Jack & Kayla (Imperfect Love Series) Read online

  “You know my situation,” says Tag. “I’ll fit in with whatever you guys have planned, as and when I can.” Tag’s a fireman and therefore works shift patterns.

  “Good to know. I’ll get back to you when I have more info.”

  Tag finishes his pint and head off first. He’s got an early start in the morning. It’s gone midnight when I get home. I find Kayla on the sofa, her hands beneath her head, the TV on. We met for dinner earlier and I asked her to stay the night while I went out with the guys for a couple of hours. It’s becoming more and more regular―me asking her to stay, her accepting.

  There’s just enough space for me to lay beside her if I press my body fully into hers. I’m not adverse to doing this. I rub my nose down the length of hers. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

  She opens her sleepy eyes, squinting as she adjusts to the closeness of my face. “Guess I fell asleep, huh?”

  “Guess so, judging by the snoring.”

  “I do not snore,” she says, voice sluggish.

  “You sure about that? You might want to check with the neighbours. Pretty sure they must have felt the vibrations through the wall.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny, Boyd, I don’t think.”

  I gather her to me. I like her like this, all heavy-eyed and languid, her accent almost impenetrable. I move closer, cursing when something pokes me in the thigh. I lift up and retrieve the apartment phone. I never use the damn thing. The only reason I have it is because it came with the Wi-Fi and TV package.

  “Sorry,” Kayla says on the tail end of a yawn. “Molly rang and I forgot to put it back.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I think so. She said she tried you on your mobile and you didn’t answer so she thought she’d try you at home. She didn’t seem upset, more miffed than anything because you didn’t answer her call.”

  “Shit. I’ll call her in the morning.”

  “I explained you were out with the boys and probably didn’t hear it ring.”

  “I heard it, just didn’t want to answer it. She’s called me three times already this week. I was saying to Tag and Mace that I’m going to speak to her, maybe see if she’ll get some help.”

  “You think she needs it?”

  I repeat what Tag said about her former fiancé.

  “Wow, really? You think she has feelings for you?”

  “I think maybe she thinks she has. I’ll speak to her soon, see if I can find out what’s going on.”

  “Okay.” She wriggles and performs some awkward manoeuvring, coming up over me. Her knee catches my balls with just enough power to have me cursing and lifting my head from the sofa.

  She leans down, her hair falling over her face. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, baby. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  I gaze up at her, pain giving my voice an edge. “You just landed your knee in my balls, what do you think?”

  “I think you want to make me feel guilty just so I’ll rub them better, that’s what I think.”

  I scoop her hair back so I can see her face more clearly. She’s still sleepy, but there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. “How about we start with a kiss and take it slow?” I suggest.

  Her brown eyes heat and she expels a soft burst of laughter. “Yeah, good luck with that!”

  “What? You don’t think I can take it slow?”

  “I know you can’t.”

  I stare up at her, unable to resist her smile or the challenge. “Shit, you’re probably right. How about we start slow and see where it leads?” My hand is already inching its way down to her buttock as I say this.

  “Okay,” she says, voice husky.

  “Christ, you’re hot when you go all soft and agreeable on me.”

  “Boyd?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Kiss me.”

  It’s a plea rather than a command.

  I make her wait, teasing us both.

  *****

  Her fingers are stroking the skin along my back. My dick’s still hard, still inside her, and the way her fingers are gliding I’m not sure it’s gonna go down. “Babe, you’re gonna kill me.”

  “I am? How?”

  “With the sex.”

  She plays at being coy. “You don’t like it?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you like it.”

  “How about you? You like it?”

  She pretends to consider my question, her chin tipping up, her eyes staring at the ceiling. She’s beneath me, but I’m taking my weight, my hands on the sofa, my elbows locked. Her hair’s mussed around her head, and her mouth is crimson, but it’s her eyes that hold my attention. They’re soft as treacle and the look she’s giving me, it tightens my throat.

