Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel

by Workman, RaShelle

  Cole chuckles lightly. “You two have developed a bond, I take it.”

  “We’re friends. Yes.” I nibble another bite of toast. It’s delicious. The bread is multigrain. My favorite kind.

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened? Your therapist, Abigail, explained that you and I have some stuff we need to discuss.”

  “My therapist?” I can’t believe Abigail told him. I’m sure that’s breaking the rules. “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing, well except that you were having a panic attack.”

  “A super attack,” I blurt. Then glance down at my hands, uncomfortable. “That’s what I call them.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  He sets the plate on the bedside table and then takes my hand. “Why didn’t you return any of my calls after your parents died? My letters. Did I do something?” Pain, a look I can recognize anywhere, shoots across his face. “I felt so bad when I heard your parents were killed. I wanted to be there for you, but you were suddenly gone.” His intense eyes find mine. “Tell me what I did that was so awful.”

  He’s leaning into me, his lips inches from mine. His breath smells of orange juice.

  I’m floored. He must not know. His dad didn’t tell him about my accusations at the police station. My heart breaks as I think about what he must’ve gone through, how much I must’ve hurt him.

  “Rosie.” His hands move up to my arms, circling my nonexistent biceps. “Please, tell me.” He shakes me slightly, the desperation in his voice is also apparent on his handsome features.

  I know I should tell him, but I’m not sure how to begin. How do I explain all of the heartache I’m suffering because of what his father did?

  While I’m debating the words I need to say, his lips are suddenly on mine. Gentle. Tender. My eyes get big and I freeze. He’s watching me, a question in his eyes. At a moment’s notice he’ll stop. I sense it. But my body finally comprehends what’s happening, what I’ve craved for more than seven years. And my lips respond.

  Tentative. Inexperienced.

  My first kiss.

  “Freckles,” Cole says pausing our kiss long enough to speak.

  I’m like a ravenous kitten. And his lips are everything I need. I press mine against his, moving them the way I’ve seen in the movies.

  “Rosie.” He pulls back slightly.

  I open my eyes, surprised they’d been closed. Cole has an amused look on his face. My haze clears slightly. I lean back. “Oh,” I say ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

  The truth is I’m not sorry, but I am humiliated. He’s experienced. Gina says he likes made the rounds, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

  By the look on his face, it’s obvious I’ve done something wrong. His beautiful lips turn up in a smile. He clears his throat. “Don’t be sorry.” He pauses, brushing some hair off my face. “I really am your first kiss?”

  I grab the blanket and pull it over my head. I can’t look at him. He’s laughing and I can’t witness it. Plus, he doesn’t need to see my mortification.

  He pulls the covers off. “Hey,” he says, moving tilting my face so he can see my eyes.

  But they’re closed. I feel him shift so he’s leaning over my body. He presses a tender kiss to my cheek. My earlobe. His warm breath exhales against my ear. And I’m no longer ashamed but tingling everywhere. He kisses my neck, and my breath comes out like a whimper. I cover my mouth. He pulls my hand away, kissing my fingers.

  “So, it’s true. You kept your promise.”

  I hear wonder in his voice and open my eyes. He’s looking at me, but I can’t read his expression. Is it pride? Awe? Exasperation?

  I’m beside myself with shock that he even remembers the pact we made.

  “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” I admit, watching his face, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

  He grips my hands, lacing my fingers with his. It’s like he’s seeing into my soul and I gasp. Aching for him in a way I’ve never experienced. I can’t help the heat warming my cheeks.

  “Relax your lips.”

  I’m not sure what he means until he touches a finger to my bottom lip and massages it. I automatically loosen the muscles and am surprised how tightly I had them scrunched together.

  “Better.” Cole winks. The mischievousness is back. He presses in closer and our thighs are toughing.

  I’m like putty next to him. Warmth swells and spreads over my body. Cole’s face changes. No longer playful, but serious. Hungry. For me. My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s so loud, so, so loud, I think it might shatter my eardrums.

