A Kiss Like This (15 page)

Not now, not ever.

Angelica’s full bottom lip juts out in a pout. “That’s not fair. Everyone else is playing by the rules.”

“I don’t give a shit what everyone else is doing.”

“You don’t have to be rude, you jerk. I’m not repulsive.”

Yeah, you kind of are
. “Whatever, Angelica. If you really liked Miles, you wouldn’t be begging me to make out with you.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please. We all know that Miles is just using me for sex. Do you think I’m blind and stupid? He doesn’t give a shit about me.”

Alright, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel just a little bit sorry for her right now. Just a little.

Miles clears his throat and puts his arms around her shoulder. “Ha ha
,
good one, Angelica. If you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s working.” His pseudo-girlfriend is glaring daggers at me. “Give me a kiss or take the shot.” He leans over and whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes get wide, then a little teary.

“I’ll… take the shot,” Angelica finally agrees reluctantly, stiffening her spine and haltingly reaching for the glass. She tosses it back like a pro.

Shelby clears her throat. “Erm… I think this would
probably
be the perfect time to stop the game and switch gears, yeah?” Her question comes out somewhat apologetically. “Let’s get the bonfire going.”

~ Abby ~

The flames crackle loudly in the middle of the official stone bonfire circle, and we’re all gathered around the remarkable fire blazing in between our cabins, Bear Claw and Wolf Lair.

Let me just say that one more time: Bear Claw. Wolf Lair. How cool are those names?

Admittedly, it took a while to get the fire started. Stephan and Miles couldn’t get it lit but refused to give up. Finally, a sighing, irritated Chelsea pushed them both aside, restacked the logs into a small teepee/pyramid shape, shoved a bunch of newspaper inside the pyramid, and started what looks like a crackling, holy blaze.

Afterwards, standing back, hands on her hips to survey her work, Chelsea declares with a satisfied nod, “There are two things my dad always said I’d always need to utilize: how to start a fire, and the many uses for duct tape.”

Her fire-starting technique
was
quite impressive, and while Chelsea dusts her soot-covered hands off on her jeans, I can’t help but wonder what those many uses for duct tape actually are.

The night is quiet; our cabins sit at the very far edge of the vast resort property, the location surprisingly remote for a commercialized tourist destination.

Around the bonfire are red Adirondack chairs, logs styled as benches, and lots of warm, wool blankets provided by the resort. Just on the outskirts of the circle sits a large cooler filled with ice, beer, and a few bottles of cheap wine that are beginning to chill.

I admit I was much too shy to sit near Caleb, so I spent most of the evening surreptitiously sneaking peeks at him from across the fire, the high blaze occasionally obstructing my view, and, well… making my retinas burn.

I mean, I love a good bonfire, but I can’t stand the smoke.

Just keeping it real.

We sit outside for a few hours in the dark. At some point, couples start returning to the cabins, one by one, when Chelsea’s monster fire eventually whittles itself down to a smoky, crackling pile of embers.

Belatedly, I notice that Jenna has disappeared.

“I guess I’ll go jump in the shower,” I say to Cubby, Angelica, and Caleb, the only people remaining around the dwindling flames. I throw one last look over my shoulder as I walk up porch steps, catching Caleb’s dark and penetrating gaze watching me retreat.

Once inside, I make slow work of the shower, unhurriedly standing under the warm spray of water, massaging the smoke out of my scalp with Jenna’s delicious-smelling shampoo and conditioner. Because I don’t think she’d mind, I also lather myself up with her organic seaweed scrub and shave my legs with her razor before deciding a steaming hot fifteen-minute shower is long enough. It’s been heavenly, considering we have
one
water heater at our ransack rental, and our shower runtime before the water gets cold tops out at three minutes.

I step out, toweling off with a white, fluffy terrycloth towel, slather my body with lemon body cream, and blow dry my long hair so my bedhead in the morning will only be slightly
less
tragic, not outright horrific.

Still wrapped in the towel, I paddle my bare feet to the bedroom but find it locked.

I rattle the doorknob and press my ear to the door, listening intently.

Nothing.

Knocking firmly, I hold my towel closed in one hand and clutch my dirty, smoke-filled jeans and sweatshirt in the other.