  “I like it very much,” she says, her voice prim, her smile anything but.

  If my biceps weren’t burning I’d stay here all night, drinking in the sight of her. I give her a final kiss, my tongue easing into her mouth, knowing that with her it’s never enough.

  She’s getting to me. Twisting me in knots, making me want things I never wanted before.

  Sometimes it’s too much.

  I withdraw, ignoring her soft mewl of complaint. I rise to my feet and pull her to her feet. “Bedtime, Boots.”

  I leave her at the bedroom door and make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. When I’m finished I join Kayla. She’s standing at the mirror, her back to me. She’s wearing her PJs―the tight shorts and vest set that drove me crazy all summer.

  I strip off, leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor. She’s wiping at her face with a cotton ball, her hair tied in a loose knot on top of her head. Our eyes meet in the mirror, her hand pausing mid-stroke. Something passes between us. My heart pulses inside my chest, like it’s a football and someone’s kicking the shit out of it.

  The bed’s at my side, beckoning, but the need for Kayla is stronger. I approach, my hands linking round her middle, my mouth level with her temple. I sneak in a kiss and I want to say something, only I’m not sure what. In the end the words tumble free of their own accord. “I like you, Boots.”

  It’s fast becoming our phrase.

  It’ll do for now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Buckle your Seatbelt

  KAYLA

  Violet brings me a coffee and a muffin, her smile bright against her Goth make-up. I’ve been stuck at my desk all day, no break, no lunch. It’s been crazy. Mike, the guy responsible for our PR, is missing, location unknown. I’m learning that this is a regular occurrence, along with his being late and never having an excuse. Delta’s taken to switching me to his role on his days off.

  But shit hit the fan overnight. One of our biggest accounts―an up and coming fashion brand―was the subject of a social media complaint that went viral. A teenage girl from Ireland wrote a protest in the form of a poem, a very funny poem, about the sizing of their jeans. The brand’s taking hits left right and centre, with people sending in their own poems. Some are also uploading photos of them wearing badly fitting jeans; all of this is happening while Mike is missing in action, presumed sick.

  Delta wants me to issue a response. I’m not sure why she thinks I’m any good at this, other than the fact that I love social media.

  Knowing how quickly the viral is spreading, and how quickly it will die down, I need to act fast. I pick up on the mood and theme of the messages and decide humour’s the way to go. Most of the online posts are funny and I don’t want it to seem like we’re being defensive. I run my idea past Delta before running to the local jeans outlet and buying jeans of all shapes and sizes. Back at the office I get everyone to wear a pair and we stand on the table tops while Delta takes our photo. Everyone’s laughing and yelling. My jeans barely make it over my arse, while Violet’s come up just below her boobs. Delta’s photo captures the comedy and energy. I post it with an apology and a promise to launch an investigation. Within minutes it’s clear it’s going down a storm. Already there are hundreds of likes and shar
es and Delta is watching as the cyber storm abates.

  At some point the Director of the fashion brand calls her and by the end of the day Mike’s out of a job and I’m no longer an Account Executive, I’m a PR Guru. That’s my official title and I like it. As Delta says, the world moves fast.

  Charlie’s been out with clients all day, but when he returns the office is buzzing. He gives me a high-five when he finds out what’s been happening. I’m flying high and I can’t wait to tell Boyd. I haven’t seen him in a week. He’s been working long hours, starting early, finishing late, working on a project he can’t tell me about. I get that his job’s secretive, I only hope he’s safe.

  Delta takes us out for drinks. She’s convinced my post has boosted our profile and will bring in more clients. I stick beside Violet in the bar, conscious she’s steering clear of the main group. It’s not difficult to see why: Charlie’s at their centre, telling a story that has them alternately laughing and groaning.

  “What’s the history with you and Charlie?” I ask. I’m hoping she’ll tell me now that we’re on our second glass of wine.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she says, taking in my denim dungaree dress and long-sleeved white t-shirt as if they’re couture.

