Don't Close Your Eyes (3 page)

"Is that rhetorical?" I chuckled.  He did, too.

"You have your paper already?" he asked me.  I creased my brow in questioning confusion.  "I will take your silence as a no.  Go out to your driveway and open it up to page six, you may thank me later.  I accept gifts in the form of cash, check, or credit, as well as the ones that are thoughtful and given with love.  Since you don't have any love in that black heart, that one is void, although you might afterward... hit me up, let me know later," he said happily.  Damn, he was in a
great
mood, and it was completely infectious.

"Alright, I will try to keep that in mind, thanks, Chris," I told him with a genuinely warm smile plastered to my face.  I hung up and pulled my robe on.  After all, it could be dangerous to tease the desperate housewives with all this eye candy if I brave the suburban outdoors in nothing more than my pajama pants.  I chuckled to myself, feeling surprisingly excited.  Maybe because Chris simply never allowed that side of himself out too often, so this had to be good. 

I politely waved and greeted a couple of jogging women as I carried my paper inside, seriously glad for the robe, all joking aside.  My name and face was not only notorious in the underground, but famous above it for reasons that women wanted to desperately sink their teeth and claws into me for.  Back in the solace of my house, I set the paper onto the table and collected my fresh cup of coffee.  I took a soothing sip and relished in the warmth traveling all the way down to my stomach as it helped me to calm and come to life.  After all, I was going to need to be alert and ready to watch Joe beat the shit out of Ray in a little bit anyway.  Alright, enough about that.  Onto this surprise. 

I unfolded the paper and pulled all the extra junk out, making sure to leave the coupons for my housekeeper.  I opened the paper to page six, but didn't really see anything of striking surprise.  "The college sports section?  What the hell would he want me reading this section for?" I muttered in confusion as I scanned while I took another drink of coffee.  "
Holy shit
!!!" I exclaimed as I damn near spilled my coffee all over myself and had to beat my chest to clear the coffee I had just choked down the wrong tube in my shock. 
There she was!  The bloody girl from the lift almost two whole years ago!

                           
RUN, KINSLEY, RUN

IF YOU ARE A FAN OF TRACK you will kick yourself if you do not watch this local young woman in action before she graduates in June.  Kinsley James, current record holder for one of the fastest sprints amongst the college women's division, is a rare talent to grace this small town.

Kinsley James
!  That's her name?  My girl! 

James? 

Shit, was she related to Andrew James?  As in five floors down, works with my friend John, the bloody daughter I'd almost been shown a picture of?  No way!  It made sense, though...  Damn it, if only I'd allowed him to pull that picture a year ago when I'd first met the man at lunch with my friend, his sales rep.  She had been right under my nose!  No wonder John had a crush on her!  Good taste, mate...

Kinsley
... hmmm... how pretty.  Fitting.  Goes rather well with King if you ask me.  Kinsley King.  I scoffed bitterly.  As if I would ever really afford the chance to even marry, let alone win her heart.  My contract
is
up soon... maybe if I can woo that guy Jase into taking my position... after all he has the damn balls and background for what this takes.  At least on paper.  Still needed to scout him out, though, get a personal feel for him.  Rather convenient that he sang at the bar twice a week, and I was a big fan of live music.  Jase Taylor was one of the best around. 

I closed my eyes and allowed her sweet presence to overtake me once again for the first time in months.  Kinsley.  After Chris had called me that evening with the most bloody disappointing news that the cameras were down for replacement everywhere but the parking garage in my building, I had tried putting that dream to rest.  Not before examining the footage of her walking to her car in the garage.  Unfortunately, it had paper tags.  It just seemed as though the odds were stacked against me.  All I knew of the exotic redhead was that she drove a little Civic and was completely everything I wanted.  I sometimes watched the footage of that pretty woman walking to and from her car before I went to bed, or for the occasional dirty shower time to keep her image fresh, although, in truth, I never forgot it.  It was the type of memory I had been blessed with.  I never forgot a face or name once it was entered into my mind, hence the reason I’d been working my ass off to memorize her in that lift.  I never forgot the small creases at the corners of her big eyes when she’d smiled, the slope of her nose, the gloss on her lips, the sound of her voice, the smell of her perfume.  The way her dress moved around the stems of her beautiful legs like wilting flower petals caressing skin that was sure to be as soft as the petal of a rose.  I especially loved when her dress was lifted by a heavy breeze in that parking garage, and she'd pulled the Marilyn Monroe to push it down with open panic on her face as she'd looked around to see if anyone else had spotted it.  Nope.  Just the lucky man who watched the footage.  The quality obviously had enough clarity that Chris was able to recognize her in the paper that I was reading now.  There was no doubt. 

