[fic] Jacaranda - 3/?
Title: Jacaranda
Author:
garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James, James/Ofc (his stepmilf)
Chapter: Three of ???
Rating: T for the moment
Word Count: 5,110
Warnings: Bad words, nondescriptive mentions of sex
Summary: The problem with wanting someone that badly is that when it ends, it’s devastating. James knows that first hand. He doesn’t want to do that to Kendall. He’s not even sure that he can do that to Kendall, who is strong and solid and is generally very practical about things like love. But James will try.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author's Notes: Hugely inspired off of Cruel Intentions, but not based off it. No one is hitting James with a car, damnit. Also, the beta for this chapter was done by my homebitch, jblostfan16, who is my heroine in all things.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2
---
“Diana wants to go dancing.”
“Diana-your-stepmilf-Diana?” Logan asks, barely glancing up from his laptop screen. His eyes reflect white, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’s working on a report for their science class.
Actually, he’s working on James’s report for science class and sulking all the while. He hates it when the guys refuse to do their own work, but in this particular instance, he lost a bet and has no choice.
It serves Logan right, really, for ever thinking that he could beat James at Ultimate Flying Disc. James has reflexes like a tiger and now Logan is paying for being a cocky little boaster.
He doesn’t look happy about it.
That might be because the other part of the bet is that James gets to accessorize him for an entire week. Logan is not a fan of the skinny
jeans. He says they chafe.
“No, Diana the eighty year old cat lady in 5B. Of course Diana the…” James trails off. It’s not a secret that he used to bang his stepmom when she was just some girl on the school track team.
It is a secret that he’s still trying to tap that. James isn’t sure if he’s supposed to acknowledge that he still thinks of stepmommy dearest as his favorite temptress out loud.
“Diana’s in town?” Kendall asks from the kitchen over the roar of the blender. Carlos is at his side, holding down the top of the thing.
They’ve been trying to replicate Kendall’s favorite pink smoothie recipe for over an hour now, with zero success. Their most recent concoction tasted vaguely like sardines. “Is your dad around?”
“Obviously.” James rolls his eyes. Diana doesn’t go anywhere without her husband. That would be unseemly. It’s such an outdated notion; a relic from the days before women were allowed to vote. But propriety is something they cling to in Small Town, Minnesota. It’s a pastime, like hockey or swimming or the fall festival.
California is so much more progressive.
“Why can’t he take her dancing?”
“Have you seen my dad dance?” James mimics his father on stage. It involves Elvis hips, but not a lot of rhythm. The overall effect is something like a cat trying to claw its way out of water.
“I can’t tonight,” Logan says. “I’ve got to finish your homework.”
“Fair is fair,” James replies, more than a little smug.
“Got a date with the Jennifers,” Carlos yells. The blender seems to be going haywire.
“Does that mean you’re going to stalk the Jennifers?”
“Yes. Yes it does.” Carlos replies. The top of the blender struggles against his grasp.
“Carlos,” Kendall warns. “Don’t you dare let-“
Carlos lets go. Pink explodes all over the kitchen; shades of cherry blossom and carnation and peony coating the cabinets, the floor, the ceiling, and their faces.
James tries really hard not to laugh. He does not succeed. Kendall wipes the muck from his eyes and glares. Carlos licks his hand and says, “Yummy.”
“So.” Tentatively, James makes his way into the kitchen. He dips a finger into the ice dripping down Kendall’s face and pops it in his mouth, smirking. “You up for hitting a club? Pretty please?”
“Sure. Let’s go dancing,” Kendall says, rolling his eyes. He drops the glare and laughs a little at the mess he’s made, because Kendall is cool like that. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff.
“For real? You’re not going to back out ‘cause you’re scared to show off your moves?” James teases, handing Kendall some paper towels.
Kendall takes them, wiping at the muck on his face. James’s lips tingle. The smoothie tastes exactly like strawberries.
“For real.” Kendall is smiling at James, like this whole thing’s a friendly challenge instead of a nasty trick. Beneath the reckless daring and the steadfast unwillingness to ever back down, James sees trust, loyalty; all the things Kendall gives him without question. “You should know my moves are awesome.”
James thinks of the beach and the bonfire and the comfort of lying beneath the stars with his best friend. His smile turns brittle. He doesn’t like deception.
---
Later that same day, James walks in the long shadows of trees, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk.
He’s humming to himself, a song that isn’t really a song because he hasn’t written it yet. He will, one day. He makes that promise to himself over and over again in the still of the night; one day he will make music in every sense of the word. He will hold the notes in his hand and let them grow in his lungs; foster them into something true and real and beautiful.
There are days when James thinks maybe he can’t do it; when he feels like he can never do enough or be enough. He’s living his dream and it’s still not right. But there are other days that leave him breathless, laughing and gasping and exhilarated by the pure joy of living.
Today is one of those days. The sun is setting, the air tastes sweet, Kendall’s buying into his scheme hook, line, and sinker, and James is going to see the girl he’s in love with. What more can he ask for? He makes his way up to Diana’s hotel room, thinking about the night;
about the game and the hunt and the chase. He doesn’t bother knocking.
Diana’s in the middle of curling her hair, seated in front of her own reflection, challenging her own gaze. She doesn’t get up when James walks in, but a smirk ghosts over her lips. “So you got Kendall to cave?”
On a normal day, it usually takes James minutes to seduce a girl. If she’s playing hard to get, it can be a handful of hours. Diana’s targets usually take a full two days, tops.
It’s been three, and James hasn’t made a move. The closest he got was the other night, at the beach, when he’d been all for the hit hard and fast strategy. Obviously, that bombed.
As a result, he’s being mocked.
“Glad to see you’re finally making a move. Thought you were getting performance anxiety,” Diana enunciates the words, a wicked smile tugging at her mouth.
“I don’t get performance anxiety.”
The dying sun stripes his arm with light. It’s the only golden thing in the black and white bedroom.
“If you say so. Your dad and I drove down to Coronado yesterday,” Diana changes the subject, her smile bright and shiny. James can see the edge behind it.
“What’d he do now?” He drawls, flopping onto the bed.
“What makes you think he did anything?” Diana unhooks a roller, a glossy lock of hair bouncing free.
“When isn’t dad doing anything?”
