Page 13 of Ky
Me: All good. I would’ve been tired to attend even if I could go.
There, that should assuage her guilt. I carefully set the phone down on the coffee table, suppressing a yawn that had been building up. I notice Willow has fallen asleep, so I switch off the TV, pick up my daughter, and hopefully don’t jostle her too much that she’ll awake, and take her to her room, tucking her into bed.
Closing her door, I return to the kitchen, and am about to clean the mess we left, when a sudden, sharp rap on my door startles me. Wondering who could be at my door at this time of night, I furrow my brow, making no move to answer it. When the knock comes again, this time more insistently, it startles me and I jump from the couch. Realizing that I am not properly dressed to receive any guests.
I run to my room and slip into an oversized T-shirt, coming back to the living room in time to hear a familiar voice calling out that has the power to make me weak in the knees and moisture build between my thighs.
What the hell is Ky doing here at this hour?
“I know you’re in there, sweetness. Open up,” he calls out, but I remain frozen to the spot.
Is he drunk? He sounds drunk.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat, and finally unglue my feet from the floor, taking the few unsure steps to the front door. Opening the door, I take a deep, fortifying breath, grateful for the security screen that stands between us. Its presence saves me from acting on the impulse to rush towards the mesmerizingly handsome man in front of me.
He’s standing there, his arms raised, leaning against the doorframe with his elbows.
“You gonna let me in?” he drawls, his molten chocolate brown eyes at half-mast as he takes me in. I know I must look a sight,with just a long T-shirt covering the thin sleep shorts and tank top.
I wouldn’t have known he was in the least bit drunk if I didn’t notice the way he swayed slightly, and I look behind him to see if the person who brought him is still there. But all I see is his bike parked in my driveway.
“Shhh, Willow’s asleep,” I chide, narrowing my gaze at him. “You rode here like that?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest while biting my lower lip; the movement taking his attention away from my face for only a second.
“How else should I have ridden?” he asks.
“Not drunk,” I hiss, my words affording me a small chuckle. “Where’s Barbie?” I ask, then inwardly curse myself for my tell.
Ky frowns. “Barbie?” he asks, as the lightbulb suddenly goes off in his head. “Ahhh, you mean Pinky?” He smiles that sexy smile that makes me swoon. “Probably riding Riggs back at the club right about now.”
I roll my eyes.What kind of nickname is Pinky?I then realize why a woman who’s a sweet butt, as I’ve learned they call them, would have such a name, and bile rises in my throat.
“You gonna let me in?” he asks, slurring his words slightly.
“You’re drunk,” I state again, not making a move to let him inside.
“Only buzzed. Had a great day today.”
“I bet you did,” I grumble. I really don’t want to let him in, but letting him ride home on his motorcycle while drunk, well, that would not do at all. So I reluctantly move to the side to let him in.
“What was that?” he asks over his shoulder as he drops onto the couch where I’d been sitting just a few minutes earlier.
“Come right in, make yourself at home.” I couldn’t help sarcasm coloring my voice, and he grins.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, flipping the lid of the pizza box open and grabbing a cold slice of pizza.
Huffing out a breath, I run to the kitchen to grab a plate, bringing it back to him. I’ve always been a clean freak, but since having Willow, that’s all flown out the window, though I can’t abide watching anyone eat pizza without a plate.
“You’re not eating?” he asks.
“I already ate,” I reply. “Do you want a drink?”
What are you doing? You’re supposed to be kicking him out, not making him want to stay longer.
“A beer would be great,” he says, taking another huge bite. Even though he’s probably at his limit with alcohol, I make my escape to the kitchen, needing some breathing room. I can’t believe Ky is in my home—the same home I share with my daughter.
Nervous butterflies take flight, and as I take out a bottle of beer and turn around, I slam into a hard wall of muscle as I come face to face with the man himself. How does he do that? Moves so stealthily? My throat bobs as I swallow nervously, Ky’s eyes taking in the movement.
Handing him the beer silently, I move to step around him, but he stands stock still, not letting me budge, as he unscrews the top and takes a long chug, his eyes never leaving my face. As he drinks, I find my eyes drawn to his Adam's apple, bobbing, and I feel this stupid urge to suck and lick the skin there.