A Truthful Kiss: (Signed with a Kiss, Book 3)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  West steers me around her before she can get a word out. Then we walk down the crowded hallway, not really saying anything, mostly because everyone is watching us.

  I expect him to walk me to my next class, but he passes by the classroom. That’s when I realize West probably has no clue what my next class is.

  “Um, we passed my class,” I tell him, starting to slow down.

  “I know,” he tells me. “I need to talk to you for a minute. You might be a little late.” He glances at me, amusement glittering in his eyes. “You okay with being a little bit tardy, Alexis the Rebellious?”

  “No.” I snort a laugh. “And FYI, that’s a dumbass nickname.”

  “Noted. I’ll think of something better.” He grins at me. “Like a good boyfriend would.”

  I roll my eyes again, but I’m on the verge of smiling.

  Of course, that smile morphs into confusion as he leads me outside of the school.

  “Where are we going?” I wonder as he removes his hand from my lower back.

  I assume he does it since we’re outdoors where no one is around so we don’t have to keep up this whole girlfriend/boyfriend appearance, but then he threads his fingers through mine, holding my hand as we walk toward the parking lot.

  “I need to talk to you somewhere private. Figured my car is the best place to do it,” he explains. “Plus, there’s some papers in there I want you to look at.”

  “Okay.” I’m so confused, not just about these papers he wants me to see but because he’s holding my hand.

  West and I are holding hands, and no one is around to see it. I should pull back, right? Part of me wants to, but the other part of me wants to continue holding his hand so my fingers won’t long to wrap around the bottle of a spray can.

  “There’s some stuff I need to tell you, too,” I inform him. “Once you’re done telling me your stuff.”

  He glances at me with his brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

  I waver. “That’s debatable. And honestly, I don’t think we should discuss it while we’re out in the open.”

  He frowns but nods, not saying anything else. We remain quiet for the rest of the walk to his car. When we reach it, he opens the passenger door for me and gestures for me to climb in.

  “Still pretending we’re a gentleman?” I joke as I move to get in.

  “Still pretending like you don’t like it?” he quips with a grin, but I detect the slightest bit of sadness in his eyes, a reminder of all the crap he’s dealing with beneath the jokes and smiles.

  I’m about to ask him if he’s okay, but he shuts the door. Then he rounds the front of his car and climbs into the driver’s seat.

  “So, what happened this morning with your parents?” I ask after he shuts the door.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He reaches into the back seat, picks up a folder, and sets it down on my lap.

  I cock my head to the side. “What is this?”

  “Some papers my parents tried to get me to sign,” he explains with a trace of irritation in his voice. “They wouldn’t tell me what they were for, so I took them and ran.”

  My eyes widen. “You ran?”

  He lifts a shoulder, his jaw set tight as he gazes out the window. “If I didn’t, my dad … well, he would’ve made me sign them.”

  West has said a few things here and there that made me wonder if his father was abusive. I haven’t flat-out asked him yet, mostly because I’m not sure how to approach the subject without upsetting him.

  “What do you mean by make you?” I ask, measuring his reaction.

  He just shrugs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter.”

  “No, it does.” Sucking in a quiet breath, I reach over and place my hand on his cheek.

  When he jolts from the touch, I start to pull back. “Sorry.”

  But he quickly places a hand over mine and keeps my hand against his cheek again. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for touching me.”

  My heart is thudding so loudly that the noise fills my head. “I just … I want to make sure you’re okay. Some of the things you say … they make me wonder if … they make me wonder just how bad things are for you at home.”

  His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. That home is no longer my home. I pretty much sealed that deal when I took off with these papers.”

  Thinking about what he told me the other day, about how his parents could destroy his life, worry stirs through me. Plus, he’s living in that sketchy house, which is not a replacement home, in my opinion.

  “What’re you going to do then?” I ask. “I mean, where are you going to live?”

  He gives a half-shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but if those papers are what I think they are, I may not have to worry about money anymore, which eliminates at least one of my problems.”

  My gaze drops to the folder that he tossed into my lap. “What are they?”

  “Well, from what I can tell, someone died and left me a bunch of money. And if I signed those papers, all that money would be transferred over to my parents.”

  My gaze darts up to him. “That’s what they wanted to talk to you about this morning?”

  “Yep,” he says tightly. “And like I said, my dad was going to try to force me to sign them, but I ran.”

  I swallow hard. “Why would they do that? I mean, aren’t your parents, like, loaded?”

  “That’s what I thought, and we’ve always lived that way, but my parents are also the kind of people that would fake their wealth. But I know my dad makes a lot of money.” He wavers, chewing on his bottom lip. “My mom also likes to spend a lot of money, though.”

  “Maybe they got into financial trouble then,” I suggest. “Although, that doesn’t give them the right to try to steal your money.”