“James.” There’s this flicker of something across Diana’s face, bitten lips and sad eyes, a crease right above the bridge of her nose. She says, “You shouldn’t worry about me and your dad, okay?”
James wants to say that he can’t not worry. He wants to wrap his arms around Diana’s shoulders and hug her close; to tell her that everything’s going to be okay. But he doesn’t, because something about those words makes him feel young. There’s only three years of difference between their ages, but sometimes those three years feel like all of space and time; like growing up makes a person into a stranger.
James wants to ask what she sees in his dad. What was the thing that separated the fifteen year old boy from the thirty something year old man-child, way back when?
What separates them now?
He doesn’t do that either. Instead, he turns his face into one of the pillows and watches as Diana takes out the rest of her rollers in silence.
When she’s done, she turns to James. Her dark eyes are smoldering, but her voice is light when she asks, “Zip my dress?”
She bats her lashes. She’s acting like a caricature of herself; being silly to get James to loosen up. He appreciates it. He’s happy-but-nervous about tonight. James hops off the bed, crossing the room in a single stride. He brushes his lips against Diana’s shoulder. Her skin tastes like the air outside, like jacaranda blossoms and the bright light of the sun. She tastes like summer in California.
He zips up Diana’s dress and tries to relax.
They leave the hotel near ten, ready for a night on the town. When they reach the lobby, dusk has touched down fully on Los Angeles; the sky is indigo. The stars are hiding. Softly, Diana instructs, “Make Kendall want you, James. Make him want you so bad it hurts.”
James looks away. The problem with wanting someone that badly is that when it ends, it’s devastating. James knows that first hand. He doesn’t want to do that to Kendall. He’s not even sure that he can do that to Kendall, who is strong and solid and is generally very practical about things like love.
But James will try.
Because he wants Diana in this completely desperate way.
Because he still has the image of their last night together emblazoned on the back of his eyelids, an imprint of her body burning against his skin. He wants Diana so badly it’s past the point of painful, and if he has to put Kendall through like, discomfort, to get her? He will.
It’s not like James is going to destroy him; just fuck with his head a little bit. Kendall will forgive him.
It’s the mantra that keeps James going. He nods. They step out of the lobby, out into the night, and Diana breathes it in.
“I’ll race you,” she says, already sprinting off down the sidewalk.
Even in heels, she’s fast; laughter on the wind, hair flying out behind her. James stares after her, stuck to the pavement. He remembers this from Minnesota, from the time when Diana belonged to him.
He remembers endless days of chasing.
---
The club is loud and noisy, music spilling out onto the street. Kendall is already there, waiting for them. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, toeing the curb, and it’s kind of an awkward gesture, but to James it screams fuck me, please.
He’s not completely startled by the idea. Since that night on the beach, James has been noticing how attractive Kendall is; more and more, every day. He thinks it’s the thrill of the hunt; of knowing that eventually he’s going to end up with Kendall’s skinny jeans on his floor if he ever wants to get inside of Diana’s Agent Provocateur panties.
Which he so does.
“Kendall.”
“Diana,” Kendall replies graciously. A smirk tugs at his lips, and James watches his eyes trace the swell of her cleavage before snapping back to her face. Slyly, Kendall says, “You’re going to buy us some beer, right?”
“I think not,” Diana purses her lips. The expression makes her look coy, which is probably what she’s aiming for.
Kendall’s nose wrinkles. “Come on. James, what’s the use of having a hot young legal stepmom if she won’t get you drunk?”
“Oh, I’ll buy him beer.”
“Hey!” Kendall is supremely put out. His lower lip is jutting further than James has ever seen it, and he looks like he might have a legitimate tantrum. James thinks about catching that lip between his own, about sucking it into his mouth and running the tip of his tongue over the skin.
He’s going to seal this deal, tonight.
He just needs some liquid courage.
“You drove,” Diana points out. Like she even cares. She’s just worried it will be easier for James to take advantage of Kendall when he’s under the influence.
“Aren’t you all responsible?” Kendall asks grumpily. Diana flashes Kendall a grin. She leads them inside of the club, all pounding bass and flashing colors. James’s fingers tap against his side, letting the music sing in his bones. He wants to dance.
He always wants to dance.
With a wink, Diana wends her way through the crowd of sticky, sweaty dancers with their luminescent strobe-light eyes. She’s making a beeline for the bar. Kendall turns to James and pouts, “You know I just came for the beer, right?”
“Dude, I’ve got you. We’ll share.”
And he does share. Beer after beer; James slips sips to Kendall, who is driving, but who handles his liquor like a pro. By the time they get out of this club, James figures it will be so late that all the alcohol will be out of his system anyway. He finds a spot near the middle of the club floor and just goes at it, moving and shaking and twirling until he feels like he’s not a single person anymore; he’s part of the crowd.
He forms this awkward little dance triangle with Diana and Kendall.
The awkward is mostly because of Kendall. Diana dances like no one is watching. By contrast, Kendall’s moves are almost shy; he’s bopping his head and swaying from side to side without ever letting any real talent shine through. It’s nothing at all like the way he swung his hips at the beach last week. It’s as if he’s not even comfortable in his own skin.
James can feel Diana urging him on with her eyes and her elbows; she keeps hitting him in the side like it’s some kind of mistake. It’s not, and James gets the hint. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. Being able to admit that Kendall’s kind of a hotass doesn’t make crossing the line with the guy any easier. James has got countless nights of sleepovers and hockey games and camping trips standing like a barricade between him and Kendall, and he has no idea if he’s supposed to vault over or charge through all of those memories to get to the other side. So he puts up with the elbows and the dirty looks and tries to focus on the thrum of the music in his veins and his bones; a hum under his skin.
Diana, of course, lays into him about it. She forces James to leave Kendall in the middle of the dance floor under the guise of getting more beer. “What are you doing? Is this how you seduce people now?”
“No,” James scoffs.
“Then what?” She leans in close, her breath hot on the shell of his ear. “Don’t want to play anymore, Jamie?”
James hates that name. It’s what his nanny called him when he was six, and it was always followed by a lot of hair ruffling and cheek pinching. He lets Diana get away with it because she’s sexy, and because he wants her, but right now? He’s kind of not feeling it.
“I’m still in the game,” he tells her. “Just- you need to give me some space to breathe, here. I can’t focus on Kendall when I’m watching you dance.”
