The first of many…
I pull back the sheets to his king bed and tuck myself under them before turning off the lamp. A few minutes later I hear him come in. I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I’m not sure why but I hate the energy between us tonight and just want to sleep it away until tomorrow. I’m caught off guard when the cover lifts off me. I feel Kam’s warm, lean body lay on top of mine.
“I don’t want to fight,” he whispers in my ear. I look at him, his eyes apologetic and his touch even more so, and when his head dips between my thighs I forgive him a million times over.
Chapter 6
Ian
It's been six months and Alana's been in my bed every night since our first date at the diner. She's already up like she always is, standing on our micro-sized patio looking out over the street. It's only 5 am and it's only stragglers and the sounds of dogs and garbage trucks passing though. I slip my hands around her waist and she rests her head on my chest. I inhale the scent of my shampoo and I squeeze her waist. I love when she smells like me; it reminds me that she's here, it's real, and she belongs to me.
We haven't made it official as of yet, but what's understood doesn't need to be said. I do want to mention it but I already hate feeling like the chic in the relationship. We're with each other every day but I don't usually have her for long since I have to work my shitty job at the factory in the day and she works nights at the club I really fucking hate, but today my machine is down so I have her for hours since she doesn't work until 10 pm.
"I've been thinking..." she says, her voice light, airy, innocent in its own way—a whole other type of seductive. I’ve never been one of those guys that believed in vibes and karma and all that but that’s started to change because I love not just her, but her essence. She’s wild, spontaneous, and passionate but when she lets me see that innocent vulnerable part of her—that’s not guarded, that she trusts me with—I feel like I'm in an exclusive club. The bad thing about it is most times I don’t know what the hell is on her mind. I never cared what any other girls I dated thought. As long as the sex was good and they didn’t talk too much, I was fine. But with Alana it’s different and not knowing makes me feel like I'm on a clock, ticking down to when she'll leave.
"I think I might quit the club."
I fight the smile threatening to break out on my face. She turns around, facing me, wearing a knowing smirk. I try to be nonchalant but I can’t help it. I hate the fact that she works there. I don't care how upscale it is and that she isn't necessarily naked. I only want my eyes and hands on her, and it takes everything in me to not go in there every night and drag her out, but I know better than that with Alana. Any hint of trying to control her will push her away, and I've fought too hard for every inch of progress I've made with her.
"Don't act like you're not ecstatic," she says teasingly, wrapping her arms around my neck. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around my waist.
"Well you said thinking, so that means you haven't made up your mind yet…so nope, not ecstatic yet." I give her a quick kiss on the lips before putting her down. I take her hand and pull her into the kitchen. She sits at the table, head in hand, watching me as a I pull out some eggs and a skillet to make her breakfast.
"So what can I do to get a definite yes about quitting?" I ask her. She massages her head and I notice a sly smile spread across her face. I give her a wicked grin and she bursts out into a fit of laughter. Her eyes gleam and her cheeks flush, and I take pride that I can get her to laugh like that.
"Well...your pictures," she says easily. I glance at her as I crack the eggs over the skillet. She loves them sunny-side up.
"What do you mean?"
"I think you should give them a shot. A real shot..." she says urgently. I fight the impulse to shrug her off.
"Babe, there's a million other dudes out there taking pictures of stuff, wanting to be a famous photographer. What makes me different?"
"Ugh, because you’re amazing!" she says as if she’s answering the dumbest question in the world. I roll my eyes and in a few seconds she's beside me, giving me a hard punch on the arm.
"If there’s anyone who won't blow smoke up your ass it's me, and you know it."
I shrug and smile at her; it's a turn-on that she believes in me so much, but my work is private. It's something I feel good about and I’m a big dude with a shitty attitude who can handle anything you throw at me. But my work, it's a vulnerability of mine. If some little artsy prick tells me it sucks I might not be able to stop myself from knocking their lights out.
"Who needs credentials? It's not the 1990s. You should start getting your work out there. All it takes is the right person to see your stuff and bam, you’re doing it."
“You make it sound so easy,” I tell her playfully. She eyes me evilly and then gives me her signature pout.
“I’m not saying quit your job and exist solely on gigs from Craigslist. I’m just saying start and Instagram account, ask to shadow someone you admire. Let people see your work. You’re so talented…people just need to see it,” she tells me, her excitement almost contagious.
"I'll do it if you do it," I say, her brows knit together in confusion.
"How about your singing?" I remind her, even though it should be obvious. She's amazing, clothes on or off.
I literally see her resistance rise up the moment I say it.
"It's not the same thing," she replies shortly.
"It is. It's all art. Just like you said I'm amazing, so are you. We can do it together."
She bites both her lips and I can tell she’s trying to stay on my good side about this but wanting to blow up.
"I can't Ian," she says, her tone clipped. I turn towards her, looking her directly in the eye so she can see how serious I am.
"Yes you can," I tell her genuinely.
"NO. I can't Ian! God, you know what? Just keep working at the shitty manufacturing plant and I'll keep singing half-naked and we'll live happily never after. I don't care!" she shouts before storming into my room and slamming the door. What the fuck? I turn the eggs off and follow behind her.
"Yo, come on now! I already have to hear you guys fucking all night, now this?" Devin says half asleep.
I shoot him a scowl before turning the stove off and going after her. As I figured, she's putting on her clothes.
"What the hell was that out there?" I ask, confused.
"Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"What is wrong with you?" I ask, my irritation getting the best of me.
"Everything." She’s grabbing all of her things. I let out an exasperated sigh.
"You're not going anywhere,” I tell her, shutting the door behind me. She scoffs, because obviously she doesn't listen to a fucking thing I say.
"I need some air," she says sharply, slipping on her jeans. I let out an irritated groan and grab my sweatshirt.
"Alone, Ian!" she huffs.
"You're not going out at 5 am by yourself. So you might as well start freaking out now because I'm going with you, okay!"