Perfect Kind Of Trouble

23 Kayla

Things have definitely changed since yesterday. Yesterday, I was the bitter daughter of a crazy man who was handcuffed to the arrogant son of a wealthy one. Tonight, I’m the poor daughter of a much beloved man who is handcuffed to the desperate son of an alcoholic.

“You’re homeless?” Daren repeats with a baffled expression.

It’s the first time I’ve said “I’m homeless” out loud, and I thought it would feel different coming out of my mouth. Shameful, maybe? Sad? But instead I feel… fine. Maybe even a little brave.

There’s something about sharing the same destitute state with Daren that makes me feel courageous. I’m not alone so I’m not afraid.

I nod. “My lease was up before I left Chicago, and I couldn’t pay next month’s rent, so I gave up my apartment and came out to Copper Springs without any money. Or a plan. The only thing I really have is my mom’s old car, which, fortunately, is paid off.”

“So we’re both homeless and broke, and neither of us have a plan for our life?” he says. “Whoa.”

“Whoa, indeed.”

“I guess we have more in common than we knew,” he says.

“And I guess we both have a lot riding on this inheritance.”

He nods. “It’s kind of the only thing I have to hope for right now.”

The desperation in his voice has me suddenly rethinking my plan to take all the money for myself. I didn’t have an issue scamming a spoiled rich kid who introduced himself to me as a “legendary lover,” but this guy—this penniless guy who sleeps in a vacant house and pays off a stranger’s medical bills simply because it’s the right thing to do—I can’t take money from. And honestly, he deserves it more than I do.

“Well.” Daren pulls a cookie from the bakery bag, breaks it in half, and hands a piece to me. Then holds up his own piece. “Here’s to having no plan.”

I hold up my own cookie half. “Here’s to poverty.”

“And homelessness.”

“And scavenger hunts for money,” I say.

We tap our cookies then each take a bite. Our eyes hold for a beat and I’m suddenly acutely aware that we’re alone in the dark, and a ping of desire races through me.

His eyes drop to my mouth and I absently lick my lips. It wouldn’t be completely crazy for me to give in to what I want, would it? I’m an adult, after all, and just because I don’t usually want to be with a guy doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be with one. Sure we’re in handcuffs and covered in filth, but just because the setting isn’t ideal doesn’t mean the instinct is wrong… right?

Right?

My gaze falls to his lips and we lean toward each other. His hot breath feathers across my jaw as our mouths meet, ever so slightly. I want to taste him again and shove my hands in his hair. I want to—

A flash of bright light bursts into the house and we jump back, temporarily blinded. At first I think it’s the police. They’ve discovered us breaking and entering into this giant mansion that belongs to the bank, and now we’re going to be poor homeless people in jail.

But then I realize it’s only a pair of headlights from a car turning down the street and I let out a sigh of relief. We look at each other with nervous little laughs.

“One of the pitfalls of living here,” Daren says. “You never know when you might get busted.”

“You are a true daredevil.”

“I try.” He smiles, but the sizzle in the air has vanished and now it’s just awkward between us. He looks down at our muddy clothes. “We should probably wash up. This place might not have any furniture, but it does have hot running water.”

“Oh man. A shower would be great,” I say, rolling my head back. After suffering the Quickie Stop’s icy dribbles and pet spiders all week, anything warm and critter-free would be just heavenly.

“Come on,” he says, carrying my suitcase.

We walk up the grand staircase, down a wide hallway on the second floor, and into a large bedroom on the right. He flicks on a light switch.

In the corner is a queen-size mattress lying directly on the floor, no bed frame, and covered in bedding that probably cost more than a month’s worth of rent on my old apartment. Beside the mattress is a small table stacked with books, a half-empty box of crackers, and a few papers.

Through the open double doors of the closet hangs a small collection of very expensive clothes and off to the side is a private bathroom, with an elaborate walk-in shower and separate garden tub.

Daren definitely lives in style—or used to, at least.

“Nice room,” I say. Then stare in confusion at the only window in the room. It’s above his bed and completely covered with cardboard.

He follows my gaze. “That’s so no one can tell someone’s inside the house when I have a light on in here.”

