A Kiss Like This (8 page)

It could have been considered sexy-demure had it not been covered in wet spots. Now it’s downright ‘wet tee shirt contest.’

Thank God for padded bras.

Molly looks down at the front of my borrowed shirt—the one now plastered to my chest—and raises her eyebrows. “You’re not going to want to hear this, but that’s actually a really good look for you.”

Jenna leans over and inspects the damage. “I’d say it’s an improvement.”

“Shut Up and Dance” by Walk the Moon comes blasting out loudly over the speakers, and Jenna bounces on her heels, shaking her wild hair as she shouts, “I freaking love this song!” and sings along. “
I said you’re holding back, she said shut up and dance with me!
”

My roommate tries grabbing my wrist, tries to get me to dance, but I’m wet and not in the mood, considering we’ve only been here for, what? Half an hour? Playfully slapping Jenna’s hands off my arm, I quickly gulp down what’s left of the warm beer in my plastic red cup, sputtering a little from the putrid taste of it.

Ugh, so gross. I hate beer.

So why am I drinking it?

Easy. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m drinking because we’re
here
. In Caleb’s house.

The moment I realized where we were headed tonight, I stood transfixed in the yard of the Omega house. While Molly, Jenna, and a few of our other friends busted through its door, I stayed there, debating. I so badly did not want to come. Even on a Friday night, I would have preferred to stay home and bury my head in a textbook rather than come here. Or finish season two of
Game of Thrones.

Because I’m petrified.

It took every ounce of courage I had to put one high-heeled foot in front of the other, climb the stairs to the Omega house, and push through the heavy front door.

Every. Single. Ounce. Of. Courage.

I didn’t see him at first.

For the first half hour, he was completely missing in action. Then, I watched as Jenna whispered to Molly, who leaned over and whispered to her boyfriend Weston, who then walked off and disappeared into some back room. Suddenly, I became overly conscious of everyone whispering to everyone but me.

Conscious of the fact that I’m a little too sober.

Conscious of the fact that Caleb was somewhere in this house.

I take a deep breath and run a finger through my long hair, giving it a gentle toss so it rests over my left shoulder, then give the front of my pale blue shirt a tug. A lot tighter than I would normally wear, it was sticking to my chest before we even got here. Now that it’s covered in beer, it’s like a second skin. Adding to the fact, like a fool, I let Jenna talk me into a padded push-up bra—well, I look like the kind of girl who does the walk of shame on regular basis. Or stars in one of those
Girls Who Show Their Boobs on Spring Break
videos.

Groaning, I look back up and find Molly watching me with a smirk on her face. “Need another drink?” she asks smugly, extending another cup toward me. “Here, take this. Weston went to get me another one.”

I eye her above the brim of the cup and take a sip.

“I would take a bigger drink if I were you,” she says, eyeing the door behind me and leaning forward. “Weston told me about your little run-in with Caleb Lockhart.”

“What? How. I don’t get it…”

She waves her hand around aimlessly. “Blaze told him and he told me. Better watch out, he gossips like a flipping girl.”

“Who? Blaze or Weston?” I ask dryly, unamused.

“Both.” Molly laughs and reaches over to tip the cup toward my mouth, silently urging me to take another drink. “I don’t want to pry or anything, but…”

“But you’re going to anyway?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone else what Weston told me, so Jenna is still clueless enough to leave you alone. Besides the mini makeover. Better steer clear though, because once she hears you were on your hands and knees in his yard—” Molly shrugs causally and sighs “—you’re screwed.”

“Well, then I’m so excited to be standing here in this damp shirt with half the room knowing my business. I look like I’m about to enter a wet tee shirt contest, for crying out loud.”

Molly looks me up and down, then smiles wickedly. “You want my opinion?”

“No.”

“That damp shirt looks hot. I’m sorry, but he’s gonna lay those big angry eyes on you and not know where to look. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.” She giggles. “He’s so awkward.”

“Shut up, Molly,” I whine, taking yet another sip of beer. At this rate, I need all the courage—liquid or not—that I can get.

“Whoa, Nelly, bring it down a notch,” Molly lectures. “Pace yourself.” She looks up and across the room, her eyes going wide. “On second thought, drink up.”

My thoughts exactly.

