The Truth (2 page)

Finally, we both pulled away breathless. I don’t know how long we were kissing, but the fireworks had ended, the grounds were lit up again, and the party had moved back inside by the time we came up for air. He didn’t let go of me, though. Instead, he held the side of my face firm looking me straight in the eyes. “What is your name?”

“Alyssa. Alyssa Silver,” I barely manage still trying to catch my breath.

“Alyssa, do you go around letting strange men kiss you regularly?”

“Mmm, only when they look and kiss like you. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone without knowing his name—until now, that is. I’m starting to think I should try it more often though. That was—”

Before I could get the rest of my sentence out, he pulled me to him again, kissing me feverishly.

“Stop!” I exclaim, pulling away.

He looks at me confused. “I’m sorry—”

“No, I just—I don’t know your name.”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles a soul deep smile. “It’s Grant.”

“Do, you have a last name, Grant?”

He hesitates before responding, “Kennedy.”

It was that New Year’s kiss with a stranger at a party that changed the course of my life forever. His kiss was the end of me before I ever even knew his name.

I think children
working in a sweatshop in Bangladesh heard the gasp I let out when Grant told me his last name was Kennedy. His family basically owns the town of La Perla. I hadn’t questioned when he said he was an accountant. I hadn’t thought of the possibility he was the accountant for his own company, or at least, his family’s company. I certainly never expected the stranger kissing me at a New Year’s party owned the insane mansion hosting the party. It makes sense really—the entire Kennedy family works for their empire. Who better to take care of the financial aspects than one of their own?

Any girl would be ecstatic to have caught the interest of a Kennedy. When he told me his name, I’m pretty sure I turned green, and he probably thought I was going to throw up on him. A girl like me doesn’t just go around dating royalty. No, men like Grant Kennedy marry women like his mother. Someone who also grew up in a mansion, went to private schools, and has afternoon tea. I didn’t grow up in a cardboard box, but the Kennedys were out of my depth.

Then, a Kennedy kissed me. It was nothing short of magical. A sexy stranger kissed me at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve and I saw fireworks, literally. A more perfect first kiss never was and never will be. So when he told me his name, I did the only logical thing I could do. I ran.

I took off like Cinderella at midnight, afraid my awaiting carriage would turn back into a pumpkin. It did. As soon as I walked back into my ordinary life in my ordinary apartment with no frills, I remembered why I ran. It didn’t matter how incredible his kiss was. Grant was a Kennedy. We are different breeds. Grant and I would be like a cat and dog getting together—it couldn’t work. I may be in medical school, but it’s all hard work and determination. Nothing has ever been handed to me. Whitney and I are friends because, even though she has money, she has had to work for her own, too. She may marry a trust fund kid, but that’s the world she’s from. I play in the world of the wealthy with her once in a while. I’ll get my rocks off with guys from her world but nothing beyond that. Grant was like chocolate cake. Something I would want more of even though I shouldn’t, and eventually, I’d end up alone and with a cavity. Instead of letting someone like him ruin me, I ran.

The part I hadn’t counted on was Grant drilling his way into my mind. I may have runaway, effectively removing him from my physical presence, but he was still a mental black hole I couldn’t close.

Case in point, I’m at a bar right now, and there are droves of well-off men all around offering me free drinks and dances, and where am I? Sitting at the bar wishing for one specific man to walk through the door.

I’m dancing with Whitney when an attractive tall, dark, and handsome man comes up to me. He attempts to cut in to dance with me and I sort of shove him off on Whit. I’m just uninterested. Once you’ve had fireworks, sparklers just won’t cut it.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” I say excusing myself. I walk over and plop down on a seat to pout at the bar. When the song ends, Whitney comes over and slides onto the stool next to me.

“Two shots of Crown for the princesses,” she shouts to the bartender. He smirks at her and comes back a minute later placing them in front of us. We don’t hesitate. After downing them, she turns on me. “Now, tell me. What is your problem?” Whitney asks annoyed. “You’ve been a complete and total bummer lately.”

“I don’t know. I’m just feeling off. I think I’m going to go home, get some sleep. Maybe I’ll feel better. I think I’m just exhausted with school and work. When we go out next weekend, I’ll be my old self, promise.” Hopping off my barstool, I hug Whit before saying goodbye to Liam and Keith.

