Coming Home (Only Time Will Tell #1) Page 6

  “Nah. It was funnier coming up here and seeing their reaction. I knew you wouldn't tell them, you always did keep shit like that to yourself.”

  I chuck my keys in my purse, “Well, thanks for that. I now have an interrogation coming up tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” he asks as he shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “So, you’re free tonight?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I just wondered if you wanted to come back to mine?” he says, slipping a hand out his pocket and taking my free, now shaking hand.

  I try and concentrate on him and not the feeling of my heart somersaulting in my chest. “Yours? Will Josie mind?”

  “Josie? You been asking about me Miss James?”

  I snatch my hand away from his, crossing my arms over my chest feeling uncomfortable. “No. It was just mentioned.”

  He looks at me like he knows I'm lying, but doesn't pursue it any longer. “So, what do you say? You going to come to mine or what? I really just wanna crash out on the couch with you and watch a movie, like old times, and we can't do that at yours. Those things you call couches are painful.”

  “Aww, can't you hack it in your old age?” I tease.

  “Less of the old. You'll be my age next year.”

  “Yes,” I say, stabbing my finger into his chest, “but you'll still be that year older than me. I won't let you forget that.”

  After a lot of delegation I give in. I came up with every excuse under the sun to get out of it, but he wouldn’t let me win it. My head and heart is going through turmoil and he thinks I’m just being a pain in the ass. If only he knew what was really happening inside my skull, maybe then he’d understand why being the old is painful.

  It's a short ride to Kyle's.

  We pull up outside a huge apartment complex; two white buildings fill most of the land, the while rest is filled with amenities and a parking lot. It has a modern Spanish vibe to it, with its terracotta roof, square carved columns and angled balconies.

  I'm a nervous wreck as we're standing side-by-side, silently, in the private elevator to his apartment. It makes me uneasy as he punches the code in the keypad. He’s clearly hiding it from me-not that I'd ever have need to use it-but it makes me think of all the women I'd seen on Google earlier. Maybe it's a habit, maybe he always does this when he brings a female back. That gets me thinking about why I'm actually here. Is he planning on me being another notch on the headboard? An old notch, I'll give you that, but am I just here to dig all the dirt and grime out of said notch? God, I hate thinking.

  By the time the bell pings, the onset of nerves is getting the better of me. My stomach is rolling, my skin becoming clammy and it feels like I'm standing in a blazing fire-phew!

  I follow him out, walking behind him like the floor is made of Jell-O and not limestone. The coldness of the apartment hits me like an iceberg, and I'm thankful of it.

  He really hasn't gone to town on this place with decoration, although with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, you really don't need any.

  Slowly walking into the kitchen, placing my purse on the gray stone countertop, I watch, leaning back against a counter, as he walks into the living area, shrugging out of his black suit jacket and placing it on the back of the couch. My eyes fixated on the movement of his back, like I have x-ray vision and can see every curve and dip of his flesh underneath.

  When he turns, I quickly have to shake myself out of my trance, but I think he caught me ‘cause he's giving me a roguish smile as he walks back over. “Are you okay? You seem quiet.” He asks as he comes to lean over the glass table at the end of the breakfast bar.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” I smile, “just admiring the place. You've done good for yourself.”

  He shrugs. “Not really. My Uncle built the stepping stones for me and then I started building my empire.”

  His Mom was an only child. Her parents didn't have much in life, but her Uncle did. He had no children of his own, and always promised her that he’d take care of her if she needed it. When she fell pregnant with Kyle, he made sure she had a nice house for them to live in. Mr. Cooper was always out at work trying to keep his wife happy and catered for. Although at the time Kyle insisted he wasn’t interested, he told me his Uncle, well his Mom’s, promised him that he could take over the company when he retired. I guess he changed his mind.

  “Yeah, I know, but you've still done good. I'm proud of you,” I state.

  “Aww, C.J., you getting soft on me?” he mocks, leaning up on one elbow and pressing his free hand over his heart.