She was
so damn hot
in her track uniform!  Even in black and white!  It was like a second skin, bared and impressively toned midriff, and the shorts were glorified panties, really.  I would
definitely
be going to watch this little woman in person at her first track meet!  This was fantastic!  No wonder her legs were so amazing, she obviously worked the hell out of them in order to be such an accomplished runner.  Her hand was on her hip, and the other forearm was wiping sweat from her forehead as she walked off the track.  Another of her with a whole slew of medals around her neck while she beamed at a teammate warmed my previously cool heart. 
There's
that smile that had stolen my balls in the first place!  Wonder where she kept them, I thought with a laugh.  I couldn't help but wonder exactly how many other pairs of balls she had a hold of.  The caption said she was twenty-four.  Hmmm... so she had been merely twenty-two years old when I'd handed my balls to her in the lift, then.  Not as young as I'd originally thought her to be, but still way too young for me at the time.  Mid twenties was not quite so scandalous as early twenties would have been had I had the luxury of taking a shot at her back then.  I might just have a bloody shot at her now if I was bold enough to take one...  Imagine that.  Klive King taking a shot at someone, no scope necessary, hehehe...

I called off Ray's shit today with a threat that I'd better not have to pull him in or else.  I called Chris back, and he chuckled as he told me he was already on gathering all her info and would be emailing it this afternoon.  He would definitely be getting a fantastic gift with a lot of damn love in it for sure.  Perhaps it should include a shiny key fob and a bazillion horses? 

This left me with plenty of time to go visit my sweet little Anabelle, so I quickly finished my coffee and cut out Kinsley's article, setting it on my bed while I walked into my closet to pull on some designer faded jeans, a white tee, and a maroon V-neck sweater over top of it.  I sculpted my hair, but didn't bother shaving today since my time had already been cut into as it was.  I pulled on some nice boots and tossed my keys, catching them playfully before getting into my brand spankin' new Audi RS7.  The brightest white, darkest tint legal, low profile tires, hot rims.  I loved when it was time to trade up on that lease.  She was pretty as hell, smelled so good, and she could haul ass which is what I did to make up for time even if the drive to the hospital was only about five minutes from my place.  I'd stopped by a donut shop and gotten several bags of unglazed donut holes, several lattés from Starbucks for the nursing staff, and one Venti Mocha for Adeline, Anabelle's mother, since I knew her favorite.

I walked into the hospital a completely different man from the asshole I was for Nightshade.  A different man from even my office job.  I was just a guy who wanted to bring some light into these dreary rooms that my own brother had been trapped in on and off from the time he was eleven until fourteen.  I'd spent too much time with him there, but I always kept the strong front going for him.  If I wasn't at school, I spent the night on the little couch in his room, or even in his bed to keep his continuously thinning frame warm as sometimes it seemed that even a heap of blankets didn't help.  My parents sometimes pushed me out so that they could be with him overnight instead, my older brother would stay often as well, both of us trading turns on the bed with August and on the couch in the room.  All of us showing him pictures of the girls from the neighboring school that were asking for him.  Those times were the brightest, when a whole slew of friends would come to see him on the weekends and hang out to annoy the nurses.  Sure, he tired out quickly, but the warmth that came when someone other than family was there, it was priceless, not only to him, but to me, my elder brother, Lachlan, and my parents. 

"Morning, Lynn!" I smiled at the lead nurse in the children's ward.  I handed her the drink carrier. 

