Perfectly Imperfect

He offers me a bemused smile, surprise dances across his handsome face before he looks at me with a question of disbelief. Clearly, he knows something I don’t.

“How about you check your phone and get back to me.” He leans down, presses his lips against mine, and breathes deeply before leaning back. He takes a few steps backward, his head shaking with silent laughter. “I’ll be waiting,” he says oddly and turns.

What in the world?

I reach behind me and pull my phone from my back pocket. I stuffed it there before I left my room, but in my rush and after Kirby’s weird lesbian act this morning, I don’t think I even looked at it once.

I don’t have any notifications. The screen just displays the date and time. I slide my finger across the glass and unlock the phone. No emails. No missed calls. No little red dots on any of my other apps. I open my email folder first and frown when I don’t see anything new or from Kane. My call log doesn’t show any voicemails. My brow pulls in slightly when I click on my messages app and see Kane’s name as one of the last received text.

When did this happen?

Pressing my thumb to his text line, I almost drop my phone when I see what takes over the screen. I know I let out a loud gasp.

Oh, holy shit! I don’t even hesitate to curse when I usually avoid it at all costs. Holy. Shit. Indeed.

My shocked eyes snap up from the evidence that my drunken self clearly had some fun last night when I hear Kane’s booming laugh from where he’s standing with one of the techs I didn't recall meeting yesterday. His eyes capture mine, and when I see him wink, I feel like I might melt into a puddle of aroused embarrassment right here in the hallways of some middle of nowhere Georgia high school.

TODAY HAS BEEN … INTERESTING.

After the shocking revelation that drunk Willow is like a hooker in heat, I’ve been avoiding Kane at all costs. Or, I should say, I know it’s more like Kane letting me avoid him than me actually succeeding in keeping him at a distance. If Kane wanted me, he would make it happen. I get the feeling this is more about him putting the ball back in my court, so to speak. The ball I all but threw into his lap with my hussy messages last night.

I need to make the next move. I know this. Otherwise, he’s going to wonder if I meant what I said last night. What I agreed to. And as terrifying as the thought of being with him is, the thought of him thinking I have doubts is more daunting.

I wring my hands together and flop down on the chair Alessandra just vacated. Kirby is busy washing her brushes, and Grant has been cleaning the same spot for the last five minutes.

Heck, he doesn’t even know me, and he can tell my mood is all over the place.

“When are you going to tell me what crawled up your ass and died?” Kirby’s voice breaking the silence makes me stop fidgeting. She doesn’t turn from her task, just waits.

I look over at Grant, who stops his cleaning and looks at me with a smile. “I’m just going to go … uh, check on … hell, I’m leaving.” Looking flustered, he grabs his kit and walks out the door.

“I have ten minutes before I need to be on set. Ten minutes, Willow. Give it to me.” She puts the last brush away, grabs her kit she will need when she leaves to go stand by for touch-ups, and snaps it closed. Finally, she turns and crosses her arms over her chest. The perfect picture of stubborn compassion.

“Ten minutes might not be enough to touch this one,” I deadpan.

“So start at the beginning and see where we end up.”

I nod, unsmiling. “I drunk texted Kane last night.”

Her eyes go round, and she visibly struggles to find her words. “Uh, okay. Clarify that.”

I stand, walk over to the couch where I had thrown stuff earlier, and dig my phone out of my purse. After unlocking it and finding Kane’s messages, I scroll to the beginning and hand it over to Kirby.

She looks from my eyes to the phone, and then back again, before she reaches out her hand and grabs it from me. I keep my eyes trained on her face as she reads the messages. Her mouth opening slightly when she starts, and by the time I know she’s read the last message, it’s hanging open widely.

“Holy shit! Well done, Wills!” The hand that isn’t holding my phone comes up and she waits with a big smile for me to give her a slap. Seriously? She wants to congratulate me and not talk about what he said? “Come on! This is brilliant. I’m so proud of you.”

I weakly tap her palm with mine and smile. Not a big smile, but more like a reaction to her reaction. I should have known she would look at this as a positive.

“Kirby, serious. Did you read the same thing I did? I pretty much had text sex with Kane.”

“Sext. You sexted him. That’s what it’s called. Sure, you were a little rusty, but we can work on that.”

I gape. “Rusty? I told him I wanted to taste his big, huge dick.”

“And bravo with that.” Her smile widens, and she looks back at my phone, her finger moving across the screen to bring the text back to the beginning. I watch her face light up this time.

“I asked him if he was wearing panties! Panties, Kirby! Oh, my God, I’m so embarrassed.” My cheeks flame and I bring my hands up to press them against my burning skin. The chill in my hands is useless against my fevered skin. “I … heck, I’m not even sure what I was talking about for a second there, but I basically begged him to let me taste him.”

She continues to look at the phone, her smirk not even having the decency to dim a little. When her gaze flits to mine, I can tell she most definitely doesn’t see this in the same horrifyingly awkward light as I do.

“Stop freaking out. Clearly, he enjoyed it, even if we need to work on your execution some.”

“My execution? Jesus, Kirb. That performance was ridiculous. He most likely thinks I’m the lamest person around. He’s probably used to women who have no problem telling and doing exactly what he wants. With all the right words.”

Her eyes narrow. Locking the phone, she hands it over and her arms go right back over her chest. “Far as I can tell, you had all the right words, Willow. Did you read the same thing I read? Sure, part of it was pretty funny, but did you even read his responses back? He liked it. No, he loved it.”

I snort.

“You’re so infuriating.” She sighs. Reaching out, she grabs my phone out of my hands, and after pressing my code, she continues. “He said, and I quote, ‘I’m going to take care of the big, huge issue I have pressing against my stomach now.’ Still don’t think you had the right words?”