Page 33 of One Little Kiss

“Why the hell are you throwing shit at me, Pres?”

He yells again, but it sounds like we’re underwater, so I don’t answer him. Before I know what’s happening, he rips the covers from my body. Cool air glides over my skin, and I shiver. My dick takes notice, and I realize I must be nude.

Well, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. That’ll teach him to bust into my house at this ungodly hour.

Halton sits on the edge of my bed. I hadn’t even realized he was here. Someone definitely pissed in their Cheerios, though, because as he hands me a cup of coffee, anger radiates off him like an atomic bomb ready to go off.

“Get the fuck up, Colton.” Preston’s words are finally taking shape.

“What’s your problem? Why are you breaking and entering this morning?”

“You don’t remember? Jesus, Colton. Our family doesn’t need press like this. We work our asses off to stay out of the tabloids, and you ruin that in one fucking night you can’t remember?”

My head throbs as I scoot up in bed. Preston tosses a pair of shorts at me, so I lay them over my cock. Trying to get them over my legs right now is too much work.

“What are you talking about?”

Preston jabs an angry finger into the iPad, and the screen comes to life.

“How could you do this to us, Colton? I knew you could be selfish, but I never imagined you’d be destructive, too. After this little stunt, any chance we had at splitting The Westbrook Group into separate entities is gone. There’s no way our board will vote in favor of us diversifying. You’ve essentially fucked every one of your brothers over. I hope a little pussy was worth it, you asshole.”

“Do you have any idea what this is going to do to Mom?” Halt asks quietly.

Right on cue, “Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne, blares in the background. It’s the ringtone I set for Sylvie Westbrook. She has always complained about how inappropriate it is. It drives her nuts, so obviously, I kept it.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I try to yell after the song fades, but my throat feels like the Sahara, and it comes out gravely and weaker than I intend.

Preston practically throws the iPad in my face.

“Preston, calm down. Beating the shit out of him won’t help matters.”

I stare between Halton and Pres. Whatever they think I’ve done must be big. Preston has never once threatened me.

Peering down at the tablet, I see TMZ is open, and my naked ass sits slumped over in between two girls I’ve never seen before in my life.

“This isn’t real. I’ve never seen these girls before.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did we just escort them out of your condo with threats of a lawsuit?” Preston snarls.

My head snaps to his. “No way. I didn’t even … I didn’t even drink last night.”

Preston gives an undignified huff, and Halton shakes his head.

“You party every night, Colton. You have no responsibility to anyone.”

I know that’s how it appears, but I rarely drink, and last night, I ordered a fucking root beer.

“This is bullshit, Pres. You can check my tab from The Loft; that’s where I was last night. I was drinking fucking root beer, watching the Braves game.”

“And you woke up hungover, naked, with two girls rifling through your kitchen.” Preston sneers.

“I’m not hungover, you dipshit. I. Didn’t. Fucking. Drink.”

Memories of last night try to pierce my consciousness, but everything’s fuzzy. “Was one of the girls a redhead?”

“So, you do remember?”

“No … I mean, sort of? She sat down and asked me to buy her a drink.” Scratching my head, I try to remember if I actually did. “I think I bought her one, but told her I wasn’t looking for company. I just wanted to catch the end of the game.”