Keeping Kennedy by Debra Webb Page A

“Ring the bell.”
    “I don’t want to wake them.” Kennedy chewed
her lower lips and considered their predicament for a few moments.
“Let’s go around back.”
    Obsessing on how it would feel if he were the
one nibbling her lips, he followed her through the darkness to the
backyard.
    She climbed the three steps to the back stoop
and checked the door. “Locked, too.” She surveyed the rear of the
house. “That’s the laundry room.” She pointed to a nearby window.
“The lock on that window has been broken for years.” Kennedy
leveled her gaze on his. “If you could hoist me up there” she
gestured to the window “I could climb though and unlock the
door.”
    “No problem.” He assumed a position beneath
the window, braced his feet wide apart and made a stirrup with his
hands. Kennedy placed one foot into his hands and he hoisted her
up. While she struggled with the window, he tried not to notice the
way her hips kept rubbing his jaw. He took long, deep breaths to
slow his reaction to her lithe body. He swallowed a groan when she
turned slightly and her pelvis pressed against his face.
    “Got it,” she whispered just before she slid
out of his hold.
    Drake scrubbed a hand over his face. This was
turning into a harder job than he’d anticipated, emphasis on the
hard part. Allowing the cool night air to do its work, he slowly
climbed the steps as Kennedy opened the back door.
    “Quiet,” she warned in a stage whisper. “My
parents have probably been asleep for hours. You know, early to
bed, early to rise.”
    As silently as possible they made their way
through the dark house, then up the stairs. When they reached the
second story landing, Kennedy hesitated.
    “What’s that sound?” she asked softly.
    “What sound?”
    Then Drake heard it. The unmistakable sound
of creaking bedsprings. The longer he listened the more frantic the
sound became. Soon the springs were accompanied by moans and groans
of a human origin.
    “Oh…my…god…” Kennedy breathed.
    Drake passed a hand over is jaw to stifle a
chuckle. “Sounds like the flower children are pollinating.”
    Kennedy whirled on him. He couldn’t see her
face but he could imagine the fury in those golden eyes. “This is
not funny, Drake!” She huffed. “My parents are…are…”
    “Having sex,” he supplied.
    “Ohmigod.” Kennedy stormed off in the
direction of her bedroom.
    The next sound Drake heard was a crash.
Kennedy had collided with something. Lights came on and her parents
tumbled into the hallway, her mother wearing a carelessly donned
robe, her father in his boxers.
    “Kennedy, is everything all right?” her
father asked breathlessly.
    “No!” Kennedy whirled away from her
scantily-clad folks and busied herself with up righting the table
she’d overturned. “Why were you—why was the door locked?” she
sputtered.
    “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” her mother offered,
shifting her robe into place. “Ever since that time Ricky Johnson
accidentally walked in on us, we’ve started locking the door when
we have sex.”
    Her profile visible to him, Drake saw
Kennedy’s mouth drop open. He strode quickly to her side. “Sorry
to…interrupt you.” He smiled and ushered Kennedy toward her room.
“We’ll just—”
    Kennedy suddenly balked, then turned back to
her parents. “Why would the lawn boy come up the stairs?” she
demanded, her mother’s words sinking in. “Don’t you still leave his
money on the kitchen table?”
    “Well, sweetpea, we weren’t upstairs,” her
father explained. “We were in the kitchen on the table.”
    Kennedy’s mouth sagged open again.
    “G’night, folks,” Drake said, dragging a
stunned Kennedy farther down the hall. “We have a big day ahead of
us, so we’d better call it a night.”
    Brenda and Chuck called their goodnights as
Drake forced their daughter into her bedroom. She turned on him
then, her eyes wide with indignation.
    “The kitchen table?” she shrieked.
    “Don’t