  I look at him sternly, and tell him slowly to, “Fuck. Off.”

  He laughs softly. Standing back upright, he comes over and takes my hand. Butterflies start fluttering around in my stomach and chest, like they’re hyped up on some kind of energizing drug. If this is how I'm going to react to him again, I may have to keep my distance. If not I'll be having a heart attack by the end of the week.

  I follow behind him as he walks into an equally large room. It's minimal, except the enormous television and huge, comfy looking couches. Again my eyes are attracted to the glistening ocean that reaches out, till the edge of the earth.

  He releases my hand before taking a seat, bouncing around like a child on a bouncy house. “These are so much comfier than those things you call couches. I wouldn't let a stray dog sit on those things.”

  I take a seat beside him, knowing too well that I'm sitting looking like the new girl in new surroundings. “I'm sure a stray dog would love my chaise lounges. I can live with them for now,” I say, a little defensive.

  He quickly gets up, kicks off his shiny black dress shoes and then takes both my hands and lifts me off the huge marshmallow. “Hey! I was comfy.”

  “Sorry. You need to get out of that dress.”

  My body goes rigid. I'm sure he just told me to get out of my dress. Would he really say that? Is that all I'm here for? “Excuse me?” I ask, shock evident in my quivering, quiet tone.

  He chuckles, then pulls me closer, lifting my chin with his finger, and I can see a flashback of us the other night, in this same scenario… minus melted ice-cream. “You heard me. You can't crash in this thing,” he says, pinching the fabric of my dress. I slap his hand away like his prints will ruin it. “There's something for you to wear in my room.”

  “Seriously K.C.,” I say, my mind beginning to race with thoughts of him getting me in his room, alone. Although some old memories do mix into them, and they aren't all bad. “I'll be fine in this, don't worry about it.”

  He drags me by the hand, regardless, starting the tirade of the butterflies again. “No. Come on C.J., I just want this to be like old times. Me and you dressed up like adults aren't going to cut it,” he says, well, whines.

  I look into his eyes, remembering all the fun times we had, sometimes, like now, not doing anything of great importance, just-us. I miss that; I've missed a lot. Do I really want to try and fight this when I know I'll regret it? No, no I don't. I flick my heels off and kick them into the side of the couch. With the roll of the eyes and a flick of the hand, I give him the go ahead to get me out of my adult clothes.

  He leads me down a long corridor, to the room right at the end. When he opens it, I'm surprised to actually feel warmth and homeliness.

  The pale brown walls, somehow, make you feel like you’re being cuddled the moment you walk in. There's a large blue rug that covers most of the limestone floor and a bed that takes center stage.

  Kyle starts digging through the dresser, searching for “crashing clothes.” I take a seat on the brown, leather chair that sits in front of the French doors that lead to the balcony and stunning sea view. I'm lazily swiveling side-to-side when he flicks on the bedside lamp. The night sky has slowly taken over all natural light in here and the hallway light isn't cutting it for his search.

  The image of some blue daisies catches my eyes, a gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it. “Oh. My. God. You kept that? All these years?” I as
k as I walk over to the black and white canvas of the sea, with three large daisies that sit on a branch, their bright blue petals standing out.

  I always imagined it was the moon that made them shine in color. To me it said, “No matter how black and white your life can be, it's the simple things that add the color.” I can't believe that it's still living, and sitting pride of place above his bed.

  I remember it like it was yesterday. It wasn't one of life's great memories, but, it was still a memory. It was being sold in a gallery, one of the local artists had painted it and was asking for more than I could possibly give. Every day I walked past it, and every day it caught my eye and I fell in love with it even more.

  After a couple of months, I walked past and noticed that the painting was gone. It had been sold and I felt stupidly upset and angry. It was ridiculous because it was just a painting and it was something I never owned.

  After that, I stormed back home, extremely pissed off that someone out there had something I wanted. I stomped up the stairs, irritated that I didn't have it, even after walking five blocks. I was irritated that I was still irritated.

