Kingston narrows his eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself, and we won't have a problem."
Bentley shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.
“Uh, guys,” Ainsley interrupts. “Can you pause the sword fighting so we can watch the movie?”
Kingston gets off the couch and flips the overhead lights off.
“Hey! What’d you do that for?” I ask.
He falls back onto the cushion beside me. “There was a glare on the screen.”
No, there wasn't, but I keep my mouth shut because I'm sick of missing the show. I do my best to focus on the fast cars and man candy on the screen, ignoring the idiots on either side of me. Sadly, I'm only doing a half-assed job because Kingston's woodsy cologne smells way too mouth-watering. I actually sniffed him at one point, but he didn't call me on it if he noticed.
Halfway into the third movie, I get fidgety because I really need to stretch out, but the sectional isn't large enough. It's supposed to seat eight, but the three giant boys and their incessant need to manspread take up a large chunk of space. After several pathetic attempts to rotate my body, I finally give up with a huff.
Kingston leans into my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find a comfortable position.”
“Would lying down help?”
“Probably.” I shrug. “But there’s not enough room to do that.”
“Sure there is,” he insists. “Put your head on my lap and lie down.”
I snort. “I am not putting my head in your lap, Kingston.”
"I wasn't asking you to suck me off, Jazz. I'm just trying to help." His face is illuminated enough to see the heat burning behind his eyes as if he's visualizing me doing exactly that.
Nope, not gonna go there.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Bent, scoot your ass over,” Kingston demands. “Jazz needs to lie down.”
Bentley smiles. “You can lay on me anytime, Jazzy.”
Kingston pulls the throw pillow out from under his arm and chucks it at Bentley. “She can lay her head on that. On the couch.”
I eye the pillow longingly. “There’s still not enough room.”
Kingston pats his thighs. “Put your head on the damn pillow and throw your legs over my lap.”
“Fine,” I mutter, carefully laying on my side and stretching out. I’d hate to admit it, but this is much more comfortable.
Kingston adjusts the blanket, so it's still covering my body and rests his hands by my ankles. "This PG enough for you?"
The position is perfectly innocuous, but my hormones haven’t gotten the memo.
"Yep." I turn my attention back to the screen where there's a ridiculous, implausible, yet totally awesome chase scene.
Kingston's thumb is rubbing circles right above my ankle, which is becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Heat is blooming beneath my skin, causing a dull ache between my thighs. I don't know if I'll ever understand this connection he and I share. Kingston's hardly touching me for fuck's sake, but I feel like I'm melting into a puddle of need. It's like there's this inherent bond between us, something that transcends logic. It's even worse now that we've had sex. Knowing what it feels like to have him moving inside of me, the sound he makes when he comes, I’m practically salivating at the thought of doing it again.
But that’s not going to happen, I remind myself. Kingston’s hiding something from me—several somethings—and until I know what that is, I can't possibly consider trusting him, let alone having any relationship with him. Those niggling doubts in my head will never go away while there are so many unknown factors. Why was he so intent on pushing me away at first? Why did he feel it was necessary to bully me, humiliate me, take incriminating pictures of me? God, that in itself should be an unforgivable offense, but oddly, it's the least of my worries.
I want to know what he's hiding about our parents and why he thinks I couldn't handle it. The conversation we overheard between our fathers goes against everything I know about my mom. Sure, she didn't have the best taste in men—Jerome and my father being great examples—but she wasn't promiscuous. Hell, the only time I saw her with a man during my childhood was her brief relationship with Jerome.
When I was fifteen, maybe sixteen, I asked my mom why she never dated, and she told me that Belle and I came first. She worked so hard to support us, she was so focused on ensuring we grew up to be strong, independent women, it left no time for anything else. It just doesn't make any sense that she would have ongoing casual sex with two considerably older men who she had nothing in common with.
I'm so lost in my head that I don't even realize the movie had ended until Ainsley got up to flip the lights back on. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the brightness before carefully sitting up. Out of habit, I start cleaning up the food mess, but Bentley slaps my hand away and takes over.
“You look wiped, baby girl. The boys and I will get this before we take off.”
I didn't realize it before now, but I am pretty tired. Usually, I wouldn't be so sleepy at ten o'clock, but recovering from multiple injuries isn't exactly normal for me.
“You sure?”
Bentley frames my face with his large hands and smacks a kiss on my forehead. "Positive. Go to bed, and we'll see ourselves out."
“Thanks, Bent.”
I can feel Kingston waiting for my attention, but I address Ainsley first.
“Thanks for the movie night idea.”
“Of course. Do you still want to hang out tomorrow?” She looks at each one of the guys pointedly. “Without these interlopers?”
“Hey!” Bentley says. “That was a little rude, don’t you think?”
Reed is his usual silent and stoic self, only giving a slight smirk in response. Kingston gives his sister a middle-fingered salute.
Ainsley props a hand on her hip. “What’s rude is interrupting our night. Which won’t happen again. Jazz and I need to have some good old-fashioned girl talk, and we can't do that with you idiots present."
“Whatevs,” Bentley pouts.
I jerk my head toward the hall as I face Kingston. “I assume you’re waiting to speak with me alone?”
One side of Kingston’s mouth kicks up in the corner. “Maybe I want to tuck you in.”
“Not happening. But if you have something to say, walk with me.” I give Ainsley, Bentley, and Reed a single wave. “‘Night, guys.”
“‘Night,” they all reply in unison.
Kingston waits until we’re inside my room with the door shut before speaking. “Has Peyton given you any trouble?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen her once since I’ve been home from the hospital. Why?”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “She said something concerning the last time I was here.”
“Like what?” I head into my closet and pull some clothing out of the drawer.
“She implied she might’ve had something to do with your attack.”
I drop my sleep shorts on the ground. “Are you shitting me?”
"She didn't outright admit anything. It could've been a baseless threat, but I'm having my P.I. keep a closer eye on her just in case. You need to tell me what happened, Jazz. If it makes you more comfortable, I can arrange for John—that's my P.I.—to be there when you do."