Facade: Facade Page 3

  “Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before,” she whispers, scooting closer to my side and pulling the blanket up over our laps.

  “I’ve never done anything like this for anyone. Ever.” I still can’t believe I actually did this. There’s just something so genuine about Kylee and I can’t help myself. I turn into a pre-pubescent teenager when I’m with her. I just want her to notice me and tell me how happy I make her. This probably isn’t healthy. Or maybe it’s love, jackass.

  Kylee puts the mug of hot chocolate to her lips and she pulls it back quickly, almost spilling it all over us.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just really hot.” Her face flushes and she puts her perfectly plump lips to the rim of the cup and begins to blow.

  The places my mind goes to watching this innocent act would make Jenna Jameson blush. Imagining those lips wrapped tightly around my cock while she sucks it into her mouth. Watching her eyes water with the sensation of wanting to gag, but trying to suppress the feeling. The way the locks of her hair wrap snugly around my fist, encouraging her to take me deeper, until I can feel the back of her throat.

  Deep breath, Roberts. Think of something else. The clack of the horses hooves against the concrete, the hangnail on my middle finger, anything, come on, man.

  “So what did you want to be when you were little?” Kylee asks. Well, that’s a little off the wall, but she wants to talk, which is a huge accomplishment, and exactly where I want this night to go.

  “It changed a few times. When I was eight, I wanted to be a cop. Eleven, a fire fighter and fourteen, a race car driver. It wasn’t until I was twenty and working at my dad’s firm during the summer that I decided I wanted to work in real estate. You?” My mind starts to wander, knowing the exact moment my life’s plan had been revealed. That summer changed my life forever.

  Kylee laughs and her hair falls in front of her face, creating a curtain to me watching her emotions, and recapturing my attention. “I wanted to be a model. My parents always told me how pretty I was and I thought it would be easy to make money and not really have to work at it. I just hated all the cattiness of the other girls. Those bitches are rude as shit.”

  “So, why did you choose a degree in marketing?” Now, I’m really invested. What would a girl who wanted to be a model be doing in marketing classes?

  “Isn’t that what modeling is? Marketing yourself? It seemed like a natural transition and something I could easily do—finding inventive ways to sell a product. Plus, it sounded really exciting.”

  Is she no longer excited? If she’s having a hard time finding a job, I would gladly give her one. We can always use a marketing assistant or something she can use her degree for. I wish she would dive just a little further, but with us pulling back up to the restaurant where we were picked up, it’s going to have to wait for another time.

  A sense of peace surrounds me as I sit with Kylee, doing nothing more than spending quality time with her, talking about childhood and friends. Not that I mind the sex life that Kylee and I have, but it’s nice to have something much more than just sex. A foundation. Something to build a relationship on, if she’ll consider that leap.

  We walk around the back of the restaurant, my arm draped over Kylee’s shoulder and her snuggled into my side. I knew she should have worn a coat; the temperature has dropped considerably since I picked her up. Or is it bad that I’m glad she’s cold, since her arm is wrapped around my waist, fingers holding onto my hip, under my shirt?

  Kylee is still all smiles on the way back to her apartment, and the pride I feel for putting it there is unbelievable. I’ve always been a man that makes calm and calculated decisions; it’s how my business has thrived and become one of Michigan’s top development companies. Kylee brings out the romantic, rash side of me. I only want to keep putting that upward curve on her delectable lips, and there’s not much I wouldn’t do to accomplish that goal.

  “Do you want to come upstairs?” Kylee asks when I pull up to her apartment complex. I should just leave and let her stew on this amazing night we had, but I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

  “I’d love to.” I put the car in park and turn off the ignition. Kylee reaches for her door handle when my hand coils around her waist, silently asking her to wait and allow me to be the gentleman I was raised to be. Thankfully, she waits and lets me open her door for her.