  I walked into my room and crapped myself. Kyle was sitting on the bed looking like a smiling idiot. I snapped at him for being in such a good mood, when all I wanted to do was hit some unknown person for buying something they didn't know I wanted.

  I think he realized why I was pissed because he didn't beat around the bush. He spun me around to face the wall that I had my back too and found the painting hung on my wall. I burst into tears of happiness and then shouted at him for spending a stupid amount of money on a painting for me.

  The day we left, I said my goodbyes to Kyle, giving him the painting back. Not because I didn't want it, like it or appreciate it, but because I wanted him to see that there's always color in the world, even when the sky feels gray. At that point in my life, though, the sky felt pitch black. There were times I used to think of that painting and remember what I thought about it, but it didn’t always cut it. Sometimes a world is meant to be dark for a reason.

  Throwing something on the bed, he comes to stand beside me, admiring the picture with his arms crossed over his chest. “You think I'd get rid of it? After how much it cost? You must be joking,” he laughs. “Besides, I always hoped that one day you'd show up to take it back.”

  I offer him a weak smile, because really I didn't turn back up for it. Shit just happened. “You keep it, it goes with your room.”

  He starts to say something, but I try and stop him quickly, “Listen, are we crashing tonight or what? At this rate it'll be time for me to go home. So you can either stay here and chat or sod off and let me get changed.”

  He shuts his mouth, quickly grabbing himself some clothes and leaves, telling me he's going for a shower in the guest room. I think he got the point.

  I take off my “responsible dress.” Out of most things I own in my work wardrobe, I think this dress is the most sensible. It goes to my knees, buttons under my chin and shows no extra flesh other than my arms and shins.

  Shaking out the article of clothing that he's dumped on the bed, I find only an old shirt. I question myself about walking out there with it on but decide to just do it. I could walk out here naked, but if I don't want this to go any further, it won’t. Right? Right. I take off my jewelry and place it in a neat pile in the comfy chair.

  After redressing in the T-shirt, I give myself a little pep talk and leave the room feeling half naked, even shaking my body all over like I'm about to walk into the ring with Mike Tyson.

  I walk down the hallway, the only sound is my feet as I pad across the cold floor. I pass a door further down. Hearing movement inside, I stop and listen.

  “C.J.?”

  I've hardly made a single sound, so it startles me. He couldn't have heard me walking down here. “Yeah?”

  He shouts back through the door, sounding like he's in a cave. “I've left something in the kitchen for you.”

  I look at the door curiously for a moment before I realize that the only way I'll find out what he's left out, is by going into the kitchen.

  I walk in, the silent hum of the refrigerator and wine fridge filling the air.

  Next to the stove is a Jiffy Pop. I do a little dance, happy that I get to play with my food for a change.

  I fire up the stove, and peel back the cardboard. Popping the tray on the heat I dance over to my purse and dig out a hair band, tying up my hair that I'd left wavy today, only twisting and pinning back the front side section.

  After a quick shake of the tray, I click the television on that sits in the top units, flicking to a music channel.

  They're currently showing soundtracks to movies, and my favorite ass shaker is on. I continue to shake the tray, watching the foil expand as I slowly begin to relax and start shaking my ass to the music.

  By the end of the song, I'm tired out. When the popcorn is cooked I dig through the cupboards searching for a bowl.

  After a quick stab with the fork, I pour the popcorn into the bowl.

  I take a few pieces, then decide to wait in the lounge. As I turn, I remember I'm not in my own home. “K.C.. How long have you been standing there?” stuttering from nerves, knowing by the slack mouth and eyes the size of tennis balls, he saw me dancing. Heat starts spreading from my chest to my neck. I can't believe I didn't think about getting caught, or even consider someone walking in. It could have been Josie.

  He looks at me, his mouth moving, but nothing coming out. “I... erm... Did you....” His eyes are continuously traveling the length of my naked legs. His eyes are growing hungrier by the second, and I dread the thought of him looking at me with those eyes. I never did resist them, I've never wanted to. Just the thought of them now is making me clench my thighs together.