CHAPTER 9

Caleb

“Pace yourself, bro, or we’re going to be dragging your Yeti-sized ass up the stairs before bar time,” Stephan Randolph, one of my teammates, complains, giving me a disgruntled sidelong glance. “What’s your problem tonight, anyway?

“There’s a girl here he’s trying to avoid,” Blaze responds helpfully into his vodka glass, nudging me with his elbow. He lifts his free hand and points across the room. “See? She’s in the tight blue shirt.”

I slap his hand and scowl. “Put your fucking hand down.”

Stephan raises one drunken eyebrow and squints over in Abby’s direction. “Whoa, she’s pretty damn cute. What’s her name?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Huh. That’s a weird name. Terrible, in fact.” Stephan sways slightly, slapping me on the back and laughing directly into my ear. “I take it you haven’t introduced her to Showtime
Junior
yet?”

Flexing my free hand, I stuff it in the pocket of my jeans so I don’t accidentally put my fist through the shitdick’s face.

Blaze notices and steps in. “Whoa, Steve-O, watch it. Showtime here isn’t amused.”

I glance over to where Abby stands surrounded by her friends, so pretty and seemingly unfazed by all the bullshit surrounding her. See, here’s the thing: sometimes being in the spotlight—even on a smaller scale, like on a college campus—is exhausting. Guys pretend to be our friends. Some want to drink with us on those rare occasions we throw a rager. Strangers invite us to their parties, begging us to come to increase their social status. Girls stalk us in various ways, vying for our attention, just to say they dated us. Or flirted with us. Or screwed us. Or blew us.

Take your damn pick.

I glance around the room and notice my teammates getting pawed, hung on, petted, and groped.

Granted, not many guys in their twenties actually
mind
getting their cocks grabbed, but… still.

Lay off mine.

I watch a few girls hang on members of the baseball team while others flirt outlandishly with my teammates, all of them overzealously competing for attention.

It’s actually painful to watch.

Abby, on the other hand, looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, which is… refreshing. Encouraging. Definitely different
.

I guzzle the rest of what’s left in my beer bottle and nod above the crowd toward the freshman rookie managing the door. He instantly disappears outside but is back in record time with another bottle for me in a short few, top twisted off and ready to go.

I tip it back and chug.

Someone snickers. “Hey, Showtime, you think if you drink enough of those you’ll grow some balls and go over there?”

Not likely.

~ Abby ~

“This is getting ridiculous,” the voice mutters beside me. I can barely hear her because the music is so loud, but Jenna is loud enough I recognize the tone when she’s complaining. “What is he doing just standing there?”

My slight buzz has me craning my neck to look around the room. “What are you bitching about?” I curse. My eyes widen and I clamp a hand over my potty mouth, apologizing through my fingers. “Sorry. It’s the three beers talking. Absolutely
no one
should be letting me drink.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. “Keep it up, trucker mouth, and you’ll be useless by the end of the night. Sheesh. Get it together.” She’s teasing, but it sobers me up and I straighten my posture, mindful not to stick my damp boobs out.

Molly taps her chin thoughtfully and loops her arm through Jenna’s. “I think we should mingle, don’t you ladies? This corner is getting boring. Let’s go chat with the guys.” She jerks her head, indicating the group of guys Weston is standing in the middle of, holding court.

I can see him gesturing wildly from here, animated, obviously in the middle of a story. A funny story too, if the laughter surrounding him is any indication.

Before I know it, I’m being pulled through the crowd by my two determined friends, toward a crowd of boys with whom I’m hardly familiar, let alone comfortable with. I mean, besides Weston. It’s all I can do to
not
dig my heels into the carpet to stop myself from being propelled forward by my wobbly arms, strong-armed against my will by both Jenna and Molly.

I want to stomp my feet like a baby and run out of this house.

I make a mental list of things I could be doing right now if I weren’t being dragged in a struggle cuddle toward Caleb, whose broad back is facing me, and I recite them in my head:

1. Study for my mid-terms, which are in a few short weeks.

2. Clean the bathroom toilet.

3. Watch
Game of Thrones
on Demand. Again. For the twelfth time.

4. Hide under my covers.

5. Hide under my covers.

I don’t know about you, but I’m quite partial to numbers four and five.

~ Caleb ~

“Incoming!” Blaze announces at the top of his voice, hands cupped around his mouth to create a megaphone. “Girlfriend rapidly approaching,” he says to Weston.

