Someone to Love (6 page)

What the hell has me so rattled? I do this
all the time. It’s practically a vocation I’m participating in on
the side. I’ve completed a forensics exchange with an
indiscriminate number of women every week for the last seven
months, and not once have I felt like a schoolboy about to ask the
prettiest girl in school to prom. Kendall Jordan simply wants me to
teach her the fine art of screwing her way around campus—nothing
more, nothing less.

“Where should we start?” Say bedroom.

I lean in and wait for a reply.

“Maybe take it sort of slow.” She winces.
“Maybe we can start with a movie?” She shrinks a little when she
says it, and I wrestle back a laugh that demands to bark from my
lungs.

“A movie.” I nod. Seated in opposite ends of
the theater I’m suspecting.

“Yes.” She closes her eyes a moment. “Then,
we’ll round out the bases. What exactly are the bases?”

“First base.” I run my finger over her
bee-stung lips. “Second base.” I drop my hand just shy of her left
boob then back up. “Third base is holding me naked.” I give the
impression of a wicked smile. “With the lights on.”

“Is not.” She scoffs.

“It can be. Anyway it’s just a step away from
turning in your v-card, so use your imagination. We can employ the
leashes if you like.”

“No thanks.” She’s quick to reject the idea.
“That’s an advanced field of sexual aerodynamics I am far from
ready for.”

There’s a brief knock at the door before it
swings open. I keep meaning to take the key away from my
mother.

Mom drops an industrial sized plastic storage
bin onto the floor with the words
X-Mas
scrawled across the
side. She gawks over at the two of us like she’s never seen a
creature quite like Kenny before—and I’m damn sure she hasn’t.

“You have company!” Her frizzy blond mane has
ballooned twice its size, and she’s donned her signature leopard
print coat for the occasion. Kenny jumps up and is quick to greet
her. I can’t remember the last time Mom met a girl I was with,
although technically I’m not with Kenny. I’m little more than a
talking dildo at this point, but I accept the challenge. In fact,
right about now, I’m feeling kind of lucky for hitting the party
last night and embroiling myself in an agreement with one of the
hottest girls on both the East and West Coast.

I hop over. “Mom this is Kenny. Kenny, this
is Samantha, my mother.”

“Oh please, call me Sam.” Mom lunges into her
with an awkward hug and for the first time I do believe my mother
is getting more action with a girl I’m “with” than I am. “Hey”—she
dips into her purse and pulls out a little pink envelope—“I happen
to own the hottest salon this side of New York City. Why don’t you
come down and get the works, on me!”

Kenny takes up the envelope and peers inside.
“Wow, thank you! I’ve never been to a salon before. My mom usually
cuts my hair.” She plucks at an errant strand, and it shines like
glass in the light.

“Dear God, child—you have been
abused
!” Mom rattles out a laugh that ends in a cough, which
seems par for the course these days. She’s running herself ragged,
and if she doesn’t watch it, she’ll end up taking a nice long dirt
nap to make up for the lost shuteye. “Molly’s with Brayden.” Mom
frowns at me. Brayden is my seventeen-year-old sister’s boyfriend,
and neither of us approve too much of
Brayden.
“I’m headed
out to see Aunt Donna. Wanna come?” She presents the offer to both
Kenny and I.

“Thank you,” Kenny says, “but I promised my
mom I’d spend it with her friend Jackie.” She looks to me. “I told
Pennington I’d be there.”

“Jackie Alexander?” Mom arches a brow at the
news. “Suit yourself. Sounds like a waste of a perfectly good
Christmas if you ask me.” She makes a face. “Ta-ta for now.” She
waves, making her way down the driveway and groans when she sees
what my Michelin’s have reduced her marigolds to.

“I guess she doesn’t care for the
Alexanders,” Kenny muses, tucking a lock of hair between her lips
like a beautiful black rose.

I don’t tell her that I don’t think too much
of them either—that I’m biologically one of them.

“I’ll give you a ride if you want,” I
offer.