When I walk into my apartment, it’s dark and silent. Closing the door behind me, I lie back against it and sigh. I know exactly what my problem is, and I think I know just how to fix it. I walk through the dark apartment to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I have this thing with open doors.

Standing in front of my bed, I slip the thin straps of my dress off each shoulder feeling the softness of my own skin as I do. When I unzip the side of my dress slowly, I imagine
he
is the one doing the unzipping. My dress glides down my body to the floor, and I kick it to the side. Running his hands over the black lace of my panties on my hips, I tuck a thumb in each side and slide them down taking my time as I imagine he would. I run his hands up my stomach to the front clasp of my bra. I finger it for a minute before pushing in on each edge unsnapping it. It opens and I look down not surprised at my already erect nipples. He is like a puppeteer and I am nothing more than his marionette. I’ve met him only once and yet he is the only one who can pull my strings.

I imagine his hands running over my body and to my breasts, toying with them. I slip the straps off my shoulders one at a time and let my bra join the rest of my clothes on the floor. Walking over to my nightstand, I pause for a moment, as the glow from the streetlights outside shine through the slats of my blinds, illuminating my now naked and highly aroused form. I’m all alone and more turned on than I ever remember being before.

Grabbing my trusty pink friend out of my drawer, I turn the knob slightly with my thumb to check the battery. The quiet buzz of BOB fills the silent room. I wish it were him, but this will have to do. In my mind, it
is
him. Still standing, I test the setting by placing it gently on my stomach and then run it up to first one then the other elevated nipple. Running it back down my body, I bring it to rest on my pubic bone for a moment before I can take it no longer. I consider lying down on the bed for a brief moment, but that isn’t how he would take me. No, Grant Kennedy would bend me over and make me scream.

I lie on my torso on my tall bed in front of me and run the vibrator along my cheeks before spreading my legs and placing it against my slit. I have had this pink friend for quite some time, but it has never felt this good. I need more. I insert it slowly from behind hitting just the perfect spot over and over until I moan my orgasm into the otherwise silent space.

I slap my arms on the bed above my head collapsing in post orgasmic relief. After a moment, I giggle realizing my hand is still buzzing. I should turn it off, but I don’t. I want more of him. I imagine him still ready to go. Only for his orgasm, he wants me on top. I climb onto the bed and place the vibrator upright on the bed pointing toward the ceiling. Holding it in place, I squat hovering above it and then slowly sink down onto him. I ride him until we both explode together. It’s like he’s in the room with me. He’s the one pulling the strings and it’s magic. No—it’s fireworks.

* * *

A bead of
sweat drips down my brow just as an app on my phone alerts me I’ve hit the second mile mark. This is pretty big for me. I’m about as athletic as a tortoise. Whitney comes up behind me when I slow down to a walk.

“Well, someone is full of energy this morning. I can barely keep up with you. I take it you’re feeling better after a goodnight’s sleep?”

“Yeah, that must be it.” I smile slyly. Must be the extra
sleep
I got last night.

“I’m hanging today. Let’s skip the last mile and go grab coffee.”

“That’s cool. Can we hit the little bohemian place? Their coffee is so much better than the big chains.”

“Sure. Race you there!” she shouts behind her as she takes off in the direction of the coffee shop. “Last one there buys!”

When I walk in, Whitney is seated at a table near a window tapping her fingers expectantly. I shoot her a glare, roll my eyes, and head up to the barista at the counter. “I will have a medium coffee, black, and a medium half-caff, skim milk latte with a shot of hazelnut and a shot of vanilla.”

“That’s a pretty high maintenance order for a girl who doesn’t like rich brats.” My heart sinks at the sound of his voice behind me. I know who it is before I turn around, and I feel like crawling into a hole to die. I have just run three miles. I am sweaty, in workout clothes and a hot mess. To top it all off, the last time I saw him, I ran away. I swallow the lump in my throat, remembering last night’s rendezvous and attempt a smile when I turn to face him.

“Hi,” I squeak. Gathering my composure, I try to defend myself. “I ordered a regular plain, old coffee. The latté is for my impatient friend over there.” I nod toward Whitney. When we look over, she has her mouth to the floor. “Anyway, what is a brat like you doing in a tiny little coffee shop like this? Surely you have a barista in your mansion.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “No, but I should probably get one. This place has better coffee than the big chains.”

“Coffee, black. Half-caff, skim latté, shot of hazel, shot of vanilla,” the barista calls out.