“Jenna,” I hiss, knocking again. “Open. Up.”

Still nothing.

“I don’t think she’s coming out,” a deep voice intones behind me.

I whip around, and Caleb stands before me, freshly showered and holding a small stack of neatly folded (I squint to get a better look)… white pajamas.

My
white pajamas.

Seriously, what is he doing with my pajamas?

Oh my god,
shut up, Abigail. Stop saying pajamas.

“She’s in there with Cubby,” he states matter-of-factly, tipping his head toward my closed cabin door. “Pretty sure they’re not coming out anytime soon. These were on the couch.”

“I don’t… get it.”

But I do.

Jenna and Cubby
had
to have done this on purpose to force Caleb and me together. They’re probably in that room laughing their asses off, quietly muffling their laughter with
my
freaking pillow.

I’m going to
murder
her in her sleep.

Freaking. Murder her
.

“It’s late. Why don’t you, uh, take these into my room and get dressed,” Caleb says. “Here. Give me those bonfire clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash while you change.”

I hand him my stinky pile of clothes, shivering when our hands brush while making the exchange, and steal away to his bedroom.

I see that Jenna has charitably left me the lacy white sleep shorts, sheer white tank top, and a white thong.

Great.

Since I usually wear Granny panties—
no judging, this is a safe place
—and don’t want anything riding up my butt, I skip the thong altogether and throw on just the shorts and tank top. I couldn’t feel any more naked if I were actually, well… naked.

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I groan at the time: midnight. I’m tired but have no desire to sleep out on the couch—not after the way I woke up this morning, with Cubby and freaking Stephan Randolph watching me get felt up. Watching
us
.

When I finally get the courage to pull the bedroom door open, Caleb is leaning against the arm of the couch, arms crossed and waiting patiently. He takes me in from head to toe, eyebrows shooting up into his black hairline at the sight of me, his eyes abruptly finding the moose head above the fireplace the most interesting thing in the room.

“You can take the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he mutters, still not looking directly at me.

I peer down at my chest and gasp.

My dusky nipples are visible through the sheer white fabric, leaving very little to the imagination without a bra on, and I let out a squeak of dismay.

Shit, shit,
shit
. If ever there were a curse-worthy moment, it would be this one.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I force out a nonchalant, “Nonsense.” Ugh.
Nonsense? Nice one, Abby. Way to sound like Grandma Hazel, who said crap like that back in 1932
. “That wouldn’t be fair. I’m the one who got booted out of my room.
I’ll
take the couch,” I prattle on nervously.

“As a gentleman,” I can see him inwardly groan at his own choice of words, “I
can’t
let you sleep on the couch.”

“But it’s your bedroom.”

“You shouldn’t have to wake up tomorrow morning with Blaze, Miles and Stephan fuc—I mean, undressing you with their eyes.”

“Really, Caleb, it’s fine. I insist.” His eyes are still focused on that moose above the fireplace as I object. Yet again.

“No, really, it’s not a big—”

“
For. Fuck’s. Sake.”
An angry voice shouts from one of the two occupied bedrooms. “
Stop arguing outside our door and share the goddamn bedroom
!”

I’m not sure who the voice actually belongs to, but talk about
rude
. And pardon my French, but there is no bleeping way I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.

Not. A. Chance…

***

Abby:
Help
.
I’m in way over my head
.

Cecelia:
Want my advice? Just go with it
.

Abby:
You always say that!

Cecelia:
That’s because I had to learn the hard way to let myself take risks. So, try having fun and stop thinking so much

Abby:
Easy for YOU to say
…

Cecelia:
Quit whining. AND PUT THE PHONE AWAY!

CHAPTER 17

Caleb

If I said I’ve never spent the night with a girl in my bed, never had a one-night stand, never gotten sucked or fucked at a party, I would be lying.

I might be anti-social, but as a young guy clearly in his prime, raging hormones have unquestionably lorded over my dick. I’ve callously used girls in the past to get myself off. Granted, I could count on two hands how many times it’s happened, but when it did, it was all take and little give.

Contrary to popular opinion, I am no virgin.

That doesn’t make this moment with Abby any less nerve-wracking. Probably because she’s not a slut with an agenda.