Diana grins. “Well, go dance with Kendall. I’ll stay up here,” she presses her body in tight to James’s, grinding against him for this single electric second. Then she backs off. “Happy hunting.”
James gives one last, longing look at the line between Diana’s heeled foot all the way up to where her thigh disappears into her micro-mini. Then he pushes his way through the crowd. At first, he just dances. The beer makes James feel loose and sparkly, and a little bit lazy. He drapes himself across a pair of girls in skyscraper heels, relishing the way they giggle and blush.
“You’re cute,” he tells them, because it’s true. But his eyes are glued to Diana up near the bar, to the undulating motions of her hips and the bare place where her throat is exposed. When he was younger, James used to like to fuck Diana from behind, to kiss the nape of her neck and whisper dirty things into her ear until she clenched up tight around him, completely losing it. He buries his head in one of the flirty girl’s collarbones, trying to drown out the image.
When he lifts his head, James sees Kendall mouth something that looks suspiciously like manwhore.
All it’s going to take to get Diana on all fours in front of him are three little words from those insolent fucking lips.
James lets go of the girls and dances back over to his best friend, whose attention he’s already lost to some coed in a tight skirt. James has got a mission here.
He creeps up behind Kendall until he can rest his chin on his shoulder. Kendall stiffens, his whole body going ramrod straight. James murmurs into his ear, “I know you’re a better dancer than this.”
When he realizes who it is, Kendall’s shoulders slump. James thinks about kissing his earlobe, because Kendall has no right to view him as harmless in light of the things James has planned for him, but he holds himself back. He’s got time.
“There are all these people,” Kendall explains, tearing his attention from Mini Skirt girl. “And they’re watching.”
James laughs. He can’t help it. “We dance for stadiums full of people.”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah? How?” James challenges. Kendall looks at his feet.
Stubbornly, he says, “It just is.”
“Right.” James wraps his arms around Kendall’s shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.”
“With me?” Kendall gives him this bewildered look. With Kendall’s eyebrows and famous lip curls, he’s really good at bewildered. James snorts and sways, their bodies just barely touching.
“Is that a problem?”
“You won’t take pointers on a deserted beach, but you’ll get all cozy with me in the middle of a crowded club? You weirdo.” Kendall’s dimples stand out in stark relief against his cheeks; lit red and blue and green as the club lights flash.
“Hey, this place is way darker than the beach. No stars,” James says vaguely. And no intimacy. There’s no risk that James is going to lose himself here. He can barely make out the shape of Kendall’s eyes; much less the color or the things that lie inside of them. That’s what he thinks, at first. But the longer they stand there, swaying in the middle of all these thrashing bodies, the easier it is for James to forget himself.
Kendall’s regaining his rhythm; they are becoming the ocean waves and the bonfire flames. Amongst a crowd of hundreds, James’s vision narrows down to a single person.
Again. Fuck.
James takes a shaky breath, and that’s when Kendall pulls back from his grip.
“Alright. Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Kendall crosses his arms. He does not look amused.
“Like what?” James asks, puzzled.
“Like I’m a girl and you want to kiss me,” Kendall’s voice pitches up and then down and then up again; exasperation and something like worry coloring his intonation. Which is totally uncalled for. Yeah, James was extra intense with the focus, but he wasn’t aware that he was looking at Kendall like anything. He couldn’t have been, because he was too busy trying to separate himself from the memory of the beach and the reality of right now.
Hey, he should probably use this opportunity.
James thinks about it.
James turns it down.
Maybe Diana’s right. Maybe James is going soft, but- this is Kendall. James isn’t as comfortable with the idea of fucking with Kendall’s head as he thought he would be five seconds ago. No matter how much he tries, he can’t force himself to be okay with- with being sleazy about it. If this is going to happen, it has to be organic.
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to get you to dance.”
“Nuh Uh, don’t even try to say I’m imagining it. I would love to dance, but it’s really hard when you keep smoldering at me.”
Smoldering? James has to suppress his grin. Well.
He really wasn’t trying to give Kendall bedroom eyes or anything. James takes that to mean he’s a sexy beast all the time. Not exactly new knowledge, but something James can work with all the same. Over Kendall’s shoulder, he spies Diana at the bar, talking to these guys. She meets James’s gaze, daring; mouthing I want you.
Oh. James still tastes guilt in his mouth, but if Kendall misinterpreted his smolder, maybe he should be striking while the iron’s hot. If Kendall’s into him, that is kind of actually organic, right? And if James pussyfoots around, who knows when he’ll get another chance?
James takes a step forward, invading Kendall’s space. “Smoldering, huh?”
“James Diamond, you stop it right now,” Kendall says in his authoritative tone. The one he only uses when he’s actually frightened. Not scared, just abnormally concerned. Normally, James would be doing whatever he could to hunt down what had freaked Kendall out and break it into smithereens, but as far as he can tell, the source of his fear is…well, him.
Which he probably shouldn’t enjoy, but he kind of finds it thrilling. It’s not often that he catches Kendall off guard. He takes another step forward and exhales, purposefully, so that Kendall can feel his breath tickle the side of his neck.
Kendall actually squeezes his eyes shut, like having James so close is painful. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Kendall’s eyes flash open. He spins James around, and at first James doesn’t get what he’s supposed to be looking at.
Then he sees Diana again, dancing on top of this like, pedestal thing with the same two college guys; both her age, or maybe a little older.
Kendall murmurs low in James’s ear, “Don’t use me to make her jealous.”
James actually laughs. Watching Diana dance with those dudes is like hot steel in his abdomen, slicing pain and an ache that is taking too long to dissipate, but he already knows nothing will come of it. Diana only plays the game with him. James grabs hold of Kendall’s hand and pulls him up around, spinning him. “I’m not.”
Kendall blinks; storm cloud features and confusion. “Why are you lying to me? You’ve been hard up for Diana since she dumped you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Not denying it.” James says. He’s not going to lie when Kendall seems so adamant about defending his point. It’s a little embarrassing that James hasn’t hidden his raging boner for his stepmilf as well as he initially thought, but whatever. He can admit that he still thinks Diana’s hot without admitting he’s actively trying to bang her. The easiest way to lie is to tell partial truths. “But I’m not interested in Diana right this second.”
Also true. Sort of.
“I don’t-“ Kendall bites his lip. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying dance with me, dude. Don’t over-think this or you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Am I?”
