3:AM Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “I wouldn’t worry.” I spin us in a slow circle. “You’ve already got everything I’m dying for, Baya. Swear to God, I’ve never wanted anyone like I’m wanting you.” It’s my turn to drop my gaze to the water. I look back up and pull her in by the chin with my finger. “I swear to you—I won’t break your heart. I’m committed to loving you exactly how you deserve.”

  Tears bloom in her eyes, and it’s the last thing I expect.

  “Whoa, did I say something wrong?” I pull us out of the water a few inches and let the night air cool us off.

  “No”—she shakes her head, wiping away the tears—“you said everything right.” She tilts her head back, taking in a deep breath before reverting her gaze to mine. “I hope you don’t think this is creepy, but nobody has ever cared for me the way you do—at least not since my dad passed away.” She shrugs. “My mom was busy trying to keep a roof over our heads, and Colt was busy telling me who to be and how to act. But you”—she pulls her lips into a sad smile—“you’re so positive. You make me feel safe. I love that about you. And—I think I’m falling in love with you.” The smile glides off her face. Her legs go slack around my waist, and I pull them up again.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you, too. In fact, I know I am.” I press in until our mouths fuse in one eternal kiss. Baya dances her tongue over mine, lounges in my mouth as if she’s setting up shop and plans on staying for years, and I hope to God she is.

  Baya says she’s never done anything, and I’m damn glad. I want to teach her everything, be right there while she’s experiencing the zenith of pleasure with my body buried deep inside her.

  I ride my hands up over her waist and round out the front until my thumbs press over her nipples. She’s so fucking soft, I’m about to lose it. But I don’t. I want to save everything and wait for that perfect moment with Baya. I want to love her until the morning, and then that won’t be enough. Whenever it is, I hope it’s soon. I don’t think I can hold out much longer.

  The week melts by like snow in springtime.

  Baya and I take the bikes out each morning before class and ride up to the Witch’s Cauldron to steal a moment—safe away from Cole and the long line of sorority girls he has swarming his bedroom night after night.

  I told Holt I was bringing Baya home this weekend, asked him to man the fort at the Black Bear while I was gone. I haven’t told Mom or Annie yet, I thought I’d spring her on them sort of the way the universe sprang her on me. Baya’s been the best surprise—the biggest relief.

  The last thing I need to do on Friday, before I officially steal Baya away for the weekend, is work my ass off at Capwell Inc. for a few hours. The founder’s grandson, Ryder, and I share an office. He’s a grad student at Briggs, along with his cousin Aubree, the curator of my misery here at the Capwell advertising division.

  “Anything new with you and Ms. Sawyer?” I ask, pushing the daunting stack of paper the hell away from me for a moment. It’s no secret Ryder still pines for Laney. They had a head on collision of a break up last winter after years of waiting to be together, and now it’s like they’re virtual strangers.

  He shakes his head just barely. You can see the hurt swelling up in his eyes, so I don’t push it, hell I feel bad for bringing it up to begin with.

  “She ever mention me?” He swallows hard while studying my face for clues.

  Laney hasn’t let his name escape her lips since Christmas, but I’ll be the last to tell him.

  “Probably.” I pull the files back and sift through them. “I’m not around her much.”

  This is where relationships get tricky, the messy breakup that leaves you jonesing for clues while trying to piece together what the hell might have happened.

  Aubree breezes in the room and zaps the energy right out of it. I’ve already tweaked the files she slung in my direction this morning. She’s just a grad student, but something tells me in about five years she’ll be running this place.

  “Doing anything fun this weekend?” Aubree dips her cleavage in my face while landing a fresh stack of files over my desk. I glance back at Ryder for help, but he’s conveniently buried his face in his laptop.

  “Just going away.” I pull back until she clears the air space. Her perfume hangs in the air like a toxic cloud, and my eyes start to water.

  “All by your lonesome or you bringing someone special?” She slips her finger in her mouth and pulls it out slow, like a promise. Her hair glows orange under the harsh lights, and her makeup is set in a thick purple line over her upper lids like long, dark wings that are about to take flight.

