Sloth (Sinful Secrets #1) (43 page)

The girl leans slightly forward, then slightly back. “Is this Kellan’s car?”

“Um... Who’s asking?”

“Where is he?” the girl asks.

I feel my Spidey sense prickle. “Who are you?”

She looks around, as if she’s worried someone might hear her. “Whitney,” she says softly.

“Are you related to him?”

Truman leans up between the front seats, pressing his head against my arm, as if he wants to hear her answer, too.

She shakes her head, catching her lip between her teeth. But she must be with his family’s entourage. “If you want to talk to him, he’s almost back to the car. Should be here any second,” I say.

She nods slowly. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Cleo,” I say, a little fiercer than I need to.

“Hi, Cleo. And thank you. I’ll just... maybe I’ll see him down in Chattahoochee soon. Could you do me a favor and please don’t let him know you saw me?”

“Um, okay I guess.”

Psyyyyyych
. I’m telling Kellan I saw this bitch as soon as I get the chance.

She says, “thank you,” tucks her chin, and wanders off into the sea of cars. I’m closing my books up, sliding them into my bag, when Kellan raps on my window. I push the door open.

“Get out,” he says. He gives me a relaxed smile and closes his hand around my knee. I can tell immediately he’s in better spirits, which makes me smile as well.

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

He smirks. “I thought I was Mr. Perfect.”

“What? Huh?”

He winks as I slide out of the car. “I saw a text from Lora. It was on your screen. Don’t worry.” He catches my forearm in his gentle fingers. “All I saw was her inquire about me, and you told her I was ‘Mr. Perfect.’”

I scoff. “That’s wasn’t you I was talking about. Trust me, I refer to you as Mr. Bossy. Actually, just Bossy. Kind of like Big on
Sex and The City
.” I smirk, and Kellan elbows me out of his way, as if he’s going to climb into the driver’s seat. Then he doubles back, catches my hand, and tugs me around the front of the Escalade. He gets my door for me and slaps my ass as I get in.

“You hungry?” he asks as he backs the car out.

“Starving. You?”

“I could eat something.”

After evaluating the next few exits, we decide on Steak & Shake. I get a cheeseburger with light mayo only, and a small strawberry shake. Kellan gets a double cheeseburger but says he doesn’t like to eat in the car.

“Why not?” I ask.

“I don’t like being watched, I guess.”

“No one is watching you.”

He lifts his brows. “You are.”

I smile and lean my cheek against his shoulder. “I am. I’ve been worried about you today. You seem a little better.”

His blue eyes flick from the road to my face. “What do you mean?”

“A little less worried I guess. Just feeling better.” I haven’t wanted to broach the subject of his uncle, but I hesitantly do so now. “Is Pace okay? Stable and stuff?”

He nods.

I lean away from his shoulder so I can see his face. “I’m really glad.”

He swallows and nods. I wait for more—a flicker of emotion on his face; details of what happened in the wreck—but Kellan just drives, perfectly still and quiet, as if he’s alone in the car. I polish off my burger and relax in the silence, looking out the window at the swaying pines.

“What music do you want to hear?” he finally asks.

“Oooh, how about that song from earlier?”

“Which one?”

“The protector coming home.”

He looks uncomfortable—irritated?—then says, “I don’t know what list that one is on. Other requests?”

“Do you ever listen to Broken Bells?”

He nods. “Good stuff.”

“Ooooh, no, I know what I want to hear! It’s such a good song. If you don’t think it’s too cheesy, you’ll like it. And you’ll see why I like it. Total optimist song. Hmm, let me see if I can find it.”

I pick up my phone, which is still plugged into Kellan’s iPhone cord, and flip around until I find one of my favorite folksy bands, a Portland group called Blitzen Trapper. I start the song I have in mind—called “The Tree”—and adjust the volume.

It’s a very uplifting song. Not blindly so, but with a kind of heaviness I appreciate. I’m disappointed to see Kellan looks more and more unhappy as it plays, until finally I turn it down.

