17 First Kisses (24 page)

He leans over to open the car door from the inside. “Hey.”

I jump in beside him and clap my mittened hands together. “Hey! Where are we going? I'm dying to know.”

Luke grins. “Snow Mountain at Stone Mountain. We'll be two hours away from anyone we know.”

“Sweet.”

Luke passes me a pair of ski pants. “That's why I told you to wear the leggings,” he says. “I figured you could slip these on
over them. They're my mom's, so they might be a little short, but I think they'll work.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure they'll be fine,” I say, as Luke puts the car in reverse and heads toward Stone Mountain.

Stone Mountain is this mountain and park on the other side of Atlanta. Every winter the park uses snow machines to make
Snow
Mountain so Georgia residents can see, tube on, and play in actual snow. Well, manufactured snow. Which I am totally willing to settle for considering we haven't had so much as a flurry this winter.

When we get there, it's amazing—our very own artificial winter wonderland. Twelve snow-packed tubing lanes slope down a hill in front of an enormous rock face carved with Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis. The rest of the world is green, so crossing the snowy perimeter is like stepping into a snow globe. The sudden temperature drop makes me shiver. Luke and I take off like excited little kids, throwing snowballs at each other and making snow angels. Before long, I'm having so much fun I forget to feel guilty.

The line for tubing stretches all the way down the hill, but the wait passes quickly because I'm with Luke. We watch as people whiz by on inner tubes. As we near the top, a couple of excited little kids cut in front of us.

Luke clears his throat. “Hey, guys, we were here first.”

The kids' dad grabs them by their jackets and pulls them back. “Sorry,” he says, smiling.

“It's okay.” I smile back at the kids.

“We wanna sled first,” the youngest kid whines.

Luke narrows his eyes. “Well, we've been waiting for twenty minutes, so no, you can't.”

“C'mon, it's fine,” I say, pulling Luke toward the front of the tubing lane. He's usually more chill, but I know waiting in line can make people cranky. “Let's go tube. Bet I can beat you.”

He stops frowning. “Yeah, we should race.”

We tube down the hill again and again. Then, with wobbly legs and pink cheeks, we go to SnoFire Point and drink hot chocolate by the bonfire. I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of dry leaves and burning pine.

Luke touches my arm. “I have something for you.”

“Really? But I didn't get you anything.”

“It's okay,” he says quickly. “It isn't a Christmas present. It's more like a . . . well, you'll see.”

He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a piece of thick cream-colored paper, folded up accordion-style. I can't believe he's had it tucked in his jacket all day. I unfold the flaps, puzzled, but when I realize what it is, I gasp.

“It's a map.” Not just any map. A map of Europe. With a route drawn in black Sharpie and pictures cut from magazines. People dancing.
Macarons.
He didn't forget.

“It's our trip,” he says. “I hope it's not weird.”

“No, it's wonderful. I love it.” I don't think anyone's ever given me something so thoughtful and romantic.

“Cool.” Luke seems suddenly shy and embarrassed. “Hey, do you want to roast marshmallows?”

“Sure. And just so you know,” I say, as we wait in line to purchase a s'mores kit, “I am a champion marshmallow roaster.”

I skewer a couple marshmallows and hold them over the fire, turning the stake slowly until they're golden brown on all sides. Perfect. Just like today.

Perfect enough to backstab your best friend over?
a tiny voice inside me asks.

I shake that thought away. I saw him first. We were supposed to be together all along. I slide the marshmallows onto chocolaty graham-cracker sandwiches and feed one to Luke.

“Mmm. These are awesome,” he says.

“It's the least I could do. This was a pretty perfect date.”

He smiles. “You think?”

“Almost.”

I'm thinking the only thing that could make it more perfect would be us kissing right now, and I think he knows it. We're standing on top of a mountain with our heads tilted toward each other. A light snow falls on us. It's fake, of course, but still totally romantic. The bonfire crackles and shoots out sparks that reflect in our eyes. Everything around us is begging for him to kiss me. I half expect to hear Sebastian from
The Little Mermaid
singing “Kiss the Girl.”