“Yes!” Kendall stresses the word, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at James’s face anymore. His eyes are caught, hypnotized by James’s hips. James is pleased. He may not be able to get the belly dancing choreography down, but this he can do. “Really weird. You’re, uh. Kind of up in my personal bubble right now.”
“I am, aren’t I?” James muses. He presses in closer. In the midst of the crowded club, James smells wood smoke and the sickly sweet melted chocolate of s’mores and a hint of a sweeter fragrance; jacaranda blossoms on the wind. James can feel stale beer in the back of his throat, but Kendall’s breath is the crisp taste of the ice rink on his tongue. James can’t take it. So he does the absolute worst thing he can think of. He grinds up against Kendall, fitting their bodies together until there’s nothing but this slow, teasing friction between their jeans.
“You’re absolutely shameless,” Kendall breathes, and he’s not moving. But he is getting hard. James can feel it, ridiculous heat permeating the denim of his jeans every time he bumps their hips together.
Kendall doesn’t even look interested in dancing, now. He’s staring at James like he’s never seen him before. His eyes are flashing, flat black to pale green with every pulse of the strobe lights.
James leans in close, lips hovering over Kendall’s. If Kendall wants it, he’ll cross the distance.
Kendall says, “I want to go home.”
---
They’re sitting in the car. It smells like old coffee, with a vague hint of chili cheese fries. Logan is in charge of keeping the interior pristine, but he’s been busy lately, what with all that homework.
Mostly James’s.
Kendall is gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He’s in charge of taking James back to the Palm Woods. Diana’s still inside the club, dancing. But Kendall doesn’t seem super interested in driving right now. Instead, he’s staring at the wall in front of them.
The headlight beams straight ahead, illuminating graffiti on white stucco. The paint is faded, more like a stain than an actual color.
“What do you think you were doing back there?” Kendall asks, voice even. He’s pissed. James can hear it in the way his teeth are gritted, in the muscle jumping along his jawline.
“Dancing?” James suggests for the thousandth time that night. He refuses to be cowed by Kendall and his righteous, saintly anger. He liked it. He liked having James pressed up against him. If he didn’t, he would have said something. If he’d said something, James would have stopped.
Except James still feels like he crossed a line, and that bugs him. He stares at the door handle and tries to concentrate on something else.
They take girls out on dates in the car, sometimes. There are guycode rules about fucking in a vehicle that all four of them share, but James has driven more than one female up to the hills, where Hollywood looks like a game of Lite Brite spread out beneath them. He’s taken more than one lover against the backseats, christening the leather with sweat and cum.
He doesn’t even bother feeling guilty about it. He’s caught Kendall and his various girlfriends in the act more than once, because Kendall is only interested in girls who are fearless, even in the face of public indecency. And James knows Logan doesn’t really view any space as sacred when he’s in the heat of passion; that boy will nail a girl on any surface she’ll allow. In fact, it’s probably only Carlos who obeys the rule, and James can’t even be sure about that. Carlos gets around more than he likes to let on.
That’s what James is thinking about when it happens.
Kendall’s toying with the latch under the steering wheel, the one that lifts it higher or lower. He snaps it back, pushes the wheel up, and then in one deft move he’s out of his seat and on James’s side of the car.
Actually, he’s in James’s lap.
Their noses are all pushed up together, and Kendall’s eyes are flashing, something like rage and lust and disappointment all tangled up in his gaze. His elbow hits the radio, and now it’s blasting out a Top 40s song, bass pumping, making James’s ribs quake.
“How do you like it?” Kendall snarls.
Assuming he means the closeness? James shifts. He’s pretty into it, actually. Kendall’s more, um, intimidating than most of James’s conquests, but he’s still a hot body and a pretty pair of lips. James smiles, nonchalant. He probably looks like a total douchebag. He settles
his hands on Kendall’s hips and doesn’t say anything at all.
The headlights of the car reflect back off the stucco, washing out the darkness that cloaks Kendall’s body. Chunks of his features are carved in radiant light; an eye, a dimple. The curve of an ear and the jut of his chin. James squeezes Kendall’s hips, rubbing little circles into Kendall’s skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. Kendall shivers, and James can taste him, can taste his sharp exhalation on his tongue.
At first, Kendall is watching James for a reaction when he kisses him. It’s like this slow motion trainwreck; the way that Kendall fists his hands in the collar of James’s shirt and pulls him forward, switchblade eyes and chiaroscuro features. James makes a surprised noise against Kendall’s lips, and that snaps everything forward.
Kendall is ferocious. James doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Kendall is pragmatic about love, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever lacked passion or fire. He is a little bit wild and a little bit messy. He is completely and totally dominating James.
And then he is pulling back. Kendall stares at James, breathing hard. He says, “That was wrong.”
He scrambles off of James’s lap until he’s nearly pressed into the driver’s side door. He slams the palm of his hand into the radio dial, silencing some girl belting out a dance hit. His hands go back to the steering wheel, even more white knuckled now.
Kendall drives them home in utter silence, which James likes. It gives him time to think. He licks his lips; beer and Kendall and Hollywood on his tongue.
James has got a choice here. He can stop, or he can keep playing. Before, all of his ideas were in abstract; James thought about things like consequences, but they would never come to fruition if he didn’t actually act. But now he knows; he can take Kendall. If he wants him.
Not that wanting Kendall has anything to do with anything; it’s all about Diana.
Really. It is.
James frowns at himself, fingers twitching in the air. He can’t shake the feel of Kendall’s skin under his fingers. He wants his weight back in his lap. He wants Kendall’s lips touching his again.
Wanting Kendall should be a bonus. Diana has forced James into hooking up with more than one desperate, ugly girl. But for some reason, James feels odd. Like maybe this all would be easier if Kendall wasn’t so attractive. If he hadn’t felt like fire in James’s hands.
Which is dumb, because James always has a better time with the hot girls.
He makes a decision when they pull into the Palm Woods parking lot.
“It wasn’t wrong.”
“What?”
James stares Kendall down. “It wasn’t wrong.”
He kisses Kendall then, soft and chaste. It barely lasts a second. And then James climbs out of the car. Kendall doesn’t follow.
All the way to the hotel lobby, James can feel Kendall’s eyes boring into his back.
Now he’s committed to this.
He’s going to take it all the way.
