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While I had been busy taking care of Jason and Ken had been busy cleaning up after his shitty friends, Friday had turned into Saturday.
And, on Saturdays, I had to work.
I cursed every single pink and orange sunbeam streaking across the sky as I kissed Ken goodbye in the parking lot the next morning. As he kissed me back. As he opened my car door and told me to, “Drive safe.”
I showed up at Macy’s ten minutes late, wearing the same makeup I’d applied the day before, and spent my lunch break napping on a bed of Rocawear jeans in the storage closet. I should have just called in sick, gone home, and gone to bed, but as exhausted as I was, my bed held no appeal.
I wanted to sleep in someone else’s bed.
Someone handsome and mysterious and sarcastic and quiet.
Someone whose kisses tasted like artificially flavored sports drinks.
Someone whose gentlemanly manners told me no while his manly body told me yes.
I went home after work but only long enough to pack an overnight bag. Then, I headed straight to Kenneth Easton’s house where I invited myself upstairs.
As I lay next to Ken on his queen-size bed—our backs propped up against pillows and our bodies, stiff as statues, illuminated by the menu on his bedroom TV—I thought, This was a terrible fucking idea.
Ken and I might have been the only people in his house, but my GSU tote bag on his bedroom floor had a presence all its own. A big one. It might as well have been a yodeling, baton-twirling drag queen swinging on a disco ball in front of a flashing neon sign that read, BB WANTS TO BANG YOU.
Look how tense he is. I think he’s gone through all the movie channels at least three times. He’s not even talking to me.
“Have you seen 10 Things I Hate About You?” Ken asked, hopping off the bed and crossing the room. He pulled open his top dresser drawer and began rummaging through what sounded like a clearance bin at a Blockbuster Video.
See? Not only is he super fucking uncomfortable, but the first movie that came to mind has the words I, Hate, and You in the title.
“No, I haven’t. Is it good?”
Why won’t you touch me?
“It’s amazing.”
Why are you stalling?
“It must have Hugh Grant in it then.”
Ken shoved a VHS tape into the VCR next to the glowing television on his dresser and turned toward me. “It’s good, even without Hugh Grant. That’s how good it is.”
Ken walked back to the bed in absolutely no fucking hurry. He still had on the white button-up dress shirt and dark gray slacks he’d worn to work, his silvery-gray tie hanging loose around his neck.
Oh my God. He hasn’t even taken off his fucking tie yet! Go home, BB. Just get your purse and your stupid bag of shit and go home. You’re tired, and this man obviously does not want to fuck you.
“I, uh…like your room,” I said with a hopeful smile as Ken returned to his designated side of the bed. It was true.
Because he rented the master bedroom to his sister, Ken was living in the bonus room above the garage. The walls and ceiling had all kinds of slanted angles, thanks to the pitch of the roof, and there was a huge arched window that took up most of the wall behind the bed.
“Thanks.” Ken smiled. “This was attic space when I moved in. I had it finished to boost the resale value.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Of course you did.”
“Plus, it freed up more space for renters.”
I rolled my eyes. “You gonna charge me if I spend the night?”
Oh God! Did I just say that out loud?
“Nah.” Ken smirked. “First night’s free.”
