“That’s what happens when you date high-schoolers,” I tell my best bud before finishing my beer and setting the empty bottle on the floor by my feet.
“I love her,” West replies without hesitation.
He was a total player until he fell for his girlfriend, and now he’s a changed man. It’s been over eighteen months, and those two are still crazy in love. I’m happy for my buddy, but it’s not for me.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” he adds.
I shake my head, watching him take a long pull on the spliff before I snatch it back. “You know me. I like my women older and to keep it simple.” Dazzling blue eyes and long blonde hair fill my mind’s eye as I take two hits of the joint. Briefly, I close my eyes, savoring the mental picture, before I remember what an asshole I am for thinking about Kendall while West is sitting beside me.
“Aren’t you sick of all the one-night stands?”
I open my eyes and pass the joint back to him. “Casual sex is uncomplicated, and that’s all I have time for.” Dragging anyone into my fucked-up life wouldn’t be fair, and there’s only so much a guy can handle. It’s one of the reasons I don’t fuck girls from school, preferring to find my fuck buddies at UCCS. High school girls equal drama, and I’ve got enough of that in my life. College seniors are more mature and less work. The University of Colorado campus in Colorado Springs is prime hunting ground, and I usually hit up a couple of college bars on Saturday nights with a few of my older buddies from the boxing club. However, it’s been months since I hooked up with anyone, because I’m too fixated on the one woman I want and can’t have to even attempt to fuck anyone else.
We moved to this town a little over three years ago when that prick I call Dad changed jobs. If you ask him, he’ll tell you it was a career move when really it was to avoid a big scandal. I wasn’t happy about the move, at the time, but I actually like it here. I have good friends, found a sport that lets me channel all my pent-up frustration, and commandeered the carriage house on our grounds as my own personal sanctuary-slash-studio.
And I met her.
Blood rushes to my dick, and I subtly adjust the semi in my pants. It’s not cool to spring a boner about his mom when I’m hanging out with West, but lately I can’t get Kendall Hawthorne off my mind. It was easier to push my feelings aside when I was younger and could do nothing about them. But now I’m eighteen, old enough to act on them, and it’s like my brain and my body have decided to run free, indulging all my pent-up fantasies, and it’s all I can think about. Nothing helps to distract me, and I have zero interest in other girls. Staying away from West’s house has made no difference, and even pounding my fists into the punching bag until they bleed only works temporarily.
“You know most of Hazel’s friends are in love with you,” he says, handing the joint to Shepherd as our other friend Bowie emerges from the bedroom with a smirk on his face. “Pick one and we can double date for a while.”
Milana slinks out past Bowie, making a beeline for the door with her head down, her long pink locks curtaining her pretty face. West bursts out laughing as Bowie flops down on the couch across from us. “You dirty dawg.” West wears a shit-eating grin, but I see the pain behind it. Cheating is a sore point. “Abel is gonna kick your ass when he finds out you’re fucking his girl behind his back.”
“What happened to the bro code?” Shepherd asks, looking disgusted, but I can tell it’s a front to hide his pain. I don’t know how long Shep has been in love with Bowie because I only noticed recently. I’m not sure any of our other friends have worked it out, and it’s obvious as fuck Bowie has no clue. From what I’ve seen, he’s strictly hetero, but who knows? Maybe he’s into dudes too. Shep is proudly bi, and he’s had flings with guys and girls, so it’s no secret where he stands. I feel for the dude. I know what it’s like to want someone who will most likely never want you back.
“My brother is a dick.” Bowie accepts the spliff from Shep, taking a couple of long, lazy tokes.
“I’d kick Ridge’s ass if he ever hit on my girl,” West says, grabbing a couple of beers from the ice bucket on the coffee table situated between both couches.
On this level, there is a decent-sized living area with a kitchenette occupying most of the space. The bedroom and small bathroom with a toilet and shower is to the right. Upstairs houses my art studio, which I keep locked any time I have company. I normally sleep at the main house, preferring not to leave Mom alone at night, but on weekends or times when I paint late into the night, I crash here. It’s wired for electricity, so I have Wi-Fi, a TV, small refrigerator, a microwave, and a freestanding stove, and I bought a few plug-in heaters. The carriage house has everything I need to lock myself away from my warring parents when shit hits the fan, as it often does.
West hands me a beer while popping the top on his own.
“Good thing Ridge is only nine and you don’t need to worry about that,” Shep says. “Unlike Abel.” He fixes Bowie with a knowing look. “I don’t care how big of a dick your brother is. You shouldn’t be fucking his girlfriend.”
“Shep is right,” West agrees, drinking a mouthful of beer. “No good can come from it. You need to keep it in your pants.”
It’s good advice. Advice I should heed. Because obsessing about West’s mom is a shit show in the making. My buddy would be pissed if he knew the fantasies I’ve had about his mom, but I can’t find it in myself to feel guilty for wanting her. I only feel guilty for thinking those thoughts when my buddy is next to me, because if he knew the truth, it’d make him uncomfortable. But I refuse to feel shame or remorse for feeling the way I do about Kendall. I don’t even regret what happened at my birthday party, except maybe I was wrong to back down, because it’s not making any difference in how I feel, and it’s becoming damn hard not to do something about it. Especially after hearing what that asshole husband of hers has done. I want to beat the crap out of him and then take care of his wife the way she deserves to be cared for.
If Kendall was mine, I would worship the ground she walked on. Spend hours showing her what a queen she is with my mouth, my fingers, my…
Shit. I drag a hand through my hair. I can’t think those things here. Short of a lobotomy, I don’t know how to evict thoughts of Kendall from my mind. And I’m pretty sure I don’t really want to.
“Mom.” I hover over my parents’ bed, staring anxiously at my mother as she sleeps. Little puffs of air slip through her collagen-enhanced lips as she softly snores. Her reddish-brown hair fans around her face on the pillow, and although she’s forty-seven, there isn’t a gray hair in sight. Not that Dad would permit it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left instructions at the hair salon like he does at the cosmetic surgeon’s office. Dad has little interest in Mom, but he won’t let her disgrace him in public, so she is forced to do his bidding when he comes calling.
The rest of the time is spent in a numbed-out haze.
Rubbing at the tight pain across my chest, I gently shake her shoulders. “Mom. Wake up. You need to eat.”
She stirs, moaning as she curls her knees up to her chest under the covers. “Go away,” she mumbles, swatting me with a floppy arm. “I have a migraine.”