---
Author:
garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James, James/Ofc (his stepmilf)
Chapter: Three of ???
Rating: T for the moment
Word Count: 5,110
Warnings: Bad words, nondescriptive mentions of sex
Summary: The problem with wanting someone that badly is that when it ends, it’s devastating. James knows that first hand. He doesn’t want to do that to Kendall. He’s not even sure that he can do that to Kendall, who is strong and solid and is generally very practical about things like love. But James will try.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author's Notes: Hugely inspired off of Cruel Intentions, but not based off it. No one is hitting James with a car, damnit. Also, the beta for this chapter was done by my homebitch, jblostfan16, who is my heroine in all things.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2
---
“Diana wants to go dancing.”
“Diana-your-stepmilf-Diana?” Logan asks, barely glancing up from his laptop screen. His eyes reflect white, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’s working on a report for their science class.
Actually, he’s working on James’s report for science class and sulking all the while. He hates it when the guys refuse to do their own work, but in this particular instance, he lost a bet and has no choice.
It serves Logan right, really, for ever thinking that he could beat James at Ultimate Flying Disc. James has reflexes like a tiger and now Logan is paying for being a cocky little boaster.
He doesn’t look happy about it.
That might be because the other part of the bet is that James gets to accessorize him for an entire week. Logan is not a fan of the skinny
jeans. He says they chafe.
“No, Diana the eighty year old cat lady in 5B. Of course Diana the…” James trails off. It’s not a secret that he used to bang his stepmom when she was just some girl on the school track team.
It is a secret that he’s still trying to tap that. James isn’t sure if he’s supposed to acknowledge that he still thinks of stepmommy dearest as his favorite temptress out loud.
“Diana’s in town?” Kendall asks from the kitchen over the roar of the blender. Carlos is at his side, holding down the top of the thing.
They’ve been trying to replicate Kendall’s favorite pink smoothie recipe for over an hour now, with zero success. Their most recent concoction tasted vaguely like sardines. “Is your dad around?”
“Obviously.” James rolls his eyes. Diana doesn’t go anywhere without her husband. That would be unseemly. It’s such an outdated notion; a relic from the days before women were allowed to vote. But propriety is something they cling to in Small Town, Minnesota. It’s a pastime, like hockey or swimming or the fall festival.
California is so much more progressive.
“Why can’t he take her dancing?”
“Have you seen my dad dance?” James mimics his father on stage. It involves Elvis hips, but not a lot of rhythm. The overall effect is something like a cat trying to claw its way out of water.
“I can’t tonight,” Logan says. “I’ve got to finish your homework.”
“Fair is fair,” James replies, more than a little smug.
“Got a date with the Jennifers,” Carlos yells. The blender seems to be going haywire.
“Does that mean you’re going to stalk the Jennifers?”
“Yes. Yes it does.” Carlos replies. The top of the blender struggles against his grasp.
“Carlos,” Kendall warns. “Don’t you dare let-“
Carlos lets go. Pink explodes all over the kitchen; shades of cherry blossom and carnation and peony coating the cabinets, the floor, the ceiling, and their faces.
James tries really hard not to laugh. He does not succeed. Kendall wipes the muck from his eyes and glares. Carlos licks his hand and says, “Yummy.”
“So.” Tentatively, James makes his way into the kitchen. He dips a finger into the ice dripping down Kendall’s face and pops it in his mouth, smirking. “You up for hitting a club? Pretty please?”
“Sure. Let’s go dancing,” Kendall says, rolling his eyes. He drops the glare and laughs a little at the mess he’s made, because Kendall is cool like that. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff.
“For real? You’re not going to back out ‘cause you’re scared to show off your moves?” James teases, handing Kendall some paper towels.
Kendall takes them, wiping at the muck on his face. James’s lips tingle. The smoothie tastes exactly like strawberries.
“For real.” Kendall is smiling at James, like this whole thing’s a friendly challenge instead of a nasty trick. Beneath the reckless daring and the steadfast unwillingness to ever back down, James sees trust, loyalty; all the things Kendall gives him without question. “You should know my moves are awesome.”
James thinks of the beach and the bonfire and the comfort of lying beneath the stars with his best friend. His smile turns brittle. He doesn’t like deception.
---
Later that same day, James walks in the long shadows of trees, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk.
He’s humming to himself, a song that isn’t really a song because he hasn’t written it yet. He will, one day. He makes that promise to himself over and over again in the still of the night; one day he will make music in every sense of the word. He will hold the notes in his hand and let them grow in his lungs; foster them into something true and real and beautiful.
There are days when James thinks maybe he can’t do it; when he feels like he can never do enough or be enough. He’s living his dream and it’s still not right. But there are other days that leave him breathless, laughing and gasping and exhilarated by the pure joy of living.
Today is one of those days. The sun is setting, the air tastes sweet, Kendall’s buying into his scheme hook, line, and sinker, and James is going to see the girl he’s in love with. What more can he ask for? He makes his way up to Diana’s hotel room, thinking about the night;
about the game and the hunt and the chase. He doesn’t bother knocking.
Diana’s in the middle of curling her hair, seated in front of her own reflection, challenging her own gaze. She doesn’t get up when James walks in, but a smirk ghosts over her lips. “So you got Kendall to cave?”
On a normal day, it usually takes James minutes to seduce a girl. If she’s playing hard to get, it can be a handful of hours. Diana’s targets usually take a full two days, tops.
It’s been three, and James hasn’t made a move. The closest he got was the other night, at the beach, when he’d been all for the hit hard and fast strategy. Obviously, that bombed.
As a result, he’s being mocked.
“Glad to see you’re finally making a move. Thought you were getting performance anxiety,” Diana enunciates the words, a wicked smile tugging at her mouth.
“I don’t get performance anxiety.”
The dying sun stripes his arm with light. It’s the only golden thing in the black and white bedroom.
“If you say so. Your dad and I drove down to Coronado yesterday,” Diana changes the subject, her smile bright and shiny. James can see the edge behind it.
“What’d he do now?” He drawls, flopping onto the bed.
“What makes you think he did anything?” Diana unhooks a roller, a glossy lock of hair bouncing free.
“When isn’t dad doing anything?”
“James.” There’s this flicker of something across Diana’s face, bitten lips and sad eyes, a crease right above the bridge of her nose. She says, “You shouldn’t worry about me and your dad, okay?”