  Part of me thinks that while I have Kylee such a fantastic mood, I need to initiate a conversation about where our relationship is going once we’re inside. I’m really hoping that she’s going to be receptive and not closed off, like she’s been when we’ve talked us before. Then, there’s the other part of me that knows that if I ruin this night for her, she’s going to hide in that tower forever. Fuck it. If the conversation starts, it does and if it doesn’t, I’m not going to push her.

  As I’m escorting her to the door, I find myself wishing that I had my own key to her apartment.

  After several moments of watching her fish around in the giant sack that’s more luggage than a purse—pulling out notepads, half eaten pen tops, her phone, a tablet and a package of gummy bears—I’m starting to wonder if a family of clowns is going to come out next.

  I start sighing, ready to just kick the door in and save us the time, when she finally locates a key ring fit for a janitor—with at least ten, wait, fifteen key chains.

  How the fuck did she lose that monstrosity? And how does she not rip the ignition out of her car?

  Once we’re finally inside, Kylee excuses herself to change into something more comfortable. I’m unsure if I should think she’s going to put on some kind of lingerie or if she’s really putting on something more comfortable. Pushing the thought from my head, I linger around the living room waiting for her.

  It doesn’t take me too long to see a mess of papers, coffee cups and a laptop sitting on the coffee table. How I didn’t notice this when I picked her up is beyond me. It looks like she had a serious cram session, which makes no sense since she graduated over six months ago. Maybe grad school?

  Kylee comes walking out of her bedroom wearing a pair of tight black pants and an oversized hooded University of Michigan sweatshirt. See, these are the times I’m happy that I don’t assume it’s about sex and strip naked waiting for her; I would’ve made a real ass out of myself.

  “Are you going for your Masters?” I ask, pointing to the coffee table. Maybe this is why she’s not looking for a job yet—so she can focus on her studies.

  “Oh, no. Sorry about the mess.” She immediately starts gathering up the coffee cups, carrying them to the kitchen, then returning to stack the papers and laptop.

  “What’s all that about then?” Now my mind is running wild. What the hell could she be doing?

  “Well, I have a little time before I need to leave for my mom’s house.” She takes a long pause, looking like she’s gathering the strength to tell me something really important. I’ve not seen her so invested in something since Mira was in the hospital and she was researching every possible outcome.

  “Okay, well, tell me,” I say enthusiastically. I sit on the far side of the couch and pat the seat right next to me, inviting her to join me.

  When she refuses to sit with me, but places herself on the edge of the loveseat across the room, I can only assume she’s planning on telling me something that I’m not going to like. I scoot back into the cushion, placing my elbows on my knees, and impatiently wait for her to talk. If she doesn’t get to it soon, I’m going to flip my shit. You’re one to talk.

  “I’ve kind of decided what I’m going to do with my life,” she says shyly.

  “And …”

  “I’m going to be a writer.” A writer? That’s completely out of left field. That certainly doesn’t fall in a profession she should be taking with her degree.

  “Like a journalist.” It’s the only thing I can think of. I want to be supportive, but she’s completely lost me.

  “N
o, not a journalist,” she retorts with a hint of attitude behind her words. “I’m going to be a writer, like an author. I want to write stories.”

  “When did you decide this?”

  “This morning, when I couldn’t find anything to read. It kind of just clicked. I know that I’ll have a lot of work to do and dues to pay, but I started jotting down notes earlier and just got lost. I think that’s a good sign.”

  “What kind of books are you going to write?”

  “Probably romance. It’s my favorite to read and one of the most popular. I think I can really get into writing a good contemporary novel.”

  “So, like those books with the long-haired model on a horse?” I’m up on current trends. I know what’s popular in this genre. It’s kind of hard not to notice when every television show’s talking about what scenes are being filmed in a very anticipated book-to-movie.

  “You’re a dick. No, there will be no long-haired models and for sure no horses, I can promise that. Now, give me a man with abs beautiful enough to make my toes curl and we can talk.” Kylee throws a pillow at me and the lightness in the room encourages me to open up, too.

