He stared at her.
God, he wanted her.
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to jump back on top of her and rip her clothes off and make her beg for him. He wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Tyler Green liked Kinley Phillips.
Weirder shit had happened.
“Is that okay?” Kinley asked, drawing her knees up to her chest like she was trying to put a barrier between them. Tyler stepped back.
“Of course.” His voice was soft. He wanted her, but he could wait. “It’s whatever you want to do, okay? No pressure here.”
Of course, he’d just thrown her onto the bed and tackled her like a linebacker. Maybe that could be considered pressure.
But he’d needed a distraction. Something to turn his mind off. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. When his parents tried to speak to him, he couldn’t even remember how to answer.
He couldn’t think of anything but that.
He’d needed Kinley.
He sat down in her desk chair and watched her from across the room. Her hair was frizzed around her. It looked beautiful. She looked like a queen.
“You okay?” he asked.
She relaxed her legs a little. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m not used to”—she motioned between them—“this.”
Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it.”
He didn’t want to get it. He wanted something else. He wanted to be an asshole. His eyes traveled to her neckline, and then below, and then he looked away before he tackled her again.
Her room was like a museum. It was cluttered, sure, and kind of small, but it was absolutely perfect. Every trophy was perfectly spaced. The countless ribbons created a strange tapestry against the wall.
Where there wasn’t evidence of Kinley’s academic perfection, there were books. Lining every wall. Overflowing bookshelves. The extras were stacked, knee high, in perfect piles, largest to smallest, near her bed.
On her nightstand was her psych book.
He averted his eyes quickly. He couldn’t think about that. If he thought about it too much—
“Are you okay?” Kinley’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Tyler started at the question. It had pierced right through him. “Yes.”
It sounded like a lie, even to him. Kinley cocked her head, considering him.
He couldn’t let her see.
He turned away, his eyes searching her desk. His hands settled on wires, thin, spindly wires, and a small flash drive, all connected to what looked like a miniature earpiece. He picked it up, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this for?”
Kinley’s eyes widened. “State secrets,” she said. “Um—”
“No, seriously,” Tyler said, unable to let it drop. He couldn’t have her go back to talking about that. About Friday. “This looks high tech. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You’ve never seen a flash drive?” Kinley asked, narrowing her eyes. “I knew you were a slacker, but I never realized the extent.”
He forced a chuckle. “Yeah.” He went back to looking at the flash drive. For some reason, he couldn’t look at her. “This is weird.”
He didn’t know why he said it. He just wanted to say something. Anyway. He had to stay away from that.
“Tyler.” Kinley’s voice was sharp. “Put that down.”
But before he’d even set it back on the desk, Kinley leaped off the bed and pushed herself into his arms. She lay her head on his chest for a moment, and he put his hand in her hair, holding her tight.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or his. “It’s okay, Kin.” He breathed her in deeply. She smelled a little like sweat and the sharp-sweet scent of freshly applied deodorant. He liked it.
She burrowed further into his arms, and before he realized what was happening, she was kissing him again, pressing him backward with as much urgency as he had pushed her onto the bed. He half stumbled onto the chair, and she straddled him, her hair falling over him as her lips touched his. Her tongue, tentative, tasted his own.
She tasted good. Her body was lovely and warm against him, and his hands wandered without meaning to.
Slow, he told himself. Don’t scare her. So he forced his hands to stay above her clothing, forced himself to kiss with tenderness, with patience.
She was so goddamn perfect.
And she filled his mind completely. She was everything and he never, ever wanted to leave the moment.
“What the hell?”
Kinley tore her lips away from his and froze. Tyler turned, his arms still around Kinley.
Her dad was framed in the entrance of the room, a look on his face like murder.
Her dad.
The famed politician. The bulldog of the current senatorial race.
Kinley jumped off of Tyler’s lap, her hair everywhere. “Dad!” she screeched. “Do you knock?”
Her dad stared at Tyler, his eyes huge. His arms were making big, wild movements, like he was trying not to punch him. “You’re that Green kid, aren’t you?” he asked through his teeth.
“Uh. Yes. Yes, sir.”
Tyler started to stand, but then thought better of it, staying stuck to the chair. Kinley retreated slowly backward until she hit the bed and wobbled, looking in horror at her father.
“Dad! Stop!”
Her father ignored her. “I never—never—want to see you around my daughter again. Got it? You could take some notes from that brother of yours, you good-for-nothing failure.” He blew a hot breath of air out, and he reminded Tyler of a bull before it charged.
Tyler slowly rose from the chair, palms in the air, and slid along the wall. “Um, I think I’ll be . . . I’ll be going.”
“Goddamn right,” Kinley’s father said, and then grabbed on to the collar of his T-shirt and hauled him, by the neck, out of Kinley’s room and clear to the front door, his horrified daughter trailing after him and squealing, “Dad! Stop it!” every few feet.
“Stay away from my daughter!” Mr. Phillips said, his voice low and deadly, his breath stinking of onions and fish.
And then he gave Tyler a giant shove out the door. Tyler stumbled down the front steps, overbalanced, and crashed onto the cement.
Behind him, the door slammed shut, and he could hear Mr. Phillips yelling behind it.
Tyler slowly pushed himself up on scraped palms. Pain shot through his knees. His jeans were ripped and his skin was filled with a fine gray gravel.
Tyler gritted his teeth and brushed the gravel away, and pulled himself up.
He looked back at the little yellow home. The curtains in the front window were closed and he could still hear Mr. Phillips’s voice, loud and angry.
Sticking around would only make it all worse.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been tossed forcibly out of a house.
But it was the first time he’d really needed to stay.
He started to walk. He lived almost two miles away. It would seem even longer with scraped palms and a red, raw knee that stung like a bitch. Stupid Mr. Phillips. He’d needed her. He’d needed someone.
She was so beautiful. And soft. And smart. And so weird. What was up with all of that stuff on her desk, anyway?
Maybe she wore a wire. Maybe she was some sort of undercover cop narc, like those kids who stood outside of liquor stores and tried to get unassuming adults to buy them beer and then when the adults brought it out—boom, arrested. He could see Kinley doing that.
He smiled to himself a little bit as he limped along. Somehow, Kinley was the realest girl he’d met in a while.
One thing was for sure: if she’d been wearing a wire last night, it all would have gone very differently.
For one second, he wished that she had been. He’d never tell. But maybe—just maybe—things would be better if he could.