I hesitate when she enters the room, pausing to watch as she marches briskly to the far side of the bed, staring down at it, reluctance written across her creased brow. She falters for a few moments before pulling the forest-green sheet back and slipping in quickly, probably because she knows I can see her tits through her top and wants to hide them under the blankets.

I slide the door shut behind us and automatically slide the deadbolt through the lock.

“Thanks again for letting me crash here,” Abby says, and I turn to face her, drinking in the sight of her. Propped up on the mountain of elk-printed pillow cases, her crisp white tank and innocent girl-next-door vibe are as exhilarating as every opposing goal I’ve ever blocked on the ice. Probably more so.

Abby’s silky hair falls in a loose cascade over her shoulders, her posture in bed causing the neckline of her shirt to dip low—really, really low—exposing the swell of her breasts.

She doesn’t notice, but I sure as shit do.

I feel like such a creep for staring, but honestly, seeing her in that big bed is
seriously
fucking with my head. How the hell am I supposed to casually climb in beside her and act like this is no big deal when my dick is getting hard from just watching her climb in?

Timidly, she plays with the corner of the comforter and avoids my gaping stare. “You were right. I didn’t really want to wake up with guys gawking at me in the living room. It was weird enough this morning.”

Noted: gawking is disturbing.

I avert my eyes.

“Yeah, sorry about that. That was kind of my fault. But trust me, this
—”
I gesture around the room
“
—this isn’t a hardship.” I blurt it out before my brain can stop my mouth, and bite down on my lower lip. “I mean. No one will disturb you in here.”

Abby chokes out an embarrassed cough and white-knuckles the blanket. “So, what’s it like living with Cubby?” she asks, twisting the forest-green sheet in her hands.

“It’s a nightmare,” I respond wryly, and reach down to pull the blue cotton tee shirt over my head. I hesitate, pausing with the shirt clenched in my fists and wonder if she minds—or would be uncomfortable—with me removing it.

Aww, fuck it.

The shirt comes off, and I toss it haphazardly into the corner of the room with my other strewn clothes, noting that Abby’s eyes go wide and she sinks deeper into the pillows, staring at the ceiling intently.

God, we’re awkward.

“That kid is a pain in the ass,” I continue, sitting on the edge of the bed and removing my athletic socks. I flex the cords in my back, stretching as I lean over and flick my socks off. Straightening, I twist my torso to face her. “As you can see, he’s a slob.”

I motion with my arms toward the many jeans, boxer shorts, socks, and shirts strewn about the room, and not even in neat piles. There are enough clothes to last an entire week, let alone a thirty-six hour getaway.

In short: his shit is everywhere
.

“At least you didn’t have to sleep with him.”

“That’s true. Can you imagine? He’d probably try to spoon me, and the last thing I’d want is his coc—uh… him pressed into my back. Too bad he leaves his shit everywhere. Does it at home, too.”

Abby giggles softly, her eyes sparkling in the dim lamplight. “You know, I’ve been wondering something. Why do you guys call him Cubby?”

I shrug. “It’s short for Chester. Chester Billing the fourth. He’s a blueblood from Massachusetts. Been Cubby forever, I think.”

She chokes back a laugh. Literally chokes. “Yikes. They’re both horrible, but I guess one beats the other…” Her voice trails off, and she swallows whatever she’s about to say. I stand, readjust myself in my mesh gym shorts and trudge—bare-chested—to the opposite side of the bed.

With a little too much force, I yank back the bed covers too far, exposing Abby’s smooth legs to the cold room and causing her to gasp. “Shit, sorry.”

I yank the sheets up again toward the headboard. So far I just remade the bed. I sigh in frustration before giving it another shot.

“All that flapping around is making me cold,” Abby teases with a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Just get in already.”

I relax and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m an idiot.”

~ Abby ~

I watch as Caleb slides his big solid body in bed next to mine, and marvel at the size of him. He’s impressive with clothes on—without them, words can’t describe how beautiful his athlete’s body is.

The mattress dips when he settles in, arms going behind his head to busy himself by fluffing the pillows to the shape of his head. With his arms raised, my enthusiastic eyes have a chance to drink in the length of his naked upper body uninterrupted: the biceps, the ribcage, the perfectly sculpted… pec muscles. Dear Lord, even his armpit hair is kind of turning me on right now.