… guy stuff,” she says, her voice exasperated as she throws her hands in the air, rolling her eyes when Z laughs.
I swat him in the stomach with the back of my hand, but it hurts me more than him. “I’m going to start cooking,” I state, rubbing my hand as I walk toward the kitchen.