“Not a fan?”

He shrugs. “It’s nice.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I liked it.”

“Not like ‘Helter Skelter,’” I tease.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a reluctant smile. “Can’t knock The Beatles, Cleo. Not unless you want to hitchhike home.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yes.”

I thump his leg through the same worn jeans he had on yesterday, and think for a minute how weird it is to never see him in khakis anymore lately. The sun beams down in sheets of brilliant white as we near Chattahoochee.

“You can talk to me, you know,” I tell him as he slows to exit. “About Pace, about whatever. I’m a good listener.”

“Mm.” His blue eyes meet mine, then return to the windshield. “Thanks,” he says belatedly.

Whatever’s going on inside his head goes on until we reach the dirt road to his house. Then I feel a shift in his energy. No longer distracted, he seems edgy. Restless.

I’m almost expecting to be hauled up to the bed when we reach his house, but it doesn’t happen. Kellan dresses in khakis and a button-up, makes both of us a sandwich, and asks me if I want a ride to campus.

“You have a class?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

“Make-up lab,” he says. I wonder when he missed it, but he still seems moody and I don’t want to pry.

“Sure... I’ll go with you. I’ve got a two o’clock I shouldn’t miss. Stupid palliative counseling.” I grab my bag as Kellan shakes his head. “Those dying bastards.”

“Exactly.” I smile.

He smiles. He takes my hand for the short walk to the front door, and I get that butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling I remember so well from middle school. I steal a glance at him and find him looking at me. One of the butterflies swoops. I laugh. We smile at each other like two idiots as we step onto the porch and Kellan locks the door. He opens my car door for me, gets settled behind the wheel, and cranks the car... and I can’t hold it in any longer.

“I like you,” I blurt.

Kellan’s brows shoot up.

“Too much? Too soon?” I pucker my lips, caught between exuberance and embarrassment.

He surprises me by leaning in to kiss them. “Neither.” As he steers toward campus, his eyes move over me. “Hey, Cleo?”

“Hey.”

He brakes at a stop sign and looks full-on at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. “Thanks for going with me,” he says softly.

“No prob, Bob.” I squeeze his shoulder, but it’s not enough. I nuzzle the softness of his shirt sleeve with my cheek.

I feel embarrassed as I pull away. Where did these tender feelings come from? I feel so... needy around him. Not just for sex.

This feeling is new to me. I think on it as he circles the psych building, and I decide it’s a sensation of comfort—and affection. I’m comfortable around him—more so than I’ve ever been with any guy, come to think of it—and out of my comfort comes this... gladness. And appreciation. Gratefulness, I guess.

I think, as he edges nearer to the drop-off point and I begin to contemplate being in class—sitting at my desk; the teacher’s caramel coffee; the dreadful small group study we always do—that maybe the worst thing about life is being “out and about” and having to just... be you. They say hell is other people. I believe that. But what I didn’t know until now is so can heaven be.

Kellan brakes at the mouth of the walkway to the building, and I flash a silly smile at him. “You know, you’re a kinky bastard.”

“And?” His mouth quirks.

“I love it. That’s all.” His big hand comes over my head. I lean back. “You’re messing up my hair.”

He lunges for me with both hands outstretched.

“Eeeep!” I shrink against the window.

He surprises me by leaning over, framing me with his arms—his palms against the window—and leaning in to kiss me... on my nose.

“Kinky?” He wiggles his brows.

I reach out and ruffle his hair. He leans in and... closes his mouth over my boob? “Kellan!” His teeth clamp around my nipple and his warm tongue flattens over it. He nips a little, hard enough so I can feel it through my bra. I feel a shot of heat between my legs.

“People will seeeee!” I push against his blond head and he leans back, grinning.

I look down. “There’s a wet spot!”

“More than one I’d bet.”

I hmph. “You’re evil.”

He just lifts his brows and lays his hand between his legs. I feel another burst of warmth between my thighs as his fingers curve around a huge erection.

“God... that’s hot. I’m not going to lie.”