“Gotcha.” I nod then point to the books on the table. “You’re a reader?”

He nods. “Sometimes.”

“Huh.” I run a finger down the book spines. “What’s your favorite book?”

He smiles sheepishly. “All those are pretty good. But my favorite book of all time is actually a children’s book called Holes.”

“Really? Why is that?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s about this kid who has a bunch of bad things happen to him even though he didn’t do anything wrong. I guess I sympathize with that or something.”

I study him for a moment, surprised by his confession, and then look around. “You don’t own a copy of Holes?”

His expression looks strained for a brief second. “Uh… I used to, but not anymore.”

I want to ask why, but the shadows in his eyes make me hesitate. My breath catches as my eyes drift to a velvet-lined box on the small table. Inside is a tremendously ornate diamond necklace. It sparkles so brilliantly it almost looks like its own source of light. “What is that?”

Daren follows my gaze and picks up the shiny necklace. “This was my mother’s. My dad gave it to her for their anniversary when I was little.”

“It’s stunning,” I say in awe. “Is it real?”

“Oh yes. It’s real and worth a sick amount of money.” He looks at the diamonds. “Over the past few years, I’ve had to sell or pawn pretty much all of my family’s possessions. But I couldn’t let go of this.”

“Because it’s too valuable?” I nod.

“It’s more than that.” He swallows. “My parents weren’t really involved with me, you know, so most of my memories of them are really stoic. But the day my dad gave this necklace to my mom, she was elated. I’d never seen her in such a good mood. She pranced around the house all giddy. My dad turned on some music and the two of them started dancing in the living room, laughing and singing along with the song. I was seven at the time and had never seen them goof around like that so I couldn’t help but watch. My mom saw me spying on them and waved me over. I ran to their arms and the three of us danced together in the living room like a happy family. It’s the best memory I have of my parents. And it was all because of this necklace.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I know it seems crazy because I could probably sell this thing and pay off most of Connor’s medical bills. But I don’t know.” He looks at the sparkling stones. “I can’t bring myself to sacrifice my only souvenir of that day for money.”

Watching him, I feel a piece of my heart break off and deliver itself into Daren’s hands, permanently. He somehow got a hold on me and now it’s too late for me to wriggle free, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.

“I like that you kept it,” I say.

He scans my face. “And I like that you like that.”

A beat passes.

“So why do you choose to stay here?” I ask, changing topics as I glide my eyes over his room. “Why not crash with one of your buddies?”

He shrugs and places the necklace back into the velvet casing. “Because even if they said I could stay for free, I’d still feel obligated to pay rent. Besides, most of my friends are snobs so I don’t really talk about my, uh, circumstances. I doubt they’d be very understanding if they knew how broke I was.”

“Then they’re not real friends,” I say, growing defensive on Daren’s behalf. He shouldn’t need to hide his circumstances in order to be accepted. “What about your many adoring lady friends? I’m sure they’re very understanding.”

He scoffs. “Like I would tell women.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiles bitterly. “My ‘lady friends’ think I’m still living the good life, surviving off of some hidden bank account my father gave to me before he went to jail. I have the Porsche to thank for that assumption. They have no idea all my family’s money is gone. If they did, they’d probably forget I existed. Women are shallow like that.”

I open my mouth to protest, but realize he has a point. “Huh. I guess it’s kind of the same the other way around too. If I looked different than I do, or if I grew warts all over my face and shaved my head, guys would probably stop paying attention to me too,” I say. “But not all women are shallow.”

He shrugs. “Most of the women I know.”

I prop a hand on my hip, my defensiveness growing into anger. “Then you need to meet different women.”

“I’m not saying you’re shallow,” he says, leaning in. “I’m just saying that if the women in this town knew just how poor and homeless Daren Ackwood was, they wouldn’t be waving to me at the bar. That’s just the way it is.”

“So you lie to them instead?”

“No, I let them believe their assumptions about me.”

“Because otherwise you’d be shunned.”

“Not shunned, exactly. Just… undesired. Women don’t want to take a homeless guy home with them.”

I sadly nod. “And if you aren’t wanted for sex then you have nothing else to offer.”