And finally, Luke does.

When his mouth touches mine, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold migrates down my back. He has the most deliciously full lips, which I want to kiss again and again and again. He tastes like marshmallow, or maybe we both do. I squeeze
him closer, the layers of our down jackets squishing between us. The kiss is as blissfully right as everything else today.

“Now it's perfect,” I say.

In fact, it's so perfect and so charged with emotion it scares me. I can't not have more. I can't give him up.

“Then what's wrong?”

“You and Megan just broke up. We can't do this.”

“So you don't want to see each other?”

That is so not an option anymore after today. “No, I do. But what are we going to do? I mean, it hasn't even been two weeks yet. There's going to be so much drama.”

“Let's just keep doing what we're doing right now.”

When he squeezes my hands and smiles at me like that, I feel like anything is possible.

“What's that?”

“Dating.” He kisses me again. “Kissing. And not letting anyone else mess things up for us.”

“So we just won't tell anyone?” The idea of walking up to Megan and explaining I'm dating her ex-boyfriend makes me sick to my stomach.

“Not until you feel like things have blown over enough with Megan.”

“But.” I bite my lip. “Don't you think she'll be able to tell?”

He laughs. “Claire, I don't know if you've noticed, but Megan's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.”

She's not dumb, and I actually hate when people say things like that, but I let it slide because I'm relieved he doesn't seem
to be harboring any feelings for her.

Luke pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear. “Look. No one is going to find out. We can keep it a secret for as long as you want.”

I'm a barrel of emotions at Buck's New Year's Eve party later that week. I'm hanging out with the girls, and Luke is nowhere in sight, but I cannot. Stop. Thinking. About. Him. Half of my thoughts are a Luke-Claire highlight reel—that afternoon in the park, our date at Snow Mountain, our texts from the past few days—all playing over and over and over in my head. The other half are devoted to arguing with myself about whether or not us secretly dating is a bad idea.

“B is the only one who has someone to kiss at midnight. How crazy is that?” says Megan.

“It sucks,” I reply. I have someone to kiss, but even if he shows, there's no way I get to kiss him.

“Yeah,” Amberly chimes in. She seems much more interested in texting.

“Having someone to kiss makes New Year's Eve so much fun.” B gazes sappily at Buck, who is reenacting a football play using a taxidermied squirrel.

Could she at least
try
to keep the mushiness to a minimum? Her friend is in post-breakup recovery. Then I think about kissing Luke four days ago and know I'm a much crappier friend.

“Whatever. I'm glad I'm not with Luke anymore,” says Megan.

I feel a little better.

“He always made me feel like I wasn't good enough. Or like he wanted something else and I couldn't give it to him.”

I feel a whole lot worse.

She shakes her head and plasters on a bright smile. “Enough about Luke. I only have three and a half months to find another prom date!”

“Ugh. Do we really have to start thinking about prom dates already?” I hope Luke and I will be “out” by then. If we're still together.

“Well, Buck and I will be going together. I can't wait for us all to go dress shopping.”

Amberly doesn't say anything, even though I know she needs a date too. She's hunched over her phone again, trying to hide her smile. I lean back so I can see what she's texting.

I miss you too. Maybe I can come over tonight and show you how much.

“Oh my gosh. Are you sexting?” I read the name on her screen.
Mike
. “With Coach Davis?!”

“You're sexting a teacher?” Megan squeals, her expression horrified and excited.

“How did that even happen?” asks Britney.

“Well, I was taking care of his dog over Thanksgiving . . . ,” says Amberly.

“Yeah, but he wasn't even there,” I say.

“I know, but when he got back, I went over there so he could pay me. And he was watching a football game, so I
watched the rest of it with him. And”—she blushes—“now we're kind of together.”

“Wow.”

“No way.”

“OMFG.”

“I can't believe you tapped Coach Davis,” says Britney.

“Actually, we're waiting.”

“Wait. Really?” I say.

Amberly rolls her eyes. “Yes. Really. I mean, we've done other stuff, but we're not having sex.”