James wants to say that he can’t not worry. He wants to wrap his arms around Diana’s shoulders and hug her close; to tell her that everything’s going to be okay. But he doesn’t, because something about those words makes him feel young. There’s only three years of difference between their ages, but sometimes those three years feel like all of space and time; like growing up makes a person into a stranger.
James wants to ask what she sees in his dad. What was the thing that separated the fifteen year old boy from the thirty something year old man-child, way back when?
What separates them now?
He doesn’t do that either. Instead, he turns his face into one of the pillows and watches as Diana takes out the rest of her rollers in silence.
When she’s done, she turns to James. Her dark eyes are smoldering, but her voice is light when she asks, “Zip my dress?”
She bats her lashes. She’s acting like a caricature of herself; being silly to get James to loosen up. He appreciates it. He’s happy-but-nervous about tonight. James hops off the bed, crossing the room in a single stride. He brushes his lips against Diana’s shoulder. Her skin tastes like the air outside, like jacaranda blossoms and the bright light of the sun. She tastes like summer in California.
He zips up Diana’s dress and tries to relax.
They leave the hotel near ten, ready for a night on the town. When they reach the lobby, dusk has touched down fully on Los Angeles; the sky is indigo. The stars are hiding. Softly, Diana instructs, “Make Kendall want you, James. Make him want you so bad it hurts.”
James looks away. The problem with wanting someone that badly is that when it ends, it’s devastating. James knows that first hand. He doesn’t want to do that to Kendall. He’s not even sure that he can do that to Kendall, who is strong and solid and is generally very practical about things like love.
But James will try.
Because he wants Diana in this completely desperate way.
Because he still has the image of their last night together emblazoned on the back of his eyelids, an imprint of her body burning against his skin. He wants Diana so badly it’s past the point of painful, and if he has to put Kendall through like, discomfort, to get her? He will.
It’s not like James is going to destroy him; just fuck with his head a little bit. Kendall will forgive him.
It’s the mantra that keeps James going. He nods. They step out of the lobby, out into the night, and Diana breathes it in.
“I’ll race you,” she says, already sprinting off down the sidewalk.
Even in heels, she’s fast; laughter on the wind, hair flying out behind her. James stares after her, stuck to the pavement. He remembers this from Minnesota, from the time when Diana belonged to him.
He remembers endless days of chasing.
---
The club is loud and noisy, music spilling out onto the street. Kendall is already there, waiting for them. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, toeing the curb, and it’s kind of an awkward gesture, but to James it screams fuck me, please.
He’s not completely startled by the idea. Since that night on the beach, James has been noticing how attractive Kendall is; more and more, every day. He thinks it’s the thrill of the hunt; of knowing that eventually he’s going to end up with Kendall’s skinny jeans on his floor if he ever wants to get inside of Diana’s Agent Provocateur panties.
Which he so does.
“Kendall.”
“Diana,” Kendall replies graciously. A smirk tugs at his lips, and James watches his eyes trace the swell of her cleavage before snapping back to her face. Slyly, Kendall says, “You’re going to buy us some beer, right?”
“I think not,” Diana purses her lips. The expression makes her look coy, which is probably what she’s aiming for.
Kendall’s nose wrinkles. “Come on. James, what’s the use of having a hot young legal stepmom if she won’t get you drunk?”
“Oh, I’ll buy him beer.”
“Hey!” Kendall is supremely put out. His lower lip is jutting further than James has ever seen it, and he looks like he might have a legitimate tantrum. James thinks about catching that lip between his own, about sucking it into his mouth and running the tip of his tongue over the skin.
He’s going to seal this deal, tonight.
He just needs some liquid courage.
“You drove,” Diana points out. Like she even cares. She’s just worried it will be easier for James to take advantage of Kendall when he’s under the influence.
“Aren’t you all responsible?” Kendall asks grumpily. Diana flashes Kendall a grin. She leads them inside of the club, all pounding bass and flashing colors. James’s fingers tap against his side, letting the music sing in his bones. He wants to dance.
He always wants to dance.
With a wink, Diana wends her way through the crowd of sticky, sweaty dancers with their luminescent strobe-light eyes. She’s making a beeline for the bar. Kendall turns to James and pouts, “You know I just came for the beer, right?”
“Dude, I’ve got you. We’ll share.”
And he does share. Beer after beer; James slips sips to Kendall, who is driving, but who handles his liquor like a pro. By the time they get out of this club, James figures it will be so late that all the alcohol will be out of his system anyway. He finds a spot near the middle of the club floor and just goes at it, moving and shaking and twirling until he feels like he’s not a single person anymore; he’s part of the crowd.
He forms this awkward little dance triangle with Diana and Kendall.
The awkward is mostly because of Kendall. Diana dances like no one is watching. By contrast, Kendall’s moves are almost shy; he’s bopping his head and swaying from side to side without ever letting any real talent shine through. It’s nothing at all like the way he swung his hips at the beach last week. It’s as if he’s not even comfortable in his own skin.
James can feel Diana urging him on with her eyes and her elbows; she keeps hitting him in the side like it’s some kind of mistake. It’s not, and James gets the hint. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. Being able to admit that Kendall’s kind of a hotass doesn’t make crossing the line with the guy any easier. James has got countless nights of sleepovers and hockey games and camping trips standing like a barricade between him and Kendall, and he has no idea if he’s supposed to vault over or charge through all of those memories to get to the other side. So he puts up with the elbows and the dirty looks and tries to focus on the thrum of the music in his veins and his bones; a hum under his skin.
Diana, of course, lays into him about it. She forces James to leave Kendall in the middle of the dance floor under the guise of getting more beer. “What are you doing? Is this how you seduce people now?”
“No,” James scoffs.
“Then what?” She leans in close, her breath hot on the shell of his ear. “Don’t want to play anymore, Jamie?”
James hates that name. It’s what his nanny called him when he was six, and it was always followed by a lot of hair ruffling and cheek pinching. He lets Diana get away with it because she’s sexy, and because he wants her, but right now? He’s kind of not feeling it.
“I’m still in the game,” he tells her. “Just- you need to give me some space to breathe, here. I can’t focus on Kendall when I’m watching you dance.”
Diana grins. “Well, go dance with Kendall. I’ll stay up here,” she presses her body in tight to James’s, grinding against him for this single electric second. Then she backs off. “Happy hunting.”