  “That’s really exciting, Ky. I’m so happy you found something you’re so excited about. It’s such a great feeling knowing that you’re going to get to do what you love.” The smile that spreads across her lips ignites something inside of me.

  “Thanks. It’s going to be a while before my book is finished, but I can’t wait for that day to come. It was seriously like someone opened the blinds and the sun poured in. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.”

  She proceeds to tell me about the concept behind the book she’s working on and I’m floored. Just looking at Kylee, I can tell she’s bound for greatness. I only hope she lets me come along on this journey she’s starting. I really want nothing more than to be by her side, supporting and encouraging her.

  Now that we’re having an honest conversation, and Kylee’s walls seem down, I’m about to dive headfirst into the land of the unknown that is our relationship and the one thing I’ve been keeping from her. I feel it’s finally the right time; now or never. The second I open my mouth, Kylee glances at her phone and starts freaking out.

  “Oh, shit. I have to go.” Kylee is frantically jumping around and yelling about being late to her parents’ house.

  Running around the house collecting clothing and something from the kitchen, the one woman tornado grabs a bag and shoves everything inside. She picks up the small duffle bag and her purse and walks to the door, impatiently tapping her foot while waiting for me to join her. When I stand to get my coat from the back of the dining chair, she sarcastically huffs, tapping at the invisible watch on her wrist.

  “Jacoby, come on. I’m already late,” Kylee whines.

  “Okay, Kylee, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  “Do you need me to get your walker for you, old man?”

  “You’re adorable when you’re acting like a baby. Rushing never gets you anywhere. Did you forget about the tortoise and the hare?” I tap her nose when I reach where she’s standing. Kissing the top of her head as I walk her out, I lock the door behind me.

  “Keep fucking with me and watch how fast I write you in, only to kill you off,” she jokes. At least I hope she’s joking.

  We walk out together and I see Kylee to her car. I wait with her for the few minutes it takes to warm up. I insist that she sits in my car, but she’s very, very adamant that she needs to hurry and waiting by her car will be faster.

  “Jacoby, you don’t need to wait with me. I’m fine.”

  “I’m waiting. End of discussion.” I envelop her in my arms, rubbing my palms up and down her back. I’m tempted to run my hands up the back of her hoodie, but the angel on my shoulder wins out over the devil.

  Two days and she’ll be back, I remind myself. I can do two little days. There’s plenty to keep me busy. Now that we’ve talked about what is making her happiest in her life, I know exactly what to get her for Christmas. We decided weeks ago that we wouldn’t be shopping for each other, since we’re not technically a couple, but the ideas racing through my mind are too good to pass up. She’s either going to love it or hate it.

  Kissing her, not wanting to stop, I get her into the car and watch as she pulls out of the complex before I’m in my car heading home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kylee

  Christmas with my parents is the one time of year that I enjoy being home. All the decorations, food, presents and time spent with the company of family really does put me in a good frame of mind. The constant reminders of my childhood rejuvenate my soul. My parents still wait until I’m asleep before putting my presents under the tree. Kind of silly, but it makes me smile because no matter what, I’m still their little girl.

  But then reality comes crashing down, and I remember that I am, in fact, nobody’s little girl. I’m a grown woman with more issues than someone with a close to perfect upbringing should have. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met in my life; always putting the needs of her family ahead of her own dreams. She once told me that she had wanted to go to New York to try to become a model. She was gorgeous—shit, she still looks a good twenty years younger than her fifty-seven years. She could have done it, but decided to marry my father instead and start a family.

  My father, he’s one hell of a character. He’s a senior partner is his law firm and worked his ass off over the last thirty years to get there. For as long as I can remember, he and my mother have made the perfect couple. He worked late and she took care of me, but then we would always have our weekends and holidays together. Family time was something they always held valuable, and one thing that hasn’t changed.