“Sounds like a plan.” She glances up at the
mistletoe hanging over the door and steps into me. “Butterfly or
Eskimo?”

“Foreign import.” I step in until I’m pressed
against her. “I say we implement the French.”

“Definitely French.” She pants into the fog
until it encircles us like a wreath.

I close my eyes and land myself over the soft
pads of her lips. She swipes her tongue over mine and I lose it.
Her clean scented perfume lures me in like opium. I dig my fingers
into her lush hair before indulging in a series of kisses far more
animal than either of us had bargained for.

Seismic. Kissing Kenny shifts the landscape
of everything I ever thought I knew about the lingual art in
general. Kenny blows every kiss I’ve ever known off the map and
pins her star high over the geography with perfect mouth-watering
splendor. I’ve had sex that was less erotic. This was the pinnacle
of wanting, a nirvana of passion—sublime in every way.

Kenny brings the magic, the miracles—her
kisses are better than wine and I can never get enough.

Kendall

Familial Festivities

Snow dances from the sky, dusting the
windshield with miniature paper-like flakes as Cruise drives us up
an elongated driveway in an opulent gated community. The Alexander
estate looks gothic in appeal with its cathedral windows, its
upright stone lions just feet from the entry.

Cruise comes around and escorts me toward the
tall mahogany doors. A pair of oversized tinfoil wreathes adorn the
entry and manage to look slightly out of place among all the
grandeur. But honestly, the only thing on my mind this past hour
has been those heated kisses. My face still burns from their fire.
I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, bumping against mine, and
I replay it over and over like some muscular memory.

Cruise gives a good strong knock, and we wait
in awkward silence. He washes a quick glance over my body in a
covert manner, and his chest expands in response to my curves.

I wonder if he’s thought of those kisses—if
he still feels me in his mouth and how I measure up to the long
line of girls who had been there before.

Cruise leans toward me and fills the interim
between us with his spiced cologne. “So, Pennington”—he
pauses—“asshole or douchebag?”

A voice emits from inside the house and the
door rattles.

“Douchebag,” I whisper.

Cruise locks eyes with mine while giving a
brief nod. It’s as if we’re bonding right here on the porch over,
of all things, Pennington’s douchebag status.

I hope Aunt Jackie won’t mind that I’ve
brought someone along. Oddly enough, I know Cruise better than I do
“Aunt Jackie.”

The door swings open, revealing a woman
dressed in gold lame from head to toe.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” She
sings the opera-like greeting. Her long black hair is frayed at the
edges, and she sports an over-processed tan that looks less St.
Tropez and more Oompa Loompa. Her lips glow a pale pink as if she
smeared them with toothpaste, and her eyes are powdered a vulgar
shade of indigo frost. “And who the hell is this hot little cutie?”
She leans back on her heels—it takes a moment for me to realize she
directed the question to Cruise.

“This would be your darling niece.” Cruise
fans a hand over me as if I were a carnival prize. “I’m just giving
her a ride.”

“Oh my
gawd
! Andrew, come here! It’s
Kendall! She’s drop dead gorg!” She pulls me into a rocking hug and
does her best to smother me in her cushiony breasts. Her perfume
lays over me thick and cloying like strong tea without any
sweetness. “Look at you! All grown up.”

I smile awkwardly at Cruise because mostly
she’s propagating a lie. She’s never seen more than a dozen
pictures of me.

An oversized chandelier drips from the entry,
and the room opens up to a sitting area. A supersized white
Christmas tree, decorated with clear lights and strategically
dispersed red bows, sits in front of the bay window. It’s beautiful
in a sterile sort of way. I suppose once you amass a certain amount
of wealth, you have sophisticated standards to abide by. Gone are
the popcorn-strung Christmases and children’s art from yesteryear
adorning the mantle. It’s as if the capital in your bank account
bleaches the fun out of everything. Strangely, it’s just this sort
of opulence I had been craving my whole life, and now that I see it
with my own eyes, I’d trade it for that tiny brick house of
Cruise’s and the bushy Douglas fir in a heartbeat. I might have
already.