  “My girlfriend’s coming.” Did that just fly out of my mouth?

  Both Aubree and Ryder widen their eyes. They knew Steph. They know how it all went down and why.

  I freeze with a file in my hand, my eyes locked over the desk as if something blasphemous just flew from my lips. I hadn’t had an official girlfriend since way back when with Steph, and an ice bath floods through my veins. I promised I wouldn’t go there again, and yet I did. Sometimes the stupidest promises are the ones we make to ourselves. But I’m damn glad that’s one I broke. Baya is worth breaking a thousand rules for.

  “Girlfriend?” She clutches at her throat. A devilish smile twitches on her lips as if I’m about to inundate her with the gossip of my love life. “So? Who’s the lucky little tramp this week? Please, dish.”

  “Baya Brighton.” I don’t hesitate this time. “She’s no tramp, and, I can promise you, this is going to last much longer than a week.” A weight lifts from me just getting Baya’s name out there, and as my girlfriend no less. It feels as though I’ve lanced a wound. My entire body sighs with relief. I’m not too sure I care if Cole is let in on our secret either. I plan on being with Baya a long, long time—forever, if she’ll have me. Sometimes when you find the right person, you just know. And I’ve definitely found the right person in Baya.

  “Baya Brighton?” She scratches at her neck while scanning the ceiling. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “She tried to rush for Alpha Chi, and you kicked her out.” I flop the files back down on the desk and relax in my seat.

  “Oh, that Baya Brighton…right.” Her eyes enlarge like twin pools of fire. Aubree Vincent is the devil in disguise, and half the time she doesn’t bother to disguise it. “She’s a spicy little bitch. But then you’ve always liked them a little on the wild side.”

  “Be nice.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Oddly, she still wants in after meeting you.” I shake my head at the thought. “Go figure.”

  “Really?” Aubree appears equally amused. “Well”—she exhales hard—“if she wants in that bad, I’ll give her another chance. But I’d have to pull her under my wing. Rush is over for the most part.”

  “You’d do that for me? I hear breaking sorority rules, especially when it comes to rushing new pledges, is the equivalent of committing thirty different felonies.” The Greeks have a tight government. It makes Washington look like a bunch of pussies.

  “It’s more like fifty.” She slides over my desk just inches from my chest and runs her finger the length of my jaw. “And, of course, I’d do that.” Aubree leans in until her tits try to sway their way out of that sling of a shirt she’s got on. “I’d do just about anything for you.” She gives a little wink. “Why do you think you’re sitting in that chair?”

  A beat of silence drifts by. I’ve always wondered how I won out half the class at the Whitney Briggs School of Business to land in this treasured spot, and now I know. Figures. I shoot Ryder a look, and he shakes his head into his laptop.

  Aubree purrs. “I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you, Bryson Edwards,” she says it serious as shit, and, for a moment, I believe her. Her features harden as she takes me in. “But you never seem to fall for any of my tricks, do you?” She runs her hand down my chest, and I catch her. She plucks it back and bounces off the desk as if the entire exchange never took place. “Baya Brighton,” she purrs. “Girlfriend, huh?�
�� She leers at me as she walks out the door. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” She gives a cackle that echoes down the hall.

  Ryder lifts his chin, a wry smile embedded in his face. “You know she’s going to make your girlfriend’s life a living hell.”

  “She won’t. Aubree’s all bark and no bite.” Not that her ten-foot lady-boner didn’t go unnoticed just now. Hopefully she’ll pole vault her way to friendlier pastures with that thing. The last place she’ll find some satisfaction is with me. I’m all Baya’s from here on out.

  He shakes his head. “And here I thought you knew her well. She’ll bite your balls off and, trust me, the only one barking will be you. You’d better watch your back around her—and your little girlfriend, too.” He twitches his brows before scooping up his laptop and heading out the door.

  There’s no way I’d let anyone hurt Baya, least of all me. Years have passed since high school, and I finally know how to treat a girl. And I’m determined to treat her well.

  Please, God, don’t let me hurt Baya.

  I couldn’t live with myself if I did.