  I place a hand on my cocked hip, ready to do battle. “And why is that exactly?”

  Violet doesn’t back down. “Girls like you, you have it easy. You’re beautiful and you know how to act around guys. I was home-schooled from age thirteen. I never learned how to flirt or act natural around guys.”

  “You know what, Violet? You’re right. Guys do seem to like me and I’ll be the first to admit that I know how to flirt. But that doesn’t mean I’ve had an easy ride. Some people might say the opposite.”

  “Yeah, what, your daddy lost his money on the stock market? Or maybe your last boyfriend didn’t appreciate you enough to buy you a diamond ring?”

  I lean back, unimpressed. “Wow. Didn’t take you for a bitch, Violet.” I intend to walk away, but she snags my wrist.

  “Wait!”

  I don’t know why I give her an opportunity to redeem herself, but I do. I wait on her apology. Least I hope there’s one coming, otherwise I’m wasting time here.

  “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “You didn’t deserve that. You’ve been nothing but nice to me and that was a bitchy thing to say. You and Charlie, you hit it off from the start and I’m not like that. I have to work at making friends.”

  “You think I don’t? And for the record, I met Charlie before I started working at PNL.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He came onto you didn’t he?” she says. It’s not a question. She already knows the answer.

  I give her the truth. “Yeah, but I was into someone else and neither of us cared that it went nowhere. It was just in the moment, you know?”

  She scrutinises me, checking my eyes this time rather than my clothes. “You’re dating someone?” There’s a hint of relief in her voice.

  “Yeah. His name’s Boyd and he makes Charlie seem like a walk in the park.”

  Violet cracks a smile and sends a fleeting look to where Charlie’s entertaining a mystery blonde. There’s hurt in Violet’s eyes when she looks back at me.

  “Tell me the history between you and Charlie,” I say.

  She grimaces and shrugs. Her black shirt slips off one shoulder to reveal skin almost as white as her face. “There’s not much to tell. He asked me out one night. We were drunk―it was the staff Christmas party―and I said no.”

  “That’s it?”

  She shakes her head and I can see her debating whether to tell me. “Another guy asked me out that same night, a guy I didn’t particularly like, a guy Charlie especially didn’t like. I said yes.”

  “So you didn’t go on a date with Charlie? Big deal.”

  “No, you don’t get it. I like him.”

  “If you like him so much why did you turn him down?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I panicked. I mean, look at him. He’s gorgeous and confident while I’m a socially awkward Goth. He can do better. Anyway, it’s not like he cared when I said no. He found someone else, which is why I said yes to that other guy. Seemed like a way of getting back at him.”

  “So how did you reach the point where neither of you will speak to the other?”

  She gives a sad smile, her porcelain skin glimmering silver under the bar’s light. “I came into work on the Monday after Christmas and that’s how it was.”

  I stare, open-mouthed. “You mean he stopped talking to you or your stopped talking to him?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters, trust me. Which was it?”

  “It was Charlie.”

  I glance from Violet to Charlie. I can’t believe he could be such a jerk. “Come with me,” I say, dragging her towards the throng that surrounds Charlie.

  “Kayla! Oh God, don’t do anything, please.”

  Charlie’s distracted by the blonde. He doesn’t pick up that Violet’s here. I can feel her tugging at my hand, but I hold on tight.

  “Watch,” I say. “See how he reacts when he sees you. Watch closely.”

  It takes a while for Charlie to notice Violet. The blonde is pretty and she knows how to hook a guy’s attention, but he’s not interested, not really. He wants out.

  Eventually she tires of getting nothing and rejoins her friends. Charlie swings back to the group and that’s when he sees Violet watching. His head snaps back, his eyes widen, and he looks like he just took a punch to the stomach. All of this is over within a nanosecond. He breathes, straightens, and turns away.

  “See that?” I ask.

  Violet’s voice is little more than a whisper when she says, “I saw.”