James gives one last, longing look at the line between Diana’s heeled foot all the way up to where her thigh disappears into her micro-mini. Then he pushes his way through the crowd. At first, he just dances. The beer makes James feel loose and sparkly, and a little bit lazy. He drapes himself across a pair of girls in skyscraper heels, relishing the way they giggle and blush.
“You’re cute,” he tells them, because it’s true. But his eyes are glued to Diana up near the bar, to the undulating motions of her hips and the bare place where her throat is exposed. When he was younger, James used to like to fuck Diana from behind, to kiss the nape of her neck and whisper dirty things into her ear until she clenched up tight around him, completely losing it. He buries his head in one of the flirty girl’s collarbones, trying to drown out the image.
When he lifts his head, James sees Kendall mouth something that looks suspiciously like manwhore.
All it’s going to take to get Diana on all fours in front of him are three little words from those insolent fucking lips.
James lets go of the girls and dances back over to his best friend, whose attention he’s already lost to some coed in a tight skirt. James has got a mission here.
He creeps up behind Kendall until he can rest his chin on his shoulder. Kendall stiffens, his whole body going ramrod straight. James murmurs into his ear, “I know you’re a better dancer than this.”
When he realizes who it is, Kendall’s shoulders slump. James thinks about kissing his earlobe, because Kendall has no right to view him as harmless in light of the things James has planned for him, but he holds himself back. He’s got time.
“There are all these people,” Kendall explains, tearing his attention from Mini Skirt girl. “And they’re watching.”
James laughs. He can’t help it. “We dance for stadiums full of people.”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah? How?” James challenges. Kendall looks at his feet.
Stubbornly, he says, “It just is.”
“Right.” James wraps his arms around Kendall’s shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.”
“With me?” Kendall gives him this bewildered look. With Kendall’s eyebrows and famous lip curls, he’s really good at bewildered. James snorts and sways, their bodies just barely touching.
“Is that a problem?”
“You won’t take pointers on a deserted beach, but you’ll get all cozy with me in the middle of a crowded club? You weirdo.” Kendall’s dimples stand out in stark relief against his cheeks; lit red and blue and green as the club lights flash.
“Hey, this place is way darker than the beach. No stars,” James says vaguely. And no intimacy. There’s no risk that James is going to lose himself here. He can barely make out the shape of Kendall’s eyes; much less the color or the things that lie inside of them. That’s what he thinks, at first. But the longer they stand there, swaying in the middle of all these thrashing bodies, the easier it is for James to forget himself.
Kendall’s regaining his rhythm; they are becoming the ocean waves and the bonfire flames. Amongst a crowd of hundreds, James’s vision narrows down to a single person.
Again. Fuck.
James takes a shaky breath, and that’s when Kendall pulls back from his grip.
“Alright. Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Kendall crosses his arms. He does not look amused.
“Like what?” James asks, puzzled.
“Like I’m a girl and you want to kiss me,” Kendall’s voice pitches up and then down and then up again; exasperation and something like worry coloring his intonation. Which is totally uncalled for. Yeah, James was extra intense with the focus, but he wasn’t aware that he was looking at Kendall like anything. He couldn’t have been, because he was too busy trying to separate himself from the memory of the beach and the reality of right now.
Hey, he should probably use this opportunity.
James thinks about it.
James turns it down.
Maybe Diana’s right. Maybe James is going soft, but- this is Kendall. James isn’t as comfortable with the idea of fucking with Kendall’s head as he thought he would be five seconds ago. No matter how much he tries, he can’t force himself to be okay with- with being sleazy about it. If this is going to happen, it has to be organic.
“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to get you to dance.”
“Nuh Uh, don’t even try to say I’m imagining it. I would love to dance, but it’s really hard when you keep smoldering at me.”
Smoldering? James has to suppress his grin. Well.
He really wasn’t trying to give Kendall bedroom eyes or anything. James takes that to mean he’s a sexy beast all the time. Not exactly new knowledge, but something James can work with all the same. Over Kendall’s shoulder, he spies Diana at the bar, talking to these guys. She meets James’s gaze, daring; mouthing I want you.
Oh. James still tastes guilt in his mouth, but if Kendall misinterpreted his smolder, maybe he should be striking while the iron’s hot. If Kendall’s into him, that is kind of actually organic, right? And if James pussyfoots around, who knows when he’ll get another chance?
James takes a step forward, invading Kendall’s space. “Smoldering, huh?”
“James Diamond, you stop it right now,” Kendall says in his authoritative tone. The one he only uses when he’s actually frightened. Not scared, just abnormally concerned. Normally, James would be doing whatever he could to hunt down what had freaked Kendall out and break it into smithereens, but as far as he can tell, the source of his fear is…well, him.
Which he probably shouldn’t enjoy, but he kind of finds it thrilling. It’s not often that he catches Kendall off guard. He takes another step forward and exhales, purposefully, so that Kendall can feel his breath tickle the side of his neck.
Kendall actually squeezes his eyes shut, like having James so close is painful. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Kendall’s eyes flash open. He spins James around, and at first James doesn’t get what he’s supposed to be looking at.
Then he sees Diana again, dancing on top of this like, pedestal thing with the same two college guys; both her age, or maybe a little older.
Kendall murmurs low in James’s ear, “Don’t use me to make her jealous.”
James actually laughs. Watching Diana dance with those dudes is like hot steel in his abdomen, slicing pain and an ache that is taking too long to dissipate, but he already knows nothing will come of it. Diana only plays the game with him. James grabs hold of Kendall’s hand and pulls him up around, spinning him. “I’m not.”
Kendall blinks; storm cloud features and confusion. “Why are you lying to me? You’ve been hard up for Diana since she dumped you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Not denying it.” James says. He’s not going to lie when Kendall seems so adamant about defending his point. It’s a little embarrassing that James hasn’t hidden his raging boner for his stepmilf as well as he initially thought, but whatever. He can admit that he still thinks Diana’s hot without admitting he’s actively trying to bang her. The easiest way to lie is to tell partial truths. “But I’m not interested in Diana right this second.”
Also true. Sort of.
“I don’t-“ Kendall bites his lip. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying dance with me, dude. Don’t over-think this or you’re going to hurt yourself.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Am I?”
