Jack & Kayla (Imperfect Love Series) Read online

  Someone messes with the music and Little Mix’s ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ comes on. The guys groan, the girls cheer, and the volume rises. I’ve just finished singing along to the last chorus when a hand grabs me and draws me away from my friends. The movement is gentle and I can tell by the size of the hand that it’s not Boyd.

  At first glance I think it’s the same bearded guy from the bar in Liverpool but, duh, I’m back in London and that was weeks ago. This guy has mischievous blue eyes that invite me to share in his quiet humour. “I’m Charlie,” he says.

  “Okay.” I smile and wait for him to say more.

  The skin around his eyes creases. This guy may just have a smile to rival Boyd’s and his eyes are as calm as the sea on a summer’s day. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

  I smile again, drawn to him. “What more do you want?”

  His head dips towards mine and he whispers in my ear. “Now that would be telling, but how about we start with your name?”

  God, he’s smooth and sexy, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I don’t care that he’s clearly a player. “Kayla. Kayla Martinez.”

  “Martinez?”

  “I’m Spanish. Actually, part Spanish, part Irish.”

  “Charlie Smith,” he says. “One hundred percent British.” He smiles again. It’s a little crooked, the imperfection somehow making him more attractive. And though he’s a player, he’s smooth as mirrored glass and I can’t resist. “Hello, Charlie ―”

  Boyd steps between us, his back blocking my view of Charlie. He says something, and though I can’t hear what it is I know it can’t be good. I try to get round him, but he holds me back with his arm, leaning into Charlie with a threatening stance. I yank at Boyd’s shirt, but he’s already walking away. Furious, I watch him retreat before switching my gaze to Charlie. He’s watching Boyd, his expression still calm, but more intent. He smiles and shakes his head, turning to look at me with something akin to disappointment. “Didn’t realise you were taken.”

  My eyes bug out. “What? Is that what he said to you? Oh my God! I’m not involved with anyone.”

  It’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “He warned me away. Said you were his.”

  “He did?” My voice sounds kind of awestruck. I realise my mistake and try again. “He did? Boyd’s a pathological liar. Trust me when I say we’re not involved. He has his girlfriend with him, for God’s sake.”

  Charlie glances towards Boyd who’s over the other side of the room, watching. Amelia, who’s been wrapped around him all night, is nowhere to be seen.

  “Sorry, but I’m not about to get in the middle of a domestic. So long, Kayla Martinez, nice talking with you.” His hand squeezes my shoulder as he passes to my right. I stand motionless, bodies gyrating all around me, music throbbing through my chest.

  I stare angrily at Boyd. He’s talking with Tag, Mason, and a couple of guys I don’t know. Amelia returns, as if she senses me watching, and her hand slips into his back pocket once again. Boyd wraps an arm around her shoulders and she takes the opportunity to shoot me a gloating smile.

  I’m mad enough to do something stupid.

  I find Charlie in the kitchen hanging out with his friends. Their conversation tails off when I approach and Charlie pushes away from the counter top, his eyes wary. Maybe he knows I’m trouble.

  “You need to see this,” I say, grabbing his hand.

  Charlie’s no weakling and I’m not so much dragging him along, as he’s following of his own accord. I stop a few feet into the room, pointing at where Boyd and Amelia are entwined.

  “There!” I say, pointing. “If he’s with me, how come she’s wrapped around him like a vine leaf? Explain that, Charlie Smith.”

  His eyes narrow and his mouth tightens as he takes in the scene before him. “He fucking played me.”

  I can’t help my smug smile. “I hate to say I told you so ...”

  Charlie slams down his beer on the nearest surface, looking like he means business when he moves in Boyd’s direction. Realising his intention I jump in front of him, forcing him to pull up short. “Uh, Charlie, what are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m gonna have it out with him.”

  I stare, aghast. “What?”

  His jaw flexes and he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “He staked his claim where he’s got no right staking it,” he says.

  Really? He said those words? Feeling like I’m in a black and white movie and sensing that this is about to escalate into something nasty, I suggest an alternative course of action. “Or, we could just take it from where we left off,” I say.