  “I know you prefer being the leader, and I promise you’ll get your chance, but this time it’s my turn. Okay?” He studies me intently, waiting for me to respond.

  I nod, my tongue licking my bottom lip. Every nerve ending is bursting with longing, need. For what, I don’t know, but I want to find out.

  Then his lips are on mine.

  I immediately feel the difference. Soft against soft. He pulls back. “Delicious.” He smiles. His tongue licks my bottom lip. He suckles it. An electric jolt strikes through my belly. Our mouths explore each other’s for a long time. It’s the most amazing experience in my life and I never want it to end. When we break apart, he opens his eyes.

  “What?” I ask, disappointed we aren’t still kissing.

  “Will you to tell me about those tattoos.” His eyelids are heavy with desire.

  “Right now?” I ask. At this moment he could ask me for the moon, and I’d gladly find a way to get it for him.

  “Later.” His hands skim along my sides up to my neck. He pulls me to him, his mouth on mine. His lips are still pliable, but urgent.

  The passionate hunger in my belly blazes to life. I’m starved for him, like a bear after winter hibernation. I’ve been awakened and am ravenous. But at the same time, an overwhelming fear crushes my heart. I break the incredible kiss. Turn my face from his. My eyes squeeze shut, and my hands, drop to my sides.

  He stops and places his hands on either side of my face. “Rosie, look at me.”

  I can’t and I know I’m letting him down. This boy who’s not a boy anymore, but a man, a beautiful man. The man I’ve always wanted. If I open my eyes and see rejection, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it. But I can’t change the fact that I’m not ready for this. I wish I were. My body certainly wants to be.

  “Rosie. Please open your eyes.”

  I do but can’t look at him. Instead, I focus on his collarbones and then his shirt. He tilts my face. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I’m shocked, surprised. I find his eyes. There’s pain stamped along the creases of his forehead, between his nose, at the edges of his lashes.

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask quietly.

  He gets up, and I miss the proximity of his body. “Because,” he runs both hands through his thick hair, “I went too far too fast.” He covers me with the comforter and kneels next to me, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

  I grab his shoulders and pull him close. My eyes search his. My body hums contentedly. I press my lips against his neck and cling to him like he’s my life raft in a sea of rugged, unknown waters. “I saved all my firsts for you,” I finally whisper.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  Neither of us does for a long time. We hold each other.

  Then he asks, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. I didn’t let him down. And we are going to be more than duet partners. He wants to take me out.

  “Like a date?” I ask for verification.

  He grabs one of my hands and presses his lips to my fingers. “Will you, Rosie Hansen, go on a real, no strings, just talking date? With me?” His expression is serious, worried even. I think he’s afraid I might say no.

  I laugh. A real, genuine laugh. Like I haven’t laughed in seven years. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Cool.” He s
tands—more, bounces. And I wonder if all the talk about him making the rounds with a bunch of girls is a lie. A rumor. “I need a shower,” he says, and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  19

  Trust Your Roomie

  Rosie

  I’m giddy. Like a schoolgirl, giddy. I can’t hold still. Gina is working on my hair. She’s burned her finger on the iron twice. After the third time, she bonks me on the head with it.

  “I swear I’m going to shove this up your nose if you don’t freaking hold still.” She sticks the curling iron in my face and scowls.

  “Ouch. Fine. No need for violence.”

  “You haven’t seen me violent.” She’s glaring, but the fact that her lips are twitching with near-laughter negates all the pretend anger in her eyes.

  “Okay. Okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender.

  “Good.” She grabs another chunk of hair and twirls it in the iron. “What are you going to wear?”

  I shrug. “Jeans, my purple tee, and black ballet flats.”

  She yanks on my hair. “Boring. Awful. And grotesque. No.”

  I want to be offended, but I can’t. I’m too excited. And nervous. And terrified. And thrilled. And shocked. And full of trepidation. My internal thoughts are quick, like my mind is playing at fast-forward.

