Pyke

Chapter 3

Camila

I don’t know why do I feel so sullen all of a sudden. No man gets under my skin no matter how good he looks, but that arrogant prick affects me to the bone that nobody else does.

I can’t deny the fact that he’s got the look—a playboy persona look—a look that most women fall for—a look that can fool you in just a single glance he throws to you.

He has an athletic figure that doesn’t have an ounce of fat other than a perfect ripped body. Well, I have not seen him shirtless, but yesterday, I know if he has muscles underneath his shirt or not. His thick dark blond hair styled in a messy way like he frequently runs his fingers through it, but he’s a dick.

Yeah, he said that he has a huge dick.

How could he ask someone like me for a threesome? Do I look like a cheap? He even smirked —a cocky kind of smirk.

I close my laptop back. I just can’t even concentrate on searching for a job.

Slumping my body back to my bed dramatically, I hear a soft knock on my door.

“Come in.”

Kyland emerges from the door, his piercings, nose, and lip ring sparkles in the dark, then he flicks the light on. He looks exhausted, but he’s still managed to smile at me.

“If you’ll gonna give me a lecture for going to the club, don’t waste your time,” I start, tucking my blanket under my chin.

“I’m not gonna say a thing anymore, Cam. You’ve been a good girl and a good student. I think it’s time for you to enjoy your life. Just know your limit and stay…safe,” Kyland says, releasing a huge breath.

My face heats. “Safe? Jeez, perhaps can you be a little more specific than that. Like stay protected. Use condoms, maybe?”

He’s aware that I’ve never dated other than group dates. My focus is on getting a college degree. Kyland has been there for me since birth. When I turned eighteen, he let me stayed in his apartment for free, he helped me pay my tuition, helped me to buy my car, and he also pays our bills. I can’t just disappoint him and his mom. I’m also doing this for myself—for my future.

My mother was an alcoholic and a coke addict and never showed up again after giving birth to me, until today. I never heard anything from her, not that I’m interested in her after abandoning me. I don’t even know if she’s dead or still alive.

I never knew my parents if Aunt Carissa did not mention bits of information about my birth mom. What I know of is my mother got pregnant with me when she was just started to get a break in Hollywood. She had a one-night stand with the sperm donor, which was my father during their drunken night. When my mother informed him she was pregnant, the sperm donor denied that I’m his.

“I don’t want you to take the same path as your mother, Cam, but I know you, and you are way smarter than her,” he says, giving me a concerned look.

“I will never be like her, Kill,” I say defensively. “I’m already adult, but I don’t even know how the beer tastes like, so don’t worry about me getting drunk.”

The study shows that alcoholism is approximately 50% attributable to genetics, so it means those who have a family history of alcoholism have a higher risk of developing a drinking problem.

“You should know that I trust you. Just know your limitations and when to stop. You’ve been a responsible adult, and it’s not that bad to try drinking or at least try new things. Just be careful, okay?” He stands straight, grabbing the doorknob, then stops, “Next time try to wear something decent.”

I grab the nearest pillow, throwing it in his direction, but I miss it when he closes the door before the pillow reaches him.

“Are you saying that was slutty?”

“Nah, you’ll grab too much attention, unless you want a guy to get into your pants. I’m serious, Camila!” he yells behind the door.

“Blame Bianca!” Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Kyland barks into a laugher. I caught him glancing at Bianca a few times, but she is my closest friend. Kyland knows not to cross the line, and she knows not to break the girl’s code because Kyland is the only brother I consider.

***

I look down at the wristwatch, Kyland’s gift for me when I graduated from college. It’s five minutes past four, and still no signs of Bianca and Megan. We planned to meet at this coffee shop even though they’re aware I don’t drink coffee. I sip my green tea latte which they think it’s gross.

My head snaps toward the door when it chimes, indicating an incoming customer. My jaw drops to see who walks in. Of all the coffee shops in this city, why he has to be here? Is this some kind of a twisted joke? A prank maybe?

Closing my mouth, I sit straight, pretending that I don’t notice his presence. I pin my eyes on my latte, hoping he won’t see me or remember me.