  He draws back as if I’m talking nonsense. “Are you fucking serious?”

  I blink, surprised by his anger. What is it with guys and their egos? “Look, Charlie, I’m sure you can hold your own in a fight, but you might want to know that Boyd’s ex-SAS.”

  It’s Charlie’s turn to blink. “He is?”

  “Yeah, scouts honour.” I arrange my fingers into what looks like a scout salute and hold it against my temple.

  Charlie doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed. He emits a frustrated breath and glances at Boyd one more time. “You know what? Maybe I’ll let it go this time. Gotta protect my boyish good looks.” He grins and strokes his jaw, letting me know he’s joking, which is good because for a second there I thought he was serious.

  “You want to dance?” I ask.

  Charlie looks horrified. “You can dance to this?”

  I realise they’re playing Creeper’s ‘Suzanne’. Okay, maybe not. “Or we could talk?”

  “Talking’s good,” he says.

  He leads me to a quiet corner and draws me down to the floor. We sit there cross-legged, talking about Mason and how they know each other.

  “Were you ever involved with him?” he asks.

  I frown, thinking he means Mason, but then I follow his gaze. “You mean with Boyd?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. I mean, I worked for him for a while after he broke his leg, but it didn’t exactly work out. I haven’t seen him in weeks.” I think about how Charlie knows Mason and I wonder if he knows Boyd too. “You know him?” I ask, curious.

  Charlie shrugs. “Seen him out and about with Mace a few times. He’d usually have a woman in tow, different one each time, so we never really spoke.”

  I try to cover the spasm that crosses my face. It’s not like I don’t know about this side of Boyd, but I can’t help my reaction and Charlie’s way too observant to miss it.

  “Fuck, I knew it. You fell for him?” he asks in disbelief.

  “No!”

  He’s not convinced. “That why you’re here with me?” he asks, blue eyes glaring. “You want to make him jealous?”

  “No!” I draw my hair away from my face. “Least, I don’t think so. That’d be a pretty shallow thing to do ...”

  And that, right there, is the problem with vodka. It’s like a truth serum.

  “You don’t think so?” His tone is scathing. It matches his expression. “I look like a sap to you?”

  A shadow blocks out what little light there is in the corner.

  “What the fuck?” Boyd towers above us, his expression thunderous. I smack the back of my head against the wall. This is all I need. Charlie pissed because he thinks I’m using him, Boyd angry because ...

  He steps in closer. “Get the fuck away from her.”

  “Boyd―” Whatever I was about to say goes unsaid because Charlie talks over me.

  “What your problem, dude?” He pushes to his feet, leaving me abandoned on the floor. Charlie’s two inches shorter than Boyd and nowhere near as built, but this doesn’t seem to bother him. “You’re here with your girlfriend and you’re staking a claim to Kayla? How the fuck’s that work?”

  Yeah, I’d really like to know the answer to that question. Unfortunately Boyd’s not in the mood to respond. Instead he intrudes on Charlie’s personal space. “Five seconds. That’
s what I’m giving you to get the fuck out of my sight.”

  Charlie looks down at where I’m still seated on the floor. “This is the kind of guy you’re into?” he asks. The way he’s shaking his head, it says a lot and I know I’ll dwell on this in the morning, but right now my brain isn’t processing information the way it should.

  “I’m not ...” I don’t get to finish because Charlie’s gone, shoulder-bumping Boyd on his way.

  Boyd squats down in front of me, eyes narrowed. “You’re wasted.”

  Somehow I form a mocking smile, even though my face feels partially numb with alcohol. “Excellent powers of deduction. What else can you tell me, Sherlock?” My voice is scathing. Considering Boyd’s mood, I’m surprised when he doesn’t retaliate.

  “Give me your hand, Boots.”

  “Don’t call me Boots!”

  He raises his brows, a fake expression of hurt on his face. “You don’t like it?”

  I answer him with a hostile glare.

  He rises to his feet and holds out a hand. I take it and I’m up on my feet before I’m ready. The room is spinning and I reach out to steady myself. My palm lands against Boyd’s stomach. Correction. Boyd’s warm, hard stomach.