  Will he kiss me again? I hope so.

  No, he can’t. I shouldn’t be going. Cole is the son of the man who killed my parents.

  He doesn’t know. He isn’t like his father. He’s kind, and good, and tender, and his lips are extraordinary.

  “I’ve got the perfect outfit in mind. Trust your roomie,” Gina says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I glance at her. “Not too wild though.”

  “Psssshhhh. Don’t question me. I know what I’m doing.” Gina picks up her comb and tousles my curls. Sets it down and picks up her purse. “I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” At the door, she stops. “Don’t mess with your hair.”

  “I won’t.”

  I pick up my Sudoku but can’t focus. Every time I try, all I see is Cole’s face and I feel the way his lips caressed mine. The butterflies in my belly stop fluttering and sway languidly, moving to Nina Simone.

  Gina comes back in with animated energy. Sniffling, she sets her purse on her bed. “Alright, let’s get you an outfit.” She goes to her closet. “Do you want your outfit to say, ‘I’m sweet and innocent?’ “She pulls a white sundress from her closet.

  I shake my head.

  “This is disgusting. I don’t even know where it came from.” She tosses it on the floor. “What about, ‘I want you?’” She pulls out a black halter dress. It Vs down to the waist and would barely cover my butt.

  “How about something in between? Something that says, ‘I like you, a lot, but let’s take it slow.’” I move to stand beside her. “Got anything in your closet that says that?”

  She huffs but goes back into her closet. “Probably.” Clothes fly everywhere as she searches. Skirts. Shirts. Leggings. Dresses.

  “Gina. Seriously. I can wear my jeans. You don’t need to go to all this trouble. It’s dinner.”

  I sink onto her bed, knocking her purse to the floor. The contents spill out. A tampon. Some folded cash. Change. Her student ID. Lip-gloss. And a small baggie more than half-filled with white powder. I pick it up as Gina is turning around, a victorious look on her face. Until she sees what I’m holding.

  Her face falls, and she drops the clothes.

  “What is this?” I’m sure I know. My aunt and uncle made me watch videos about drugs after the one where I saw the woman give birth.

  She grabs it out of my hand. “How dare you go through my things?”

  “I didn’t. I swear. Your purse fell off the bed.” Gina is on her knees, picking up the stuff that’s spilled everywhere. I kneel next to her and place a hand over her clenched fist. The one holding the drugs. “Want to talk about it? No judgments.”

  She glances up. Her eyes are watery. She sniffles. And I cringe. The monotone voice of the guy on the video plays through my mind:

  Side effects of cocaine are stuffy nose, excitability, irritability…

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I like it. I like the way it makes me feel.” She stands, opens her hand. “Want a hit?”

  I shake my head and move over to my bed. “No thanks.”

  She shrugs, tucking her purse under her bed. “You won’t say anything?”

  Warning bells ring in my head. Should I say something? What if the campus police find out she has it in our dorm room? Will I get in trouble too? How much is she using? Could she die?

  Even as the questions pummel my mind, I know I won’t say anything. “No, of course not. I only want to make sure you’re okay. You know you can tell me anything.”

  Gina sits next to me. “I use it to help me feel more confident, less like an ugly nobody.” She sniffles. “And college is hard. It takes more than coffee to keep me up and alert.”

  I get what she’s saying. I know what it’s like to need something to cover up pain. Do something to make the fears and the hurt stop. Music and a yearly tattoo have been enough for me. “I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t think drugs are the answer.”

  “Don’t be a goody-goody, Rose. Everyone does it. Drugs are part of the college experience.” She crosses her arms, glaring.

  I disagree and maybe she’s right. I am a good-goody, but I’m okay with that. “It’ll stay between you and me.” I reach out and grab her hand. “But please be careful. And you most definitely are not ugly.”

