I consider what to say for a moment and then shrug.
Me: I don't know you well enough to know if you're likable or not. But you strike me as the kind of guy who makes a habit out of shit like this, and that's not something I'm interested in. You're wastingyour time and mine playing a game you won't win, just because I'm not interested in sleeping with you.
He doesn't respond immediately, and part of me regrets being so honest with him. I don't make a habit of hurting feelings or being mean. It's just not something I like to do, and it bothers me to think that I might have hurt his.
I set my phone aside and pluck a tune on the piano. It sounds morose and kind of sad, though.
My phone dings, startling me.
I snatch it up so fast, it makes me dizzy.
Kingston: A few things, princess. First, I'm not that kind of guy. I don't even talk to women, let alone make an ass of myself in public just to get their attention. I don't slide into their DMs to leave fan mail just to fuck, either. If you don't believe me, ask around. Second, I told you what I wanted when we met. I meant it. I'm not playing to score. I'm playing to win. Third, getting five minutes of your time will NEVER be a waste of mine. Once my ring is on your finger, every second of it will belong to you. Use it however you want.
"Oh my gosh," I whisper, my hands shaking around my phone. Either he's lost his mind, or I have, because I actually think he might be serious.
And I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that. None at all.
I'm not entirely surprisedwhen I open my eyes in the morning to a new message from Kingston. I'm also not entirely surprised by how quickly I tap the notification to see what it says.
Kingston: I dreamed about you last night, princess. I made you smile so big, I felt like a king. Waking up in my own bed to realize it wasn't reality was depressing as hell. Did you dream about me?
"Yes," I groan, admitting the truth to the ceiling since I'll never tell it to him. I dreamed about him all damn night.
Me: You realize it's six in the morning, right?
I don't even make it to the bathroom before he responds.
Kingston: I've been up since four, baby. Did you sleep well? I bet you looked fucking adorable, snuggled up with your pillow, moaning my name.
I groan, setting my phone down to splash water on my face. He really is shameless. He's also probably not wrong about me moaning his name in my sleep. I will not be telling him that, though. He doesn't need any encouragement.
Me: Why are you up so early? Aren't athletes supposed to party all night?
Kingston: Yeah, no. I tried that shit one time in college. Zero stars, do not recommend.
Me: Couldn't hang, huh?
Kingston: With a bunch of frat boys who do that shit professionally? Fuck no. I thought I was going to die.
I laugh out loud, trying to imagine him at a frat party. Honestly, I can't. He doesn't really seem like the type. I don't know much about sports, but I know enough to know the athletes who make it to the professional level are beasts. They train harder than anyone on the freaking planet, eat a lot of boring food, and exercise enough to make my soul shrivel.
I could never.
Kingston: What are you doing up so early?
Me: It's not early in Nashville.
Kingston: You're back in Nashville?
Me: No, but I've only lived in LA for two months. My body is still on Nashville time.
Kingston: Do you like it here?
I set the phone down to get dressed, mulling my answer.
Me: I thought it'd be different, but it's really not. Everything is pretty much the same as it was back home. There is just a lot more traffic.
Kingston: That's because you're from Nashville. Try coming from a small farming town in Minnesota. LA is a whole different world.