“Exactly—what? No.” The smug smile he just had on quickly vanishes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Yes, it is. God. Would you listen to yourself?” I search his face. “You shouldn’t have to lie to get people to like you. And if you do, then those people aren’t worth your time. Where you live doesn’t matter, Daren. Money doesn’t matter—”

“I know that,” he snaps. “But other people don’t. And this town—this whole world—is filled with other people. Is it so bad that I want them to wave to me at the bar?”

I stare at him, rolling his words over in my head. “I didn’t wave at you.”

“What?”

“At the bar the other night.” I shrug. “I didn’t wave at you.”

“Right. You refused to even shake my hand. You were a little judgmental when you first saw me at Eddie’s office so you put me on your shit list and wrote me off because you assumed I was rich and arrogant.”

“Exactly.” I point at him. “I didn’t like the Daren Ackwood who had money and fast cars and a mansion in the hills. But the real you—the dirt-poor Daren who always took care of my dad’s garden and pays off some poor guy’s medical bills and smiles all the time, even when shit goes wrong—I like that guy. And I’ve never even had sex with you.” I pull back, wishing I could slap some sense into this ridiculously beautiful and dreadfully insecure guy. “So what does that do to your whole theory about women liking you for money and sex, huh?” I lower my voice. “It blows a hole right through it, that’s what.”

He stares at me in silence, dozens of emotions flicking across his eyes. My heart pounds as I meet his gaze and the room feels thick, like time has frozen us in place. Perhaps that passionate little rant of mine was too much. I do this sometimes. I want to encourage people so badly that I overstep my boundaries.

And let’s be honest here, I pretty much just told the guy that I like him. Which is all very third grade and awkward as hell, but I don’t give a damn. Daren needs to know that he’s wrong about his self-worth, that he’s important regardless of what he does or doesn’t have. And it sure as hell doesn’t sound like anyone else in his life is going to tell him that.

He keeps staring at me until it starts to feel uncomfortable. Why doesn’t he say something? I realize I didn’t really set him up for a great comeback or response, but come on. At least nod or something.

Taking a step forward, he moves to stand before me. The short chain between our handcuffs softly jingles as I tip my chin to look up at him.

He leans in a bit so our faces are just an inch apart and sinks his eyes deep into mine. Then quietly he says, “I see you.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak and incredibly moved by the fact that he listened last night when I spoke about my appearance. His words are more than just a response, they’re a gesture, and aside from throwing myself into his arms, I don’t know what to do with them.

So I just nod and clear my throat. “I’m sorry I was judgmental of you. I made assumptions about your wealth and character, and that was unfair of me. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t any better,” he says. “I thought you were some spoiled princess, living off your daddy’s trust fund money all these years. That was lame.” He hangs his head a little. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

I smile. “We’re cool.”

He smiles back and echoes, “We’re cool.”

“So about that shower…” I say, gesturing to our muddy state.

“Ah, yes. Follow me.” He leads me into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Water sprays down, steaming up the bathroom as he lifts our connected wrists and frowns.

“So I guess we’re showering together, then?”

I nod. “I guess so.”

“Excellent.” He gives me a devilish grin. “Group showers are my favorite.” He starts taking his pants off and I hold up a hand.

“We’re not showering together naked.”

“Why not?” He stops unbuttoning his jeans.

“Because.”

He smiles. “Because…?”

“Daren.”

“Okay, fine,” he says. “But I’m not showering in my dirty jeans. These babies are coming off.” He yanks his pants off and I can’t help but stare at his body, wanting to run my hands up his legs and sink my teeth into his ass.

But I won’t do that. Probably.

I look down at my own dirty jeans and frown. Showering with them on would be pointless. I quickly take them off, already feeling myself start to blush as I avert my eyes from Daren’s and kick my jeans over to my suitcase, feeling a tiny bit nervous about being half-dressed around him. Which is ridiculous.

When I finally look up, Daren’s eyes are carefully fixed on my face and obviously struggling to stay there.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He licks his lips. “I’m trying my very hardest not to look at your amazing body.”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to think I’m some disgusting pig who just wants to drool all over you,” he says. “Although, side note, I do want to drool all over you. I just don’t want to be piggish about it.”