“Well, that’s me. Good to see you again, Grant.” I turn to grab my order, but two big strong hands—hands I pictured doing unmentionable things to me last night—reach out and grab the coffee cups before I can. “I can carry them, really.”

“You could, but then you would give me the brush off again. This way you can’t caffeinate without talking to me.” Grant walks toward the table where Whitney is seated. Her eyes practically bulge out of her head when she sees us both coming toward her.

“Whitney, this is—”

“Grant Kennedy,” she says boring holes through him with her eyes. “I’m Whitney Goldstein,” she introduces herself holding out her hand to take her cup. It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Did you two meet at the New Year’s Eve party?” She gestures between us.

“You’re the best friend, right? And she didn’t tell you about the midnight kiss? Really? Humph, I thought I was better than that. I must be slipping.”

Whitney turns slowly to me with complete shock etched into the pores of her face. “I’m sorry, what? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird the past few weeks?”

“I have not been acting weird. Shut up and drink your coffee.”

I turn to Grant when I hear another low chuckle coming from his direction. “I guess I haven’t completely lost it, after all.” He shoots me a smirk and then rotates back to Whit. “Whitney, maybe you can help me.” She smiles and leans toward him so far, she’s a half an inch from falling off her seat. I groan in annoyance at them. “I’ve been racking my brain to figure out how to get this girl to go out with me. Last time I saw her, she just ‘poof!’
ran away. At the stroke of midnight, we shared the most exquisite New Year’s kiss, but when I told her my name, she ran away like I told her I was a serial killer or something.”

“You’ll have to excuse Alyssa. She doesn’t always behave appropriately in social situations.”

“You two do realize I’m still standing here, right?” They both completely ignore me and continue their conversation.

“Well, you’re her best friend. How do I get her to go out with me?”

Whitney takes her chin between her thumb and forefinger making a show of thinking. “She’s a tough one. She doesn’t actually date. You’ve got your work cut out for you.” A giant smile, I recognize as her mischievous smile, takes over Whitney’s face. This is the same expression she always had when she had a stupid idea that would get us in trouble. “Don’t worry, Grant. If she doesn’t want to go out with you, I’ll go out with you. I’m sure there are about a million other women who feel the same.” Low blow, bitch. I glare at her.

“Hello?
Right here!”

They both turn smiling guiltily and Whit shrugs. “Jealous?” My face falls. “And that is how you get the truth out of her about her feelings.” She winks at him. “I’m going to run to the little girl’s room,” she says excusing herself. What an asshole.

I take a sip of my coffee without looking at him. After a beat, I ask him in a snarky tone, “Tell me, Grant, why
should
I go out with you?”

“There are about a million reasons why I’m a catch. The question is, why shouldn’t you go out with me?” he shoots back.

I look up at him with a grin. “You want the list alphabetically? How about the fact you’re clearly a little arrogant, brash or cocky?”

“All part of my charm,” he cuts me off.

“There is also the fact you’re known as a playboy?” I ask flustered.

“And you’re known as an ice princess. Yeah, I checked around. Doesn’t mean you are. Very rarely are people what they seem—much less what people think they are.”

“Why me? Why are you so intent on me when you can literally have any other girl you want?”

“You want the list alphabetically?” he feeds me back my own words. God, he is so infuriating. He leans in so close, I can feel his heated breath on the curve of my exposed neck when he says, “In short, because everyone else wants you.” Heat runs through my entire body at his closeness.

“What are you talking about?” I try for nonchalant, but it comes out more like a breathy pant.

“I was outside at the party, alone, when you burst through the doors. Within minutes, I saw not one, but two men come along nipping at your heels. You all but ignored them both. When I noticed the second one not taking a hint, I couldn’t help but take it as an opportunity.”

He is confident to a fault and so entitled. As much as I want to feel the heat between us again, I want just as badly to knock him down a peg. “Grant, I know it was New Years, there were fireworks and champagne flowing, but it was just a kiss.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And the Titanic was just a boat.” I want to look away from his gaze, but I can’t. Our eyes are locked and for some reason, it makes me feel naked and exposed. He has the most beautiful shade of blue-green eyes I have ever seen. It’s like looking into crystal clear waters of the sea. His eyes roll over me like waves, scanning me up and down before he speaks again. My eyes lock in on his perfect lips as he does. “I assume you know the story of Adam and Eve?”