  I know people say that women always fall for men like their daddies. That’s the scary thought. Jacoby and my father are very similar in many aspects. Both are dedicated to their careers, excellent at what they do, have impeccable wit, are steady providers and have goals they’re bound to accomplish, professional and personal. I wish that’s where the similarities end; between my father, Jacoby and all men in general, if I’m being honest.

  I always thought when I had a family of my own, this is the kind of life I would want for them. Of course, I was sad when my dad couldn’t make my volleyball games because he was working on an important case. My mother was always there with her number one fan foam finger waiving in the air, metaphorically at least. But after every game, even if it was late and well after my bedtime, my father always came home with an ice cream cone for me to celebrate my win … or loss.

  Then, during the first semester of my freshman year in college, everything changed. I no longer looked at my family as the model for all of my adult dreams. What happened made me resent each and every family vacation, sporting event, weekend and holiday, except Christmas. The way the Anderson family does Christmas is not to be rivaled; we kind of kick ass at Christmas.

  “Kylee, honey, are you about ready?” My mother hates being late, my uncle’s annual “Anderson Christmas Extravaganza” is about to begin and our presence has been requested.

  “Yep, just finishing up. Be right down,” I holler.

  I must say, today wasn’t all that it has been in the past. Something is missing, and my thoughts keep drifting back to last night—the wonderful time I had with Jacoby. Any man that is willing to give a girl her Cinderella fantasy should rank pretty high in my book, but due to unforeseen complications in my personal life, that just isn’t the case anymore. I almost prefer that he had taken me to the sports bar, ordered us beers and gone back to his house for a round of crazy sex—or two.

  Making a girl want more than she knows will ever be possible is kind of cruel. Sure, I could give—become Jacoby’s girlfriend or whatever it is that he wants—but then where’s the game?

  Games aren’t just for children; they often carry into adulthood, too. And you know the game I’m talking about: boy meets girl, boy chases girl, boy wins girl. That’s where i
t ends; when he wins. I’d rather be chased and chased some more. It makes for some pretty spectacular foreplay. If I give in, there’s nothing more for him to “win” and the fun is lost. Then I’m no better than …

  Christmas is not the time to be thinking about that, especially since there’s an amazing party to attend where I might actually get to sit at the adult table. There’s nothing worse than sitting at the kids’ table, drinking spiked eggnog with my fifteen-year-old cousins that stare at my tits. It’s creepy and makes my skin crawl. Weird little bastards.

  The party goes pretty smoothly. I did end up at the adult table, which was nice for a change. Unless you count my cousin Amber—who just gave birth to twins—pumping breast milk at the dining room table, or my uncle lighting the tablecloth on fire, it was a nice night.

  Instead of staying with my parents overnight, I decide to head home. There are some ideas for my book floating around in my head that I want to put on paper before I forget. I think about calling Jacoby, but since he’s been on my mind most of the day, I opt to put a little distance between us. I’m sure he’s going to be calling me tomorrow to go out again, or at least come fuck him, so I’ll take a night just for me.

  I finally get home a little after ten. Very much to my surprise, Jacoby and Mira’s cars are both in the parking lot. Why is Mira here? She went home with Skylar for Christmas. And Jacoby, what the fuck?

  The sudden pang of jealousy starts to flow through my already icy veins. Not that I think that Mira would ever cheat on Skylar, but I’m pretty sure that Jacoby would fuck Mi if he had the chance. My jealousy quickly turns to me wanting to be protective and save Mira from whatever is going on inside the apartment. I waste no time running up to the building, taking the steps to my second floor unit two at a time.

  I throw open the front door and see nobody in the living room, but hear the distinct sound of Mira’s laughter coming from her old bedroom.

  “You son of a bitch,” I seethe, running down the hallway. Just outside the door, I listen, trying to get an idea of exactly what he’s doing to my best friend that she’s enjoying so very much.