“Andrew? We’re in the sitting room.” She
ushers us in haste toward a palatial room that houses a giant oil
painting of Jackie and her husband as they hover over a younger
version of Pennington—and speak of the devil. He strides in the
room looking perfectly preppy—a wolf donning designer sheep
clothing.

My anger toward him actually managed to
decrease significantly in the past twenty-four hours—especially
since Cruise had the good sense not to dismember me. I’m thinking
this whole thing with the housing department was the best botch-up
ever and I should be thanking Pen, so I’ve temporarily taken his
name off the list of choice expletives. And even though I’m feeling
charitable, I’ll be quick to revert the action should Cruise turn
into an ass by midnight.

“Dude.” Pen high fives Cruise before smacking
me in the shoulder in a show of platonic affection just this side
of battery. His eyes are glossed over, and he smells rank in an
illegal sort of way, but I’ll be the last to point out that tidbit
of incriminating information now that I’ve once again relegated him
to my good side.

“Hon, your son is here.” Jackie screeches at
the top of her lungs until a middle-aged man with a spare tire
appears in the arched entry.

Did she just say
son
? Is she talking
about Pen or me? God—maybe they’re all wasted. Maybe hitting the
reefer is a long-standing Christmas tradition at the Alexander
household.

“Dad.” Cruise heads over and gives a hug to
the man he just referred to as his father.

“My half-brother,” Pennington whispers, and
holy shit his breath stinks like the exact illegal foliage I had
mentally accused him of smoking.

And what’s this “half-brother”
business
?

“And here’s my future daughter-in-law.” Aunt
Jackie’s voice hits its soprano register. “This one’s all Pen’s.”
She squeezes my shoulders tight. “I bet your mother we’d hear
wedding bells long before graduation.” She rattles me aggressively
as if shaking the idea into my head. “And I never lose a bet.” Her
eyes get all wide and swirly like they do in cartoons and she
manages to scare the shit out of me in the process. For a minute,
I’m tempted to assure her she won’t lose, even though I’m positive
she will.

Andrew clears his throat. “She never loses.”
The friendly-faced genetic donation station comes over and offers
me a hug. He’s far less caustic than his questionably better half,
although, apparently, he’s friendly as hell when it comes to women
and generous with his sperm to boot. “How’s your mother? I haven’t
seen her in years.” His face lights up as if he wouldn’t mind
launching a few genetic missiles in her direction, as well.

“She’s good—just coming off a divorce.” I say
it a little too loud like it’s an academic achievement or a
laudatory honor that we might be moved to toast later. Nothing like
making my own mother look like a loser in front of old friends on
Christmas to start the night off right.

“Sit! Sit!” Jackie squawks. “Tell me
everything. How’s the dorm? And don’t tell me the boys are cute
because you’ve only got eyes for my Penny boy.” She belts out a
laugh while falling over the sofa.

Cruise lands on the ottoman across from me
and indulges in an all-encompassing grin because he so conveniently
forgot to tell me he was giving me a ride to his father’s house.
That seems like it would have been a relevant nugget to share—yet
he held onto it presumably for the shock factor. And judging by
those soulful kisses he doled out, he rather enjoys getting a rise
out of me.

“Um,” I start, briefly losing myself in her
shiny gold ball gown, “the dorm actually—”

Pennington crashes next to me and wraps an
arm around my shoulder. “She’s just getting settled at Russell
Hall.”

“Oh,
hon
.” Aunt Jackie touches her
Cheeto stained hand to her chest. Everything about her has an
out-of-this-world appeal to it, from the foil-colored suit from the
future, right down to the
I flew too close to the sun
radiation burn she’s sporting. “You gotta get yourself in Delta,
Delta, Delta. Your mom and I were both chapter leaders. We threw
the best parties.” Her eyelids elongate like frosted Easter eggs as
she relives the memories.