  Boyd stills. When his eyes find mine they’re dark and mesmerizing and the weeks we’ve been apart disappear, reduced to nothing. “Boots ...”

  He doesn’t get the chance to finish. Amelia’s arms snake around his waist from behind, her long nails crimson against his t-shirt. “Mine,” they scream. Regret fills his eyes. Regret and frustration.

  That’s when I decide to make my escape. There’s only so much pain a girl can withstand and I’ve had my fill.

  It’s raining outside. By the time I turn the corner, my hair is in rats’ tails and my dress is stuck to my skin. I keep close to the kerb, watching as cab after cab drives past, their seats occupied.

  The rain comes down harder; rippled streams form beside the kerb and water pours in torrents from overhanging buildings. This isn’t rain. This is a monsoon. It’s not long before I’m shivering and my limbs are speckled in goose bumps.

  I think I might be invisible―even the empty cabs won’t stop.

  Someone shouts my name. Or at least I think they do. I glance around, but it’s dark and the rain is falling faster than I can blink it away. A dark shape looms and a hand snaps around my upper arm, spinning me in a half-circle. Boyd’s standing before me, breathing hard. His hair’s flattened against his skull and his t-shirt’s stuck to his torso.

  “Boyd, what are you―”

  He pulls me towards the kerb, almost stepping into the path of a cab before it brakes to a halt. Boyd pushes me in first. The car’s interior may be warm and dry, but I can’t stop shivering. Boyd gives the driver his address and the cab sweeps across four lanes in a wide one-eighty. Neither of us looks toward the other, though our hands are joined in the space between us.

  Minutes later I’m shivering in the elevator to Boyd’s apartment. My reflection shows pale skin and blue lips. Boyd still has a hold of my hand and he doesn’t let go, even when he’s unlocking the door to his apartment.

  He leads me towards the bathroom. It’s all so familiar; the white tiles, square mirror, even the can of deodorant on the shelf above the sink.

  Boyd turns on the shower and within seconds a cloud of moisture dampens the room. “Get in,” he says.

  “Wha-a―”

  “In the shower, Kayla. Now.”

  I hold onto him with numb fingers while I kick off my sandals. Fully clothed, I step into the bath. The water is warm rather than hot, but it’s almost too much against my frozen skin. Through the semi-transparent curtain I see Boyd’s wet jeans hit the floor before he steps into the bath, naked. He manoeuvres me beneath the showerhead, adjusting its angle so that warm water cascades down on us both. My dress is already soaked, but now it’s truly saturated. I tug at it uselessly, trying to pull it over my head, but my hands are too cold to grip. Boyd helps and drops it in a waterlogged pile on the bathroom floor.

  My shivering calms as warmth creeps into my limbs and torso. I’m conscious that most of the water is falling on me, but when I try to swap positions, Boyd stands his ground, insisting I continue to hog the water. Warm now, I’m increasingly conscious of his nudity. He’s a big guy so it’s no surprise he’s big there too. Not that I’m staring or anything, but it’s there and he’s standing close enough for me to reach out and touch, if I wanted. Not that I do, coz I don’t. Really.

  I figure it would be a good idea to stop staring. Especially as it appears to be affecting him. I glance up, half-dazed. He’s watching me too, taking in my black underwear, looking like he wants it gone.

  He reaches out to touch me and I flinch. Only it’s not me he’s reaching for, it’s his shower gel. I watch him soap his chest, his hands spreading the spice-scented bubbles before travelling lower, over his stomach and down ...

  Unable to bear it any longer, I scramble for the curtain and step out of the tub. It doesn’t seem to matter that I can’t see him anymore. The image continues to play behind my eyelids. I peel off my underwear and wrap myself in a white bath sheet, finding a smaller one to wrap around my hair. Barefoot, I pad into the living room where I use his fancy machine to make coffee.

  Leaving Boyd’s mug beside his favourite sofa, I go sit on the other one, curling my legs beneath me.

  But those images, they keep on playing.