I roll my eyes. “If we’re going to take a shower together, you might as well look at me now.”

He drops his eyes and his gaze darkens with desire, which in turn makes me aroused. I really like that he really likes what he sees—and that’s never happened to me before.

I’m usually nothing but embarrassed or uncomfortable when I let a guy see me naked, or almost naked. The moment my clothes come off is usually the very same moment the guy’s eyes become vacant and he stops viewing me as a human being and starts treating me like his personal sex vessel.

But Daren’s eyes aren’t vacant at all as they stroke the outline of my panties and the curve of my hips. In fact, they’re full and swimming with more emotions than I can count. White-hot desire blazes in their depths, but so do awe, happiness, nervousness, and hope.

He pulls them up to my face. The same emotions continue to flicker in their brown depths as he scans my eyes, which only makes me want to show him more of my body.

“Do you have a pair of scissors?” I ask.

He blinks, clearly not expecting that question. “Uh… maybe.” He shuffles through a few bathroom drawers and finds a small pair of hair scissors. “Will these work?”

“Perfect.” I take them from his hand and start to cut along the seam of my royal blue shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Since we can’t take our shirts off and I don’t feel like wearing the same shirt another day in a row, I’m cutting mine off.” I finish and the shirt falls away from my body, drifting to the floor in a dirty blue heap and leaving me standing in just my black bra and panties.

Daren rubs a hand over his mouth. Then over his head. Then his mouth again.

“Now what are you doing?” I ask.

He bites down on his fist. “I’m trying not to comment and how beautiful you are because I don’t want you to think I only see your body,” he says. “But it’s really hard because I’ve never seen anything so perfectly lovely in my life.”

I bite back a smile but can’t contain the heat that spreads over my cheeks and neck. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m flattered. “Quit being so afraid of me. You can look at me, Daren. I’m not going to hold it against you. I swear.”

“Oh thank God,” he says in one fluid breath, shamelessly looking me over.

I smile and snip the scissor blades, feeling strangely powerful under his hot gaze. “Want me to cut off your shirt?”

He looks down in horror. “But I like this shirt.”

“You really need to work on your attachment issues,” I say. “What are you going to do, wear it in the shower and then to bed and then all day tomorrow?”

“Ew. No. Definitely not.”

“Then let me cut it off and sew a new one on you after the shower.”

He lifts a puzzled brow.

“I sew. Trust me. Now, come on. Snip, snip.” I step up to him and he turns to the side and lifts his arm so I can cut up the seam.

With every slice of the shears, a small bit of his tan skin is revealed. The sides of his toned ab muscles. The ripples of his lean rib cage. The thick muscle of his pec and shoulder.

I realize I’m breathing heavy and shake myself as I cut off the remainder of his muddy shirt and strip it from his body.

Then the two of us stand in the bathroom, both in just our undies, as steam begins to fill the room from the hot shower spray behind us. Steam begins to build low in my belly as well and I’m suddenly nervous.

I want Daren but it’s hard to trust my desires when I’m not used to them being so powerful and overwhelming. Instead, I hastily turn away and slip into the shower, pulling Daren in with me by the cuffs.

The hot water feels amazing as it drenches my hair and runs over my shoulders and back. We shower without speaking, taking turns in the spray and with the soap as we scrub the dirt from our skin. The silence isn’t awkward but rather tense and filled with unspoken yearning. Every once in a while, my eyes get lost on Daren’s body, trailing up and over his muscles and masculine lines. And just like when I was fifteen, I want to touch him.

His eyes are better behaved than mine, staying primarily on my face or the shower walls. The new passion-ridden part of my soul doesn’t like this and wishes he’d stare at me like he was before. Wanting me. Seeing me. He glances at my breasts or panties every few minutes, but the desire in his eyes is brief and well controlled.

This just makes more pieces of my heart float over to his hands.

We go to trade places again and our eyes lock. In the running water, his eyelashes have clung together making tiny black triangles above his brown eyes. And up close like this, his brown eyes look deeper than usual. They aren’t just brown. They’re tan and golden, with a ring of green just around the pupil, and small flecks of yellow within the ring. They’re beautiful and… deep.