“Like, until you're married?” asks Megan.

“Hello, this is me we're talking about. We're just waiting until I graduate. But I think it'll make it special. Oh, and um, y'all can't tell anyone, because he could lose his job.”

“Yeah,” says Megan. “‘Cause dating students is super creepy.”

“He's only five years older, and he takes such good care of me. And we're so in love, you guys. We just have to keep it a secret until I graduate.”

I've been learning all about the hardships of secret forbidden love. So even though the idea of her showing Coach Davis how much she misses him is gross beyond belief, I say, “If you're really in love, I hope it works out.”

Amberly smiles. “Thanks.”

Megan makes a face like she got kicked in the gut.

“What is it?” I follow her gaze to the kitchen, where Luke is removing his coat and slinging it over the back of a chair. “Oh.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to leave?” asks Amberly.

“We don't have to stay,” I add, partially for Megan's sake and partially because I'm uncomfortable. If my eyes happen to meet Luke's, the whole room will be able to see everything we did in that one look, I just know it.

Megan squares her shoulders. “We'll stay. I want him to see me having a fantastic time.”

And we do have a fantastic time. We dance, we gossip, and a part of me almost forgets about Luke—until I get a text at 11:58.

Meet me in the upstairs bathroom after the countdown.

I delete the text, stat, and shove my phone back in my pocket. I know my face is turning red. I don't dare look at Luke, but I can feel his eyes on me. The butterflies in my stomach get bigger and bigger as the clock ticks down on the TV. A clip of the ball dropping in Times Square plays beside a clip of the peach dropping in downtown Atlanta.

Three.

Two.

One.

I jump up and down and squeal and hug Megan and Amberly. Britney and Buck engage in an incredibly sloppy French kiss. Someone throws confetti. Luke slinks upstairs, sending me into a flurry of anticipation and nervousness. I count to sixty.

“I have to pee!” I yell over the noise. Thank goodness no one tries to make it a group bathroom outing.

Sneaking upstairs to meet Luke makes me feel like a spy. A sexy and dangerous bad girl on a mission to have a secret make-out session with my secret boyfriend. I glance around as I touch my hand to the doorknob, the hairs on my arms standing on end, but the hallway is empty.

“Hey,” Luke says when I open the door. “I was starting to get nervous.”

“I had to wait a minute so no one would suspect.”

I click the lock button on the door, and even as I'm pushing it closed, he jerks me toward him by the waist. Our first kiss was tender and sweet. Our second is hot-steamy-passionate. His body pins me against the bathroom counter as his lips close over mine. I never realized kissing was a skill, but the things he can do with his tongue could make you forget your own name. He picks me up by my thighs and sets me on the counter without breaking the kiss, and I reel him toward me with my legs and link my ankles behind his back.

He pulls his mouth away, sucking at my bottom lip. Then he nibbles at my earlobe and along my neck, sending a cascade of shock waves down my spine. He yanks my shirt to the side so he can get at my collarbone. A box of tissues is poking me in the ribs, and I so don't care. I rake my hands through his hair. I can't get enough of him. I pull his face even with mine so I can kiss him again. There are entirely too many layers of clothing between us.

Just as my fingers find the hem of his shirt, the door creaks open. I panic. I swear I locked it. I pull my lips away from Luke's
just in time, because Amanda walks in, dragging Sam by the hand. But I'm still sitting on the counter in front of him. And my legs are still wrapped around his waist. Crap. I unwind them while Amanda glares at me, and Sam gawks.

“This isn't what it looks like,” I say.

Amanda puts her hands on her hips. “It looks like you're a skanky bitch.”

“Amanda—”

“I'm telling Megan. She needs to know some of her friends are still loyal.”

Since when are they friends? She flounces away with Sam following. For a second, Luke and I stare at each other, our eyes wide with fear. Then we race after her. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, Amanda is already siphoning her poison into Megan. Megan's head jerks in my direction like she can sense me or something. She studies me. And then Luke behind me. Our flushed faces and messed-up hair seem to confirm everything Amanda is telling her.