  When he finally emerges, he’s dressed in navy sweat pants and a grey t-shirt, his damp hair dark and shiny. He sits on his sofa, knees spread wide, the soles of his feet touching. “You okay?” he asks.

  The towel on my head loosens when I nod. I reach up to adjust its folds, thinking twice when the towel around my torso slips. Boyd’s eyes drop to the uppermost edge of the towel. His eyes heat, but there’s something else.

  Countless times in the past I caught him watching me, but never like this, never with that light shining from his eyes, as if I’m something to him, something important.

  I swallow my steaming hot coffee and force my thoughts into a more wholesome direction. “I should call Frankie, let her know I’m okay. ”

  “Already taken care of. I called Mace, asked him to pass on that you’re with me.”

  Damn. I can imagine Frankie and the others creating all kinds of scenarios, none of them correct.

  Boyd clears his throat. “I also asked Mace to make sure Amelia gets home okay.” He shifts on the sofa and it comes to me that he’s uneasy. “We’re finished, Amelia and me. I told her it was over.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. Me and her ... it was just sex, Boots.”

  I don’t want to hear this. Not now. Not ever. “Good to know,” I say, placing my mug on the table and rising to my feet. I’m about to say, ‘I should go,’ when I remember my sodden dress in the bathroom. “You have anything I can wear? I need to get home.” As in now, before I say or do something that will make this night even more of a disaster.

  “Stay,” he says.

  I hold it together, though my body shivers. “You’re a player, Boyd. You just spent the night wrapped around Amelia, with her hand in your back pocket, and now you’re asking me to stay? Once a player, always a player, Boyd!”

  He’s on his feet now, glaring down at me with angry green eyes. “You don’t know a fucking thing, Kayla.”

  “I see things! I hear things!” I stab at my ear as if he needs a visual demonstration. “I know what you’re about!”

  “Fuck, what do you want me to say? You want me to say I’m a virgin? Well, sorry to disappoint. I like sex and, yeah, I’ve had sex with Amelia. But you know what, Kayla? You had sex with Adam in my fucking apartment days after you came on my lap. And then you’re kissing some guy in Liverpool. What does that say about you?”

  “I did not sleep with Adam!”

  Boyd leans over me, his voice more of a roar than a shout when he yells, “He slept in your fucking bed!”

  “Nothing ha
ppened! You think I’d do that, in your apartment, with you in the next room?”

  “He was in your bed!” Boyd’s yell echoes around the apartment. He spins away and paces, his hands reaching for the back of his head.

  “Adam’s gay,” I say, defeated.

  Boyd stops and his hands drop to his side. “What?”

  “We had our first kiss at fifteen, shared beds at sixteen, and he might have seen me naked once or twice, but we’ve never had sex. His boyfriend’s name is Cheng. Adam’s my friend, Boyd, and that photo of me kissing that guy in Liverpool, that’s all it was, a drunken kiss.”

  “He’s seen you naked?” He’s joking. I think.

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Boyd, Adam’s seen me naked. Now, you mind if I check your closet to see if there’s anything I can wear home?”

  “News for you, Boots. I don’t wear women’s clothes.”

  “Real funny. I thought maybe Amelia might have left something behind.”

  His eyes run over my body and I know what he’s seeing. Bigger boobs and a bigger arse. I stand tall and wait for him to say something offensive, but all he says is, “Check my closet. Maybe she left something in there.”

  It’s not what I expected. Knowing she’s stayed, that she might have left her things here, somehow that’s worse than if they’d just had sex.

  Boyd’s closet is tidy. Shirts hang from the top rail, jeans from the lower and his shoes are arranged in pairs at the bottom. It’s not the tangled mess I remember.

  It being so neat, it’s easy to see there’s nothing female here. Instead, I search for something of Boyd’s that might fit, which is ridiculous considering the way he’s built. I might be curvy, but I’m slim in all the right places. I find an oversized t-shirt, one with the name of a gym scribed across the front. It falls a few inches above my knees and swings around my thighs. It’s too sexy, too revealing to wear in public, even on a cab ride back to my apartment―if I can find a cab that’s empty.