  She smiles. “I will. Thanks.” Her words aren’t convincing. I think of the last two parties and the way she’s come back to the room crying after having done things she didn’t want to. The word careful probably isn’t in her vocabulary.

  But I pretend like I’m fine with what she’s doing even though I’m not. “Good.”

  Gina stuffs the baggie in her front jeans pocket and picks up the clothes she dropped. “Put these on. Cole is going to be here soon. Do you have a black bra?”

  I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?” I’ve told her about my seventies sitcom lifestyle. I’m sure June Cleaver never owned a black bra either.

  “So, no.” She laughs, moving back to her closet. She pulls a spaghetti strap tank with a shelf bra out and tosses it at me. “Wear this.”

  I slide out of my sweatpants and shirt. Turn away from Gina and take off my bra. Then I reach back. “Tank, please.”

  Gina plops it in my hand. I slide it over my head.

  “Skirt.”

  She places it in my hand. I shimmy it on. It’s black, super tight. Hugs my body in all the right places.

  “Top.”

  It’s a see-through coral blouse. Very feminine and pretty. I glance at myself in the oval full-length mirror Gina bought the other day.

  “This is beautiful.” I turn back and forth, admiring my reflection.

  “Of course it is.” Gina digs through her dozens of shoeboxes and brings back a pair of black heels. They are high and look seriously hazardous. “Put these on. They say sophisticated, but with subtlety.”

  I slide them on.

  “Beautiful, Rosie. You’ve got great legs.”

  “Thanks, Gina.” I sit on my bed and start applying lotion to my calves, knees, and thighs.

  “Yeah, nothing like dry knees to ruin a good outfit.” Gina sits next to me.

  “I’m handling it.”

  She lays back. “What about the V situation? How do you intend to handle that as well?”

  I finish with the lotion and rub my hands together. Then lay back next to her. “I’m going to take it slow.” My face heats at the memory of Cole teaching me how to kiss. I want to do a lot more of that. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing.

  “What are you thinking?” Gina turns on her side and leans on an arm.

  I cover my eyes. “Kissing Cole,” I admit.

  “What was it like?”


  I’m surprised she doesn’t think my first kiss is trivial. Silly. She’s kissed guys and done a lot more. I move my hands and face her. “It was a little embarrassing,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Why?” She’s scrutinizing my face.

  I close my eyes. “Because I didn’t know what I was doing. But he was sweet. He showed me.”

  “Showed you?” She leans in closer. “What do you mean?”

  “Purse your lips and tighten them, like you have to kiss a dog.”

  “Ugh, I’ve done that plenty of times.” She gives a harsh laugh, and then does it.

  I press a finger to her bottom lip and massage it the way he did. “Relax.” Her lips part, and her already dilated eyes get wider. I shrug. “Then he kissed me.”

  “Nice,” she whispers, falling back on my bed.

  I wonder what her first kiss was like.

  “I’ve never kissed someone when I was sober.

  I fall back beside her. “Really?”

  She sighs, rolling away. “Never mind. Sorry. I’m always talking about situations that are awkward for other people.

  “Hey, I don’t mind. I’m the queen of awkward. Home-schooled, remember?” She doesn’t respond and I want to reach out and hug her. Tell her how grateful I am for her. Tell her I consider her the sister I always wished I had. But I don’t. “We need to find you a sober boyfriend,” I say lightly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs my hand off.

  “I don’t need any favors.” She pushes off my bed and pulls on her combat boots. Without looking back, she grabs her purse and says, “Have fun on your date.” Then she’s gone.

  20

  Super Fancy

  Rosie

  Are you going to eat that?” Cole points at the gruesome brown shells filled with a rubbery jelly-looking substance sitting on a plate in front of me.

  My nose scrunches. “Most definitely not.” I poke one of the shells with my fork. “This is escargot?”

  “Yes. Snails.” He covers his mouth with the back of his hand.

  And I glare. “That’s disgusting.” I lean in so that I can whisper, “They even smell bad.”