“Good.” His voice is low; a purr.

He reaches for me again. I slap at his hand. “I’ve gotta go!” I giggle—not a sound my mouth is used to making.

Kellan’s eyes are hooded. His smile back is dark. He pushes the base of his palm against his dick one more time, watching my face as I watch him.

“I’m putting you on Smuffins,” I say. “It’s decided. Secret footage... upload, BAM. Everyone gets to enjoy. Your dick is so big.”

He strokes it and smirks. “What happened to ‘I’ve gotta go?’”

“I do! Now leave!” I slide down from the Escalade and pull my shorts up—high. Then I bend down, pushing my ass into the triangle of space created by my open door.

I hear him groan as I straighten up and grin. “What? Just dropped my pencil.”

I catch that dark look in his eyes again as I slam the door shut.

When I sit down in my desk in class, my phone’s screen lights up with a text.

‘Hope that ass is ready. Tonight... Pick u up at 5 after your art class?’

‘Can’t wait.’

I mean I can’t wait to see him again, but I decide to let him think I’m clamoring to have his dick in my ass. If he wants to do it, I’ll end up letting him, so might as well have the added satisfaction of seeing him all eager for it.

I sigh and clench my pussy. I’m so wet. I’m pulsing all through class.

Art instruction techniques, my next class, includes a lecture on sculpting. I can’t quit picturing my hands over Kellan’s naked body. God, he’s hot. Soft, soft skin... The hardness underneath.

I can’t believe things have taken a turn this way. Kellan the asshole, Kellan the kinky bastard, is someone I like. Like... really
like
.

I’m not sure I can sit through class, I want to see him so badly. I want to touch him. Want to suck his dick. I really do. I want to cup his balls and stroke my finger over his taint and feel his cock pulse in my mouth. I want to hear those hoarse sounds he makes.

I want to swallow. And then after he’s satiated, when he’s gone all sleepy and soft, I want to curl around him and whisper funny things into his ear.

It’s strange to have these feelings. They’re so big and... engulfing. But I feel happy to lay myself at his feet. Why? Because he’s giving me something no one has in... ever, maybe. It’s... this sense of peace. In my counseling classes, my professors go on and on about a happy place. It’s like... this little mental cubby you create for yourself, a little bit of fantasy where you can just relax. It’s a conceptual thing—something to tell clients in therapy; they think of something traumatic, you’re supposed to steer them to a happy place when they’re done—but with Kellan,
life
feels like that. Cozy.

I slip out of art class a few minutes early and go wait for him behind the building. Mmm. I’m going to stroke his dick while he drives us back to his house. When we get there... God, it’s crazy to say, but I kind of hope he does put it inside me. Back there.

I smirk as I stand on the curb, watching the cars that flow in and out of the U-shaped lot.

I hope his uncle’s still doing okay. I wonder if he’ll talk about that sometime, and I hope he will. I think of how upset he was, and all I want is to make him feel good. The way he made me feel when we drove down to Albany.

I stand there for what seems like an entire day, feeling soft and raw and wanting and... exposed, in such a weird way. Like everyone who drives and walks by can see my longing for Kellan.

Maybe they can.

Geez, where is he? I check my phone, and find it’s ten after five.

That’s kind of strange. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. I don’t know where he parked, after all.

By 5:20, I haven’t seen him, and I can’t get an answer on his phone. I’m stuck between annoyed and concerned—until I remember my car is here on campus.

I rush to his house and find him sleeping in the windowed room. His shirt is unbuttoned, and he’s curled over with his palm pressed to his throat. I see a half a Xanax—it’s got jagged edges, like he bit it—on the bedside table and feel a curl of sympathy. Concern.

Something’s bugging him. My thoughts of sex fly out the window.
Later
, I think to myself.

I climb up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I press my cheek against the firm plane of his back. In his sleep, Kellan sighs gently.

WHEN YOU ADD IT ALL UP
, it’s never enough. It wasn’t enough with any of the others, and it’s fuck sure not with Cleo.