  “Excellent. Now you just need to work your way back in. You want my advice? Take it slow.”

  I stay for one more drink, watching as Violet and Charlie circle each other, maintaining a good six feet between them at all times.

  Delta takes me to one side before I reach the door. She’s a little tipsy and way more relaxed than I’ve seen her before. “If you’d got it wrong today we’d have lost a client. You did good,” she says.

  Having her praise means a lot. Delta’s a great boss, always encouraging, never negative. “Thanks, Delta.”

  “I can’t afford to offer you a pay-rise right now, but I want you to know you’re first in line.”

  “Really? Wow! I mean, wow, that’s great.”

  She smiles. “I know a rising star when I see one. Now go home, have a great weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Thanks Delta!”

  I leave the bar on a high. Talk about luck. If Mike hadn’t been a no-show, and if that poem hadn’t gone viral, I’d still be an Account Executive. I enjoyed the job, but the PR side gives me a much greater scope for creativity.

  I check my phone and find a message from Boyd. He’s delayed―again―but says he should be home by nine. It’s only eight, which means I won’t get to his apartment long before him. He’s given me a key. I’m not reading anything into this. It’s mostly for practical reasons.

  “Kayla.”

  I’m slower to respond than I should be thanks to the wine I’ve consumed. Liam is standing in front of me. Rush hour has been and gone. The streets aren’t totally empty, but even so I feel isolated. He approaches slowly, as if he’s worried I’ll run. I think about it, but my brain is too slow. He’s within touching distance now, the street lights highlighting the muscle spasm in his cheek. “Don’t be angry,” he says. “I waited for you after work and saw you go into the bar. I promise I’m not stalking you, but I need to speak to you. Just this once, that’s all. Please, Kayla?”

  I might be a soft touch, and the alcohol might have softened me further, but I’m not stupid. Not where Liam’s concerned. I notice that his hands are relaxed and while he’s standing close, he’s not encroaching on my personal space.

  “There’s a diner
over the road.”

  I follow his gaze to a brightly lit diner, its red plastic sign a cheap contrast to its neighbours’ more up market facades.

  I know Boyd will kill me, but I relent. “Ten minutes, that’s all. I have to be somewhere.”

  I think I’ve surprised him. He gropes for something to say, but I’m already crossing the road. Neither of us speaks. I’m not about to make small talk with him.

  We both order coffees and I lead the way to a table, sitting close to the aisle, facing the door. Liam pulls a cream envelope from his pocket and lays it on the table, pushing it towards me. “This is for later, when you’re alone. I wasn’t sure you’d speak to me so I wrote everything down. It’s nothing to worry about,” he says, picking up on my unease.

  I leave the envelope where it is.

  “I know it’s too little, too late, but I wanted to apologise. I’m not looking for forgiveness, but you should know my apology is genuine. What I did was wrong. I knew it at the time, though it didn’t stop me from hurting you.” He has the nerve to look ashamed. “I don’t want to be that man anymore. I took a workshop in prison and I’m taking another at the moment. I won’t bore you with the details, and I’m not offering up excuses, but I had problems in my life at the time, problems I should have told you about instead of bottling them up.

  “Anyway, like I said, I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I just wanted to say sorry.”

  I lean across the table. “You hurt me!”

  He winces. Shame darkens his eyes, has blood rising vivid in his cheeks. “I know.”

  “All those times you belittled me, bullied me! Dictating what I could wear, who I could see and for how long.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s why you’re here, to apologise, nothing more?”

  He nods. “That’s all.”

  “Then leave me alone, Liam. I don’t want to see or hear from you again. I’m glad you’re taking workshops. It’s too late for me, but I hope it spares someone from going through what I went through.”

  I’m up out of my seat, out on the street. Liam comes running after me and grabs hold of my wrist. For a moment I think everything he just told me was a lie and he’s about to attack me. He thrusts the envelope in my hand and says, “Read it,” before walking away.