My heart pounds in my chest when a body shadows in front of me—the very same man I hit and wanted to avoid.

Crap! What an awful day?

“Look who’s here? If not a girl who marked my face with her clutch.” His playful deep masculine voice vibrates my entire body.

“What do you want, Pyke?”

He laughs—his rich voice makes my heart doubles the already frantic heartbeat.

He drags an empty chair causing it to screech against the dark tiled-floor. That chair is supposed to be for my friends who have not yet arrived. How convenient? Now he takes a seat in front of me, takes off his aviator glasses, and hooks it in front of his pink plaid shirt.

Pink? Wow! But he nailed it.

Holy crap! Did I just give him a compliment?

“Starting a conversation. So, how do you know my name?” he asks, smirking—a smirk that makes every woman drool. But not to me. That’s a disgusting move to impress a lady.

I want to roll my eyes, but if I do, he can sense that his charm affects me.

“Who will not? When that woman just screamed your name at the top of her lungs.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

He chuckles, “You’re cute.”

Did he just say I’m cute? I look at him, and that’s my mistake—our gazes meet.

God! He looks so damn good closer. No wonder women agree even for a quickie. His eyes are a mix of gray and blue. They’re gorgeous. I’ve never seen this kind of eye color before. His red lips curve into a smile. Of course, he catches me checking him out.

Shooting him a glare, I ask, “Don’t you wanna buy a coffee? Or are you waiting for a girl to pick up here?”

He cocks his dark brow. “Will you come with me?”

My mouth hangs open. If I didn’t witness what he did to that woman, I might take his offer. Might. He’s a drop-dead gorgeous, panty-melter, flirty, and confident.

He’s bad news, Camila! Keep that in your mind. For sure, he will just break my heart.

I blink in disbelief. “Oh, my god! You’re unbelievable! Please leave me alone while I can still hold my anger against you.”

“What are you gonna do, babe? Hit me? Scream for help? Perform Kung Fu tricks?” he teases, waggling his brows.

I can’t fight with this man. The more I talk, the more he gets on my nerves. I sigh helplessly, slumping my back against my chair. My breathing turns heavy, trying to control the boiling of my blood in my veins.

His eyes pin to my slightly exposed cleavage.

Crap! I should probably change my wardrobe. Like I have money to do so. I should start listening to Kill’s advice.

Perv! I curse under my breath.

“Look, Pyke,” I pause, trying to compose what I am about to say in my foggy brain, “If you think you can take me for a quickie, you’re wrong. I’m not the type of woman that you can shower with your flowery words then will go with you for a drink and will end up at the back seat of your car as we bang each other. I’m more of a relationship type who goes for a long-term, plans for the future, get engaged, builds a white picket fence, and finally starts a family.”

“What about you? I don’t think you’ve ever dated a woman that lasted a week. When a woman gets clingy with just a one-night stand or one-time banging, you will wonder why is it a woman can’t be contented and just enjoy and have fun with just sex without ending a commitment? I understand that.”

He just looks at me, mouth hangs open—not even a single blink.

“Pyke, for a man as a god-looking guy and attractive with a healthy inflatable ego like you, this city has a lot to offer. For you, it’s like going to a shopping mall, carrying a black card who can choose any woman you want. You can even put weekday tags on their neck. But please don’t count me in your shopping list.” I take a deep breath, and it feels strangely good to voice out my anger.

He looks shocked but looks amused at the same time. He then clears his throat. “Well, on behalf of the male population, let me be the first one to apologize for whatever that asshole did to my dear hot vixen.”

My eyes narrow. I just had my long speech, and yet he’s still here and being sarcastic. And flirty. And doesn’t budge.

I take another deep breath to shake off for another speech forming in my head. It doesn’t scare him a bit.

“So, let’s start over?” he suggests. A smile curves up his lips, and it looks genuine this time.

“No,” I say flatly.

His brows furrow, clearly, not used to rejection. “Why? Do you have a boyfriend?” He sounds utterly disappointed.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s a no—a flat-out no.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, are you a gay?” he asks with a more confused look.

“I’m not. It’s just…you’re not my type!”