  Early that evening, while I zip up my duffle bag, Cole stumbles in and drops his backpack to the floor, heavy as bricks.

  “Where you off to?” He belches as he makes his way to the fridge and plucks out a beer.

  “Picking up Annie and taking her home. I thought I’d help my mom out around the house while I’m there. I’ll be back late Sunday. Don’t wait up for me, sweet cheeks.” I give a little wink in his direction.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He salutes me with his beer.

  “Hit the Black Bear for me,” I say, taking a seat at the bar across from him. “Keep an eye on my brother—make sure he doesn’t do anything goofy like run off with the safe.”

  “Will do.” He nods, caging me in with a hard stare. “Have you been keeping an eye on my sister?” Cole tilts into me while those ditches in his face invert with disapproval.

  Fuck. I’ve been minding my P’s and Q’s around her as best as I can, and, as much credit as I give Aubree for being the wicked witch of the East, I don’t think this is her doing either.

  “Your sister?” I ask like I’ve no clue who the hell she might be. “What are you taking about?” I snatch up a near empty water bottle and down it.

  “Just wondered if you noticed the way she’s been looking at you.” He blows out a breath of relief and scratches at the back of his neck. “I’ve got to set her up with some nice kid. I know she’s got hormones, but I’m scared shitless she’s going to knock on all the wrong doors, you know what I mean?” His eyes drill into mine, and, for the first time, I see desperation in them. “It’s like all of a sudden she’s all hopped up. Just do me a favor, man”—Cole leans in with an earnestness I’ve never seen in him before—“if she shows any interest, just turn her down flat. She’s not another notch on the wall.” He’s practically pleading with me. “I wouldn’t do that to your sister, dude. I would hope to God you wouldn’t do that to mine.”

  The thought of someone turning Annie into a notch sets my blood to an instant boil. But that would never happen to Annie, she’s too sweet—and so is Baya. The last thing I’m going to do is log our encounter like some barbaric conquest. She means everything to me, and I plan on showing her just that. At least up until her brother knifes my balls off.

  “There’s no way in hell I’d turn her into a notch, dude.”

  Nope. I plan on loving Baya in ways like I’ve never loved anyone, and there aren’t enough walls in the world to keep a record of the ways I plan on loving her.

  The only notch Baya Brighton is carving is the one over my heart.

  5

  When it Happens

  Baya

  Fall breaks out in a spectacular show of glory over Whitney Briggs University. It brings all of the wonder and drama it can afford as it slowly turns the campus into an auburn-colored wonderland. Leaves in every shade of gold, brown, russet, fawn, and jade decorate the walkways, but my favorite are the ones that look as though they’ve been smeared with lovers blood. The indelible stain of a secret covenant made between two people who’ve sworn to belong to one another forever. That’s what I’m hoping will happen this weekend. Not the actual slitting of the wrists and mashing of bloodlines. I’m just hoping for a good old fashion love story to write itself across the night sky in shooting orgasmic stars. Actually, I’m sort of hoping for multiple cosmic events to occur and in rather quick succession. I envision Bryson lying over me, pouring a fire into my mouth by way of his—that rock hard body pressing into mine until we’re weak with passion, aching for more, just satisfying the hunger we have for one another in one long fornicating loop that puts all of Jeanie Waters collective efforts to shame. I’ve never made love to anyone before, I’ve never had any kind of sex whatsoever, heck, I don’t even have a hand job under my belt, but, nevertheless, I know it’ll be incredible because I’ll have Bryson right there with me—in me. And it all seems far too incredible to imagine.

  “Brighton!” A female voice calls from behind as I lug my weekend bag with me across campus. Bryson thought it’d be a good idea if we left separately, so I’ve been roaming aimlessly since this afternoon, familiarizing myself with the nooks and crannies of Whitney Briggs only to find they already house warm bodies, and the last thing those warm bodies are doing in those nooks and crannies is studying for midterms. It’s as if all of Whitney Briggs has caught Jeanie’s fornicating fever. Honest to God, someone should call the HAZMAT team to contain the syphilis outbreak before it reaches epidemic proportions and storms the world as the new killer plague. It would figure that Jeanie Waters’ crotch has the potential to unleash cataclysmic atrocities on all mankind.