  In an attempt to save myself, I make a joke of the situation. “I made popcorn,” I laugh. “Come on K.C., you've seen a hell of a lot more than me shaking my ass around the kitchen.”

  He takes a large gulp before he actually looks me in the eyes. I look away immediately, nibbling from the bowl that I'm grasping too. “Do you want a drink?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

  “I'll have whatever you’re having.”

  I can see his bare feet walk to the refrigerator as I'm concentrating on the bowl.

  Finally, I head into the lounge, finding a duvet on the couch.

  I get under it, and get comfy on the biggest couch-ever. It's so soft and fluffy, I'd probably get a better night’s sleep on it than in my own bed.

  A few moments later, the couch dips as Kyle takes a seat next to me. He's placed a couple of beers on the chunky, wooden coffee table that's in front of us and climbs under the duvet. “So what are we watching?” I ask as he flicks on the flat-screen.

  “I'm not sure,” he says, flicking through the movie channels, finally stopping on Die Hard. “You okay with this?”

  “Sure.”

  It's only just started, so we haven't missed much. Not that it matters, I've seen it half a dozen times.

  We both sit silently, watching the movie play out, and it's beginning to wind me up. I need to relax, enjoy the moment, just be me. “Where's Josie tonight?” I ask, in between mouthfuls of popcorn.

  He slowly takes his eyes away from the screen to look at me, his face looks so... Bored.

  “Shopping. Her and my Mom have gone looking for a dress for next weekend. Did you get your invite?”

  I nod at him because my mouth is full and my brain is in shock for a split second. “Yeah, I got it. Not going though, not really my thing.”

  He nods his head, like he understands and accepts, but he doesn't. “Really? You’re not? Come on C.J., you loved crashing those things.”

  Crashing? I crashed once until his Mom caught me and slung me out on my heels. “That was then. Besides, if your Mom catches me there, she'll toss me out like last time, regardless if I'm invited or not. She hated me and you know it.”

  He's completely stopped watching the movie
now, turning his attention and body solely to me. “She doesn't hate you. You’re just exaggerating over that night, she was pissed finding you there.”

  Just like old times, he would never believe that she thought I was devil spawn. No matter how many times I told him. She made it loud and clear, way before that night happened, that she hated me. “I was only being used to make her life hell,” and that “Kyle would eventually find a suitable female who wasn't dragged in off the street.” F.Y.I., I wasn't dragged off the street, my parents were just average. What she was referring to was the fact I wasn't surrounded by money.

  I sigh, defeated. I'm not going over it again. I push the bowl into his stomach, lean over and grab my beer, needing something to help combat dry, salt mouth.

  Sitting back, I stare at the movie, not watching or listening to it, just staring. After taking a couple of mouthfuls, I lean back over and place the beer bottle back on the table and then get comfy under the duvet.

  Thankfully, the air conditioning has kicked in so that I'm not a melting snowman. “How about, we agree to disagree on your Mom?” I say and look at him, which turns out to be a huge mistake. His eyes are filled with that hunger again, and it baffles me. “Kyle?”

  “Hmm?” shaking his head slightly, the fire dispersing, just a little bit.

  “Were you checking out my ass?” A huge, teasing grin involuntarily spreading over my face.

  He matches my smile. “Maybe.”

  I point my finger at him, and try to say sternly, “Behave. If you’re going start with this, I'm leaving. I came here to hang out, not to be ogled like a fresh piece of meat.” But I can’t help smiling.

  “Maybe you should stop sticking it up in the air then. I'm only male, what do you expect.”

  Nothing where the male species are concerned. “Or maybe, you couldn’t just stop staring at something because it’s right in front of your face. It’s rude to stare, and you should be polite to guests.”

  His face turns stern and he salutes me. “If you say so boss.”

  “Quit being a clown. I want to talk anyway, it’s been, what, eight long years? What’s been happening with you? Do you still see or speak to anyone from back home?”