"Morning, Klive!" she beamed brightly in thanks, but her eyes glazed over a bit with sadness, and my heart clenched as tears came unbidden to my eyes along with her own.  I nodded in knowing.  "Yeah, it's been a really rough morning."  She pursed her lips and swiped at the tears that came.  I walked behind the station and pulled her to my shoulder, wrapping an arm around her back while my other still held the coffee for Adeline and the donut holes.  "Alex lost his battle last night.  His parents are making arrangements.  You want them?" she asked me as she pulled back to try and put her professionalism back on, barely.  I rubbed my own eyes to clear them of the tears that had escaped.  I exhaled heavily.  Alex had been a delight.  He was always encouraging all the others when they got together.  He was in Heaven now, and that's where he had always told us he was more than happy to go if he just couldn't hack it in that sick body of his.  Shit, it still never made it better.

"Please do.  I will be there," I told her, indicating his funeral.  I knew he was probably chiding me from his spiritual body right now the way he told the rest of us he would if we cried over his passing.  Stage Four.  Poor angel. 

"You better be extra sweet today to cheer those sad faces, Klive.  Do it for those of us here who are having the hardest damn time keeping it straight, please?" she smiled feebly.  I got my shit together with a tissue quickly and nodded with a warm smile as best I could.  "Oh, and I should chide you for those rotten treats that are forbidden, but I'm turning the other cheek, mister."  She gave me a sweet smile and waved me on.  I spent the next half hour delivering those bags full of uplifting dough that was not a good thing, sure, but what the hell, shouldn't kids get the joy of junk food from time to time?  Especially the ones who don't know true normalcy?  Besides, they were unglazed! 

Some parents frowned, but still allowed it while I visited with their sweet kids.  One of my favorites was Evan.  He was fifteen, in the midst of hormonal hell while battling hellish illness, and was always asking if I at least had a date or fooled around with anyone hot in honor of those who didn't even have the option.  I loved him.  Sometimes when his parents weren't around I snuck him a dirty magazine at his own risk.

"My man, The King!  I was hoping to see you today!" he gushed, though he was obviously upset about Alex.

"Yes, sir, and I have something to show you," I grinned wickedly with my newspaper.  I'd gotten a couple at the coffee shop since I'd kept my own for myself.  "Remember the hot redhead from the elevator?" I raised my eyebrows in smug question since he'd always given me shit for inventing her out of desperation or something.  As if I would ever have to invent a woman...

“Yeah?” he asked with an equally disbelieving eye.  I chuckled and handed him the paper where I'd folded it to her article so that all he had to do was pick it up while he ate his donut holes.  "
Damn
!  Klive, she
is
hot!"

“Yours to keep, mate, since I already have my own.  Just do yourself a favor and keep the pages clean.  Don’t want your family finding out what a randy pervert their son really is,” I teased.  He tossed his head on a laugh that was so good to hear.  “Now you know.  This is her, I finally found her, and if I shag her, you will be the first to know.  Sound good?" I grinned wickedly. 

“Yeah, you’d better,” he smiled as we bumped fists.

We both lost our grins and were on our best behavior when his mother walked in with a sweet greeting toward me.  I gave him a soft solute before winking and leaving his room as he smiled wickedly once more.  Anabelle was last, but certainly not least.

"Klive!" she exclaimed happily as soon as I stepped into her room.  I confess, she was my very favorite.  Her spirit was sweet and shy, her tenacity was blooming even in her youth, and she would grow to be a very strong and dedicated young woman after this passed, which it would.  No exceptions.

"Belle, honey, I wasn't sure- oh, Klive!  You came!" Adeline gushed and threw her arms around my neck as she walked back into Anabelle's room.  I hugged her warmly in return.  I was never loose in my affections toward anyone outside my family, naturally, I am British after all, but I allowed this woman in.  I had a soft spot for her and her sweet girl.  She'd been widowed since Anabelle was three.  Her late husband was a fallen soldier.  She'd been raising Belles by herself ever since.  No family, and you will find out who your true friends are when tragedy strikes.  When tragedy struck more than once, she only had a couple that remained, but weren't in any way dedicated to her the way they had been before Anabelle got sick.  It made
me
sick in turn, so I had taken up being her friend, confidant, cheerleader, and I took the slack off financially so that she could be here for Anabelle everyday as much as possible to keep the poor girl company through the hell she was enduring as she tried to beat stage three leukemia.