“And she’s dragging None of Your Damn Business behind her,” Stephan jokes. “Showtime, your lover looks like she’s about to barf. Maybe you should take her upstairs and introduce her to your big, cold, empty bed.”

Luckily, I’ve already tossed back about five beers—which, combined with my large six foot three frame, hasn’t made me drunk, but it has given me a decent buzz and taken the edge off.

I ignore Stephan.

Feigning indifference to his barb, I reach up and readjust my ball cap, turning the brim so it faces the back of my head, and hold the brim in my palms, squeezing it to reshape the bill. I lower my hands at the same time a warm body is shoved, stumbling, into our circle. Molly and the girl with the purple hair tactlessly propel Abby so she’s standing directly in front of me.

Someone else gives her a gentle push until she’s faltering, tripping into my personal space. Instinctively, my palms shoot out to stop her from falling, settling on her slim waist to steady her.

Shit
.

I jerk my hands back, body stiffening from the invasion of my boundaries. But then I look down into the crown of Abby’s long, straight, rich brown hair; it’s shiny and silky and I kind of want to touch it.

Goddamn. Beer
.

She turns her entire body then to face me, mere inches away, tilting her head and biting her lip, mortified. Her hands flutter about her helplessly, fingertips accidentally brushing my chest. Once. Twice.

“I am so s-sorry. This is so embarrassing. My friends are… they…”

“Are assholes?” I have to bend down so she can hear me, practically whispering in her ear. “Mine are too. Clearly.”

Her body shivers and she nods, biting her lip before whipping her head toward the group, the action kicking up a subtle flowery scent.

My nostrils flare.

Shit. I can smell her damn hair.

I don’t know if it’s the five beers I’ve had, or the music, or the amount of people crammed into the place, but it’s fucking with my common sense. So much so that I give myself permission to lean forward and deeply inhale her loose strands.

It must have been a long, loud whiff, because Abby turns to confront me. “Did you just smell my
hair
?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief, and I can tell by her dilated pupils that she’s had a few too many drinks herself.

“Uh…” I hesitate a heartbeat too long and consider lying. “Yes?”

As if it were possible, her clear blue eyes widen farther, glossy mouth forming a surprised ‘O’—she obviously wasn’t expecting me to be honest.

Abby self-consciously reaches up to smooth her hair down. “I… Oh.”

Oh
. That little word—spoken
that way
—makes my stomach flip.

She blushes prettily and we both stand there, neither of us knowing what the hell to do next.

Obviously.

~ Abby ~

“I… Oh.” I fumble, embarrassed.

I knew he was sniffing my hair, but I didn’t actually think he’d admit it.

He casts his gaze down between our bodies, and my eyes follow the trail. We’re inches apart, and all it would take is one little…
push
… for our bodies to collide.

I wish for it at the same time I will more space in between us.

Eyes downcast, I study his hands, one thumb hooked through the belt loop of his low-slung jeans, the other clutching an amber beer bottle. Untucked slub cotton tee shirt, its frayed hem hanging limply over his waistband.

Caleb stands frozen in place, his rock-hard body not moving an inch—kind of like the proverbial deer in headlights. He allows my probing eyes to explore every inch of his toned upper body, grazing over the well-defined pec muscles, gloriously emphasized by the tight gray tee shirt, his nipples hard under the soft fabric. Up, up my gaze goes, up to his firm broad shoulders.

I gulp as the cords in the thick column of his neck twitch, the only indication he’s still breathing, while I rake my blue eyes over his freshly shaven, square jaw. The dark black hair peeking out from his ball cap wisps around his ears, his heavy eyebrows forced into a severe line.

I want to touch it. His
hair
I mean.

Oh my god.

“Smile,” I softly implore, attempting to lighten the mood.

He jerks his head side to side.
No
.

“No? But… why?” Balancing in my strappy corkscrew wedge sandals is a challenge, but I make it to my tippy toes, my lips grazing the outer column of his bright pink ear. My nose touches his neck, and emboldened by my beer-fueled haze, I give his neck a nuzzle before pressing my body against his. Returning his earlier favor, I inhale and—sweet Jesus—his freshly showered, soap-and-musk smell is so heavenly my eyes flutter shut. They flutter. Shut. “Why won’t you smile,” I whisper.