Kennedy breaks the silence. “I have to get inside.”
She lifts off me. After a brief moment where my arms refuse to let her go, I fucking let her go. Help her zip up her stupidly pretty green dress and find her underwear. Her ponytail’s a tangled mess, so she takes it out and fluffs her hair in the mirror. Wipes her smudged lipstick off with a tissue from her purse. Too quickly, she’s perfect again. Not a hair out of place.
How easily she hides all traces of me from her. Like I’d never had her at all.
She might be under my skin, but I barely tarnished hers.
She glances over at me, not moving in the passenger seat. “You good?”
No. I grunt, then wave at her to leave. “You go. I’ll follow in five.”
She nods, fingers paused on the door handle. Then, without a word, she leans over, melts into me with one last kiss, and leaves.
It takes ten minutes before I snap out of it. Realize I’m sitting there, staring into nothing and thinking about everything, with my dick hanging out. I right my clothes, try to wipe off red lipstick from my face, but it firmly refuses to leave. I give up, deciding I need to throw out the condom, get cleaned up. So when I walk through the bar door, the first thing that’s on my mind is to hit the restroom.
A flash of green catches my eye. I roll my eyes, but find myself smiling when I see the guy wearing a St. Patty’s Day shirt. Before I can stop myself, my eyes drift over the crowd of college students, looking for red.
I see it. See her. Sitting in a booth. And my feet start in that direction, drawn to her despite the fact we’d just been together. Because I need her again. Even if it’s just to sneakily brush my hand against hers and pretend like everything she does annoys the shit out of me. When more and more, all it does is make me want her more.
Kennedy Fucking Walsh is under my skin. And she’s—
She’s not alone.
19
Kennedy
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell Elijah as I slide into the booth. “Traffic.”
My face feels hot when I say it. Because there’d been no traffic, and I would have been on time to meet him, if not for…
I push that thought from my head, try to focus as the boy across from me waves my excuse away. “No worries. How’d your midterms go?”
I answer as best as I can, hoping he doesn’t sense how distracted I am. My mind’s outside, back in my car. With Spencer. How quickly can I get out of this and get back there?
The moment he said to go home, I should have turned my car around and driven straight to either of our houses. What had I been thinking, wanting to spend this last night on campus with other people when I could have been with him? With everyone at the bar, we could have had hours in bed. Kissing. Exploring each other’s bodies.
I press a cool hand to my cheek. Because Spencer—Spencer had touched my—And I’d liked it.
“You okay?” Elijah’s voice interrupts my memory.
“Just a bit warm in here,” I lie. “How’d that project go, the watercolor you were working on?”
His eyes brighten and with a jaunty snap of his suspenders, Elijah chats about his midterm art project.
Even now, I feel him. In the soreness of my thighs from flexing over him. The tender sensitivity pulsing between my legs. The faint memory of his hand rubbing between my ass cheeks. My lips, swollen and full and tasting of him. When I brush a lock of hair over my shoulder, a hint of woods drifts from it. Proof of Spencer is all over me. How long before Elijah, or anyone else, spots it?
Elijah’s voice turns excited when he talks about his art. I smile, pretending to listen. And I remember one of my reasons for coming to Kellermann’s. To break it off with him.
We’d gone on a few dates since our housewarming party. He’s nice enough. After our first date, though, the one before I’d slept with Spencer, I hadn’t let him kiss me again. Had relegated our meetings to short coffee breaks between classes. Elijah had started texting more and more, mentioning taking me to dinner. Dates in the city. Seeing movies together.
Which made me realize: I don’t want any of that. Because rather than spend my limited time getting to know a guy who meets all of my relationship requirements, I want to get naked with the one that fails each and every one.
So when Elijah messaged me to meet before going our separate ways for spring break, I’d made the decision. I can’t lead him on. Although I’d barely tried dating him, it’s enough to see it won’t lead to anything more. Not when my head’s wrapped up in someone else. While it would be perfectly all right to break up with him over the phone, I still felt I owe it to him to do it in person.
Though, as he pulls out a sketchbook from his bookbag—Why did he bring that here? Is he planning on doing homework? It’s a bar—I start to regret my decision to be polite. Now, he shows me his paintings from the first half of this semester, each one marked with a specialized, flourished ‘E’ that looks more like a plain old scribble than his signature.
A shout rises from the other side of the room. I send a wistful glance to our usual table at the back of the bar. All my friends are there, watching a large TV one of the bar’s owners must have pulled out specifically before the advent of March Madness.
I look for a dark head of hair. A massive figure with a sly,