“Yes!” Kendall stresses the word, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at James’s face anymore. His eyes are caught, hypnotized by James’s hips. James is pleased. He may not be able to get the belly dancing choreography down, but this he can do. “Really weird. You’re, uh. Kind of up in my personal bubble right now.”
“I am, aren’t I?” James muses. He presses in closer. In the midst of the crowded club, James smells wood smoke and the sickly sweet melted chocolate of s’mores and a hint of a sweeter fragrance; jacaranda blossoms on the wind. James can feel stale beer in the back of his throat, but Kendall’s breath is the crisp taste of the ice rink on his tongue. James can’t take it. So he does the absolute worst thing he can think of. He grinds up against Kendall, fitting their bodies together until there’s nothing but this slow, teasing friction between their jeans.
“You’re absolutely shameless,” Kendall breathes, and he’s not moving. But he is getting hard. James can feel it, ridiculous heat permeating the denim of his jeans every time he bumps their hips together.
Kendall doesn’t even look interested in dancing, now. He’s staring at James like he’s never seen him before. His eyes are flashing, flat black to pale green with every pulse of the strobe lights.
James leans in close, lips hovering over Kendall’s. If Kendall wants it, he’ll cross the distance.
Kendall says, “I want to go home.”
---
They’re sitting in the car. It smells like old coffee, with a vague hint of chili cheese fries. Logan is in charge of keeping the interior pristine, but he’s been busy lately, what with all that homework.
Mostly James’s.
Kendall is gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He’s in charge of taking James back to the Palm Woods. Diana’s still inside the club, dancing. But Kendall doesn’t seem super interested in driving right now. Instead, he’s staring at the wall in front of them.
The headlight beams straight ahead, illuminating graffiti on white stucco. The paint is faded, more like a stain than an actual color.
“What do you think you were doing back there?” Kendall asks, voice even. He’s pissed. James can hear it in the way his teeth are gritted, in the muscle jumping along his jawline.
“Dancing?” James suggests for the thousandth time that night. He refuses to be cowed by Kendall and his righteous, saintly anger. He liked it. He liked having James pressed up against him. If he didn’t, he would have said something. If he’d said something, James would have stopped.
Except James still feels like he crossed a line, and that bugs him. He stares at the door handle and tries to concentrate on something else.
They take girls out on dates in the car, sometimes. There are guycode rules about fucking in a vehicle that all four of them share, but James has driven more than one female up to the hills, where Hollywood looks like a game of Lite Brite spread out beneath them. He’s taken more than one lover against the backseats, christening the leather with sweat and cum.
He doesn’t even bother feeling guilty about it. He’s caught Kendall and his various girlfriends in the act more than once, because Kendall is only interested in girls who are fearless, even in the face of public indecency. And James knows Logan doesn’t really view any space as sacred when he’s in the heat of passion; that boy will nail a girl on any surface she’ll allow. In fact, it’s probably only Carlos who obeys the rule, and James can’t even be sure about that. Carlos gets around more than he likes to let on.
That’s what James is thinking about when it happens.
Kendall’s toying with the latch under the steering wheel, the one that lifts it higher or lower. He snaps it back, pushes the wheel up, and then in one deft move he’s out of his seat and on James’s side of the car.
Actually, he’s in James’s lap.
Their noses are all pushed up together, and Kendall’s eyes are flashing, something like rage and lust and disappointment all tangled up in his gaze. His elbow hits the radio, and now it’s blasting out a Top 40s song, bass pumping, making James’s ribs quake.
“How do you like it?” Kendall snarls.
Assuming he means the closeness? James shifts. He’s pretty into it, actually. Kendall’s more, um, intimidating than most of James’s conquests, but he’s still a hot body and a pretty pair of lips. James smiles, nonchalant. He probably looks like a total douchebag. He settles
his hands on Kendall’s hips and doesn’t say anything at all.
The headlights of the car reflect back off the stucco, washing out the darkness that cloaks Kendall’s body. Chunks of his features are carved in radiant light; an eye, a dimple. The curve of an ear and the jut of his chin. James squeezes Kendall’s hips, rubbing little circles into Kendall’s skin through the thin material of his t-shirt. Kendall shivers, and James can taste him, can taste his sharp exhalation on his tongue.
At first, Kendall is watching James for a reaction when he kisses him. It’s like this slow motion trainwreck; the way that Kendall fists his hands in the collar of James’s shirt and pulls him forward, switchblade eyes and chiaroscuro features. James makes a surprised noise against Kendall’s lips, and that snaps everything forward.
Kendall is ferocious. James doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Kendall is pragmatic about love, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever lacked passion or fire. He is a little bit wild and a little bit messy. He is completely and totally dominating James.
And then he is pulling back. Kendall stares at James, breathing hard. He says, “That was wrong.”
He scrambles off of James’s lap until he’s nearly pressed into the driver’s side door. He slams the palm of his hand into the radio dial, silencing some girl belting out a dance hit. His hands go back to the steering wheel, even more white knuckled now.
Kendall drives them home in utter silence, which James likes. It gives him time to think. He licks his lips; beer and Kendall and Hollywood on his tongue.
James has got a choice here. He can stop, or he can keep playing. Before, all of his ideas were in abstract; James thought about things like consequences, but they would never come to fruition if he didn’t actually act. But now he knows; he can take Kendall. If he wants him.
Not that wanting Kendall has anything to do with anything; it’s all about Diana.
Really. It is.
James frowns at himself, fingers twitching in the air. He can’t shake the feel of Kendall’s skin under his fingers. He wants his weight back in his lap. He wants Kendall’s lips touching his again.
Wanting Kendall should be a bonus. Diana has forced James into hooking up with more than one desperate, ugly girl. But for some reason, James feels odd. Like maybe this all would be easier if Kendall wasn’t so attractive. If he hadn’t felt like fire in James’s hands.
Which is dumb, because James always has a better time with the hot girls.
He makes a decision when they pull into the Palm Woods parking lot.
“It wasn’t wrong.”
“What?”
James stares Kendall down. “It wasn’t wrong.”
He kisses Kendall then, soft and chaste. It barely lasts a second. And then James climbs out of the car. Kendall doesn’t follow.
All the way to the hotel lobby, James can feel Kendall’s eyes boring into his back.
Now he’s committed to this.
He’s going to take it all the way.
---