He smiles at me playfully. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

YES, I DO.

“You’re relentless.” I smile. “Stop trying to get into my pants.”

“What pants?” He grins at my panties and I splash water at him. “I’ll have you know,” he says, “that I’m not trying to get into anything at this particular moment. In the shower.”

“Are you not a fan of shower sex?”

“Listen to you, talking about sex all casually in your wet black panties,” he says. “Are you trying to kill me? And to answer your question, no. I’m not crazy about shower sex.”

“Interesting,” I say, drawing out the word.

He shrugs. “Showering with a girl is hot, don’t get me wrong.” He gives me an overexaggerated wink and I flick water at him again. “But it’s not ideal. You’re standing up and there’s usually not enough space to maneuver in, and then you have to keep the girl wet in spite of all the wetness of the shower, but warm even when the hot water isn’t on her… it’s tricky. There are a lot of factors involved. It’s convenient for cleaning up afterward, but it’s not my favorite place to have sex.”

“I see,” I say. “So what is your favorite place to have sex?”

“A bed,” he says simply.

I laugh. “A bed?”

“Yeah. Why is that so funny?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought a Legendary Lover like yourself would choose someplace more exotic than a bed.”

“No way. A bed is the most ideal. It’s comfortable, so nobody’s knees or elbows or backs get scratched up. It’s warm, so the girl can relax and I don’t have to work twice as hard to keep my body heat around her. And it’s large, so there’s plenty of room to switch positions and move around.”

It sounds like he actually cares about and has put a lot of thought into making sure his sex partners are comfortable, and not just how easy it is for him to get off.

He runs a hand through his wet hair and looks at me. “What’s your favorite place to have sex?”

“My favorite place?” The question throws me for a moment and I scramble for an answer. “Well, it’s probably… I don’t know, maybe…”

He waits.

I frown at the shower wall.

“You don’t have a favorite place, do you?” He smiles, but more out of curiosity than amusement.

“Sure I do. I just need to think—”

His smile fades. “Do you not like sex?”

“What? Of course I do.” I move my eyes away and reach for the soap. “Everyone likes sex.”

At least everyone is supposed to like sex.

He’s quiet for a minute glancing over my face and body in a way that’s more clinical than sexual.

“What?” I snap.

He spies a stroke of mud still on my forearm, and gently takes my arm in his hand.

“I’m just trying to figure out why a girl like you wouldn’t like having sex. Trade places with me again.” He places his hands on my shoulders and we switch places so I’m now standing under the warmth of the shower and he’s in the decidedly colder side.

I huff in offense. “Just because I didn’t have a particular sexing spot at the tip of my tongue when you asked doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy sex.” I pause. “And what do you mean A GIRL LIKE ME?”

He slips the bar of soap out of my hand and slowly lathers it up against my arm. “A girl who clearly has a lot of passion in her soul and loves with her whole heart. A girl who has a lot to give but gives it with discretion. A girl who knows herself better than most and trusts herself even more.” He slips the soap back into my hand and proceeds to gently caress my arm, and then my shoulder, with both of his hands gliding the foamy soap over my skin. “A girl who cares for others deeply and finds value in the most rejected things.” He flicks his eyes to mine, stroking my skin as the hot spray runs the soap off my arm and shoulder. “A girl like you.”

The sound of the falling water fills the space between us as my head goes hazy with the gentle touches of his hands, washing me. I want to say something, respond in some way, but just like earlier in his room, I’m lost for words. All I feel and see is Daren and his deep brown eyes, caring.

“I like sex,” I say lamely.

He nods and takes the soap from my hands where my fingers have started to wrinkle from clutching so long. “You know what I think? I think sex is difficult for you to enjoy because you’re so pretty. I think having sex makes you feel used by guys—even the good ones—because they can’t see the real you.”

I say nothing, my eyes trapped in his words.

“Kayla,” he says, running his hands up my arms and to my neck where he cradles my face. “I’m not like those other guys.” The water continues to fall around us. “I do see you. The real you.”

He leans forward and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he reaches behind me and turns the shower knob off. The spray stops falling, leaving the bathroom silent but for the dripping faucet at my back and my pounding heart.