Page 24 of Baby Daddy
Drake: What are you doing tonight? Big plans?
I hesitated to reply. Ty had convinced me to let her sleep over her friend Chandra’s house again, and with all she’d been through and her birthday around the corner, I couldn’t say no. I texted Drake back. With the truth. Pity party for one.
Me: Nada.
Drake: :-)
My blood bubbled. The cocky bastard was happy I was alone on a Friday night? Was there a flip off emoji I could send him? Before I could find one and lose my job, he sent me another text.
Drake: I’m coming over. I want you to listen to the auditions with me and help me cast the voices. I can’t think straight.
Neither could I. My boss had a dizzying affect on me.
Drake: And you’ll be paid overtime.
The extra money, despite how much I needed it, had nothing to do with my sudden temperature spike or giddiness. It was a work date, I told myself. Just a work date.
I got home a little after six. Lulu must be teaching an evening Zumba class as her car wasn’t parked in the driveway. I could never keep track of her frenetic schedule especially since it seemed to change weekly. In addition to her group classes at gyms all over the city, she was building a strong client base as a personal Zumba instructor.
Tossing my purse on the couch, I made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping to find a bottle of wine in the fridge. I was both excited and anxious about Drake coming over and hoped a glass of Two Buck Chuck would relax me. It’s business, just business I told myself, my nerves buzzing.
I stepped into the kitchen and froze. All the air left my lungs.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice was filled with shock and rage and I could feel fear pouring into my veins.
A beer bottle in his hand, he turned around and glared at me with his steel blue eyes. A wicked smirk crossed his lips. “Nice to see you too, darlin’. You’re lookin’ good.”
I met his predatory gaze. Kyle! He hadn’t changed much…still tall and sinewy, but his face was now lined and bearded, his russet hair longer and in some kind of man bun. Jetting from his befitting wifebeater, the sleeves of tattoos that had once so turned me on repulsed me.
He took a long chug of the beer and strutted my way. I was too afraid to move as he swaggered up to me. I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek and smell the stench of the alcohol. He was for sure drunk. Drunk as usual.
Still holding the bottle, he leaned into me and, with his other hand, yanked hard at my ponytail, pulling my head back. “You let your hair grow. It looks good.”
My breath hitched. “I-I thought you were still in prison.”
He laughed. “Nope. Been there. Done that. Got out for good behavior. Just call me Mr. Goody Two Shoes.” He laughed again.
“How did you find me?”
He snickered. “Piece of cake. I have friends everywhere.”
“How did you get in here?”
He snorted. “Looks like someone left the backdoor open.”
Dammit. Lulu sometimes did that when she took the garbage out. “Why are you here?”
“I want you back.”
My blood turned to Freon as my heart raced in my chest.
“Kyle, it’s over. I want you to leave.”
His long, pointed tongue slithered across his upper lip. “I’m not going anywhere, babe, until I get a taste of you.”
I jerked my head away as his slobbering lips smacked down on mine. He nudged me to open my mouth for his tongue, but I kept my lips clamped. He slid the hand holding the beer between my legs, and began jabbing me with the bottle. Forcefully, harder and harder. He was hurting me. Moans and groans clogged my throat. And then I did it—I slapped him across his face. So hard the whack stung my hand. He pulled away.
“Why the fuck did you do that, bitch?” He rubbed the rosy handprint I’d left on his right cheek.