Kendall's story. Description to come.
Tropes: strangers to friends to lovers, new adult, good girl/bad boy, ballerina, street racer, Formula One, diabetes awareness, she saves him
The intensities vary. We can be content, or ecstatic. Irritated, or irate. Sad, or depressed. Feelings have an unnerving influence on our bodies. They can make us laugh, or cry. They can make us hot, sick, violent, aroused, or weak. We can experience a single emotion, or a myriad of them. They compete with one another, weaving their way through our brains, fighting for space amongst our thoughts.
I'm livid that my brother didn't warn me he planned to serve drinks spiked with MDMA. I know Kendall. Her father was an addict, so she's careful with substances. She'd never willingly take the drug. It had to have been an accident.
On the other hand, it appears to be a happy mistake. Kendall is making the most of her high. Rather than fighting its effects, she's given in. She's riding the tidal wave of serotonin, letting it drench her nervous system. I feel her serenity, her joy, as if it's a warm blanket laid upon my chest.
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I'm jealous her time is being occupied on the dance floor. I envy the blonde woman, who has been by her side for the past two hours, though I've enjoyed watching the show. I don't plan on letting Kendall out of my sight for the rest of the night—not with the vultures circling, searching for a warm, wet hole to bury themselves in.
That's the reason Dominique is so frugal with his drugs. He brought them from France to ensure quality, and he's giving them out to ensure the women are loose. Men can partake, of course, but the targets are female. Kendall will not be a target, nor will I be taking advantage of the situation. However, I will be taking care of her.
So, here I sit—watching, monitoring, assessing—in my corner of the room, darkening the sofa with my tempest of emotions. Partygoers take one look at me—the silver hair, tattoos, jewelry, and hawklike scowl—and give the couch a wide berth. They flit at the edges of my periphery, but I pay them no mind. I'm absolutely mesmerized by the doll on the dancefloor, twirling and laughing and grinding to the music.
I turn my head, keeping Kendall in sight as her new friend tugs her from the center of the room. Once they're near the glass wall, Kendall takes control. She pins the blonde against the glass, and their mouths clash together. The kiss is slow, but passionate. The neon lights bounce off their intertwining flesh, revealing naughty tongues and greedy hands.
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