  Laney waves me over to the outdoor patio at Hallowed Grounds, and I head in that direction. Roxy is with her, and they’ve got a plethora of textbooks and notebooks spread out over the table, implying that actual studying might be taking place. Obviously its crunch time, but, technically, midterms aren’t for another two weeks, so I refuse to be intimidated by their scholastic show of bravado. Why sweat it when I can sweat with Bryson? I say screw Whitney Briggs, and I’ll screw Bryson Edwards, too. A million lousy jokes have been waging an assault on my frontal lobe all afternoon because, face it, I’m about to have my V-card revoked, and I’m scared spitless. Sarcasm has always helped me cope when life throws me a couple of hairy curve balls, and if stupid shit racking my brain helps me through the ordeal then I say bring it and its long, hard, one-eyed bat, too. Besides, sex with Bryson is in the bounds, and it’s all I can do to keep a pornographic bubble from forming over the top of my head for the entire world to see. I feel transparent, naked in a crowd of thousands—the virgin who’s about to go all the way, shaking in her proverbial FMs. It’s not at all what I envisioned this time in my life would be like.

  “What’s up, chica?” Laney pulls out a seat for me, and I plop down between them. “You on tonight?”

  “No, but I’ll be hanging with the boss does that count?” I bite down on my lip and watch as their faces ignite like street lamps. Clearly we’ve treaded into the red-light district, so already I know where this conversation is headed.

  They break out in a choir of oohs, and I blush at the thought of what might happen tonight.

  “Someone at this table dated her b-o-s-s once.” Roxy glances at Laney, and they have a mini standoff complete with a silent argument.

  “Did you date Bryson?” My hand flies to my chest in horror. I like Laney and the last thing I want to do is imagine her naked while wrestling with my boyfriend. Boyfriend. I swoon into the idea.

  “No!” She shakes her head, and her dark hair whips around in the wind. “Not that boss—another boss. It turns out he wasn’t really my anything.” She lowers her gaze to the table.

  “It was my brother,” Roxy offers. “And it ended badly.” She says that last part so low I hardly heard it. “So where’s the big date?” Roxy bears into me, changing the subject rather efficient
ly.

  “It’s sort of a weekend thing.” I shrug. “He’s taking me to his house.”

  “Shut up.” Laney straightens. Her mouth falls open as if I’d just announced we were planning to elope.

  “Yes.” I nod incredulously. “He was going home, and he just sort of invited me to come along. Plus, this way, we can keep things under the radar just a little bit longer.” I filled them in earlier in the week about our plan to keep Cole in the dark until we’re ready. Bryson is still convinced he won’t see the next day once we tell him. Of course, he’s right. In fact, if Cole finds out, my newfound boyfriend is as good as dead. Cole is pretty focused on keeping my virginity intact for the next fifty years or so, never mind the fact he’s nothing more than a human dildo to the female population of Whitney Briggs. I bet all the sorority girls say, why bother with batteries when you can bed Cole Brighton? He’s the Eveready penis!

  “So where does your brother think you’re going?” Roxy gives a coy smile as if she were proud of my dubious endeavor.

  “Pluto,” I tease. “A.k.a.—book camp.” I shake my head at the literary lunacy of it all. “It was all I could think of that he might remotely approve of. Little does he know my book boyfriend just morphed into the real deal, and his name happens to be Bryson Orgasm-on-Demand Edwards.”

  The two of them break out in cackles.

  “Book camp!” Roxy sighs. “Is there such a thing?”

  “No clue. But, if there’s not, there should be. It sounds like a great cover for just about any story—get it? Story?” They groan in unison.

  “Baya”—Laney leans in—“Bryson is taking you to his house, to meet his family. This is really a big step for him.” Her pale skin glows against the backdrop of the late afternoon. It’s been getting dark so early. It feels like midnight by four o’clock. It’s exhausting and hauntingly erotic all at the same time.