  “I know,” he assures me. “I just wish I knew who left me the money.”

  “Do the papers give a name?”

  “Yeah, they do.” He reaches in front of me, causing my hand to fall from his cheek. Then he opens the folder. Inside is a stack of papers, which he sifts through until he finds the one he’s looking for. “I think that’s who it is right there.” He taps a name printed on one of the pages.

  “Charlotte Everlyson,” I read the name aloud then glance at him. “Do you know who that is?”

  He shakes his head, wisps of his blond hair falling across his forehead. “No.” He pauses, hesitancy written all over his face. “But I’m wondering if maybe it’s my real mom.”

  My heart breaks for him in ways I didn’t think were possible. “Did your mom …? Did Loraine confirm that you were adopted?”

  “No,” he utters quietly, looking away from me. “I didn’t really have a chance to ask her about it. I was there for, like, two minutes before my dad started threatening me and getting in my face.”

  My heart breaks even more for him.

  When my parents died, it nearly broke me because, in that moment, I lost love. West, though, he’s never had that kind of love.

  “West,” I start carefully. “Has your dad …? Has he …?”

  His gaze glides to mine. “Has he what?”

  I swallow down the thickness building in my throat. “Has he ever hit you?”

  When he doesn’t answer right away, almost looking a bit ashamed, my heart literally splits open and bleeds out. Unsure what to do or say, I reach out and place my hand against his cheek again, because he seems to kind of like that.

  “You need to tell someone. He can’t just get away with stuff like that.”

  He shakes his head. “No one would believe me; trust me. My parents have this entire town wrapped around their fingers.”

  I skim my finger along his cheekbone. “You have to do something. You can’t just keep dealing with it silently.”

  “I’m not,” he murmurs. “I moved out.”

  “Yeah, but …” I press my lips together, pausing to collect myself. “That place you’re staying a
t probably shouldn’t be a long-term solution.”

  He arches a brow. “You worried about me, Alexis Baker?”

  I pretend to be really conflicted about it, but the straight-up truth is that I am.

  “Maybe a little bit.”

  The corners of his lips twitch, like he’s about to smile, but he never quite gets there. “Well, hopefully, these papers are what I think they are. Or, well, at least that someone left me a sum of money. Then I can afford to move out of that house and get my own place.”

  “How do you find out for sure?”

  “Well, I’d say talk to a lawyer, but considering my dad knows every lawyer in town, I’ll probably have to go to one in a different town.”

  “It might take a few days to make an appointment,” I tell him. “So maybe you can make one and, until then, Loki could look at these papers and tell us what they are. He’s an adult and deals with business-y stuff all the time. Plus, I think he took a couple of law classes in college.”

  “You’d ask him to do that?” he asks, surprised.

  I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I don’t know …” He nibbles on his bottom lip, searching my eyes for something. What? I haven’t got a clue. When he speaks again, he throws me for a total loop. “I want to kiss you.”

  My brows knit. “Right now?” I peer out the window at the parking lot. Not a single person in sight. “But there’s no one around.”

  “I know.” He brushes his fingers along my cheek, drawing my attention back to him. “I just want to kiss you, though.”

  His words remind me of what the blackmailer told me to do. How I’m supposed to play West. How he’s in love with me.

  I need to tell West about what happened, and now is the perfect moment to do so.

  But then West is leaning forward and brushing his lips against mine and, for a mind-numbing instant, I forget about everything.

  And then he deepens the kiss, tangling his tongue with mine, and all other thoughts go peace out. A soft groan leaves his lips as he kisses me again. And again. And again.

  I know I should pull back. There’s no one around, so this isn’t part of the pretending. Plus, there’s so much I need to tell him. But he keeps kissing me, combing his fingers through my hair and gently pulling at the roots. It feels so damn good that I can barely think straight. Maybe that’s why I start to lean closer to him, my waist pushing against the console uncomfortably. I hardly feel the discomfort, though, my hands unconsciously drifting toward him, up his chest, along the outside of his shirt.

  He shudders, biting down on my bottom lip. A whimper, not in pain, but because it feels so good releases from me.

  “Fucking hell, Lex,” he whispers, his lips brushing against mine, his hands on my waist, stiff like he’s struggling with whether or not to hold on to me.

  Normally, this would be the point where I’d start thinking about the past, but my mind is way too hazy from all the sensations fluttering through me.

  He rests his forehead against mine, his heavy breathing dusting across my face. His fingers delve into my waist, his body quivering as he struggles with … something.

  I’m not sure what to do. Pull back? Ask him if he’s okay? Run? The old Alexis would’ve. Ran from the emotions coursing through me. But this new, weirdo Alexis, who apparently likes to kiss, the one who’s trying to do better, stays where she is. Yet, she’s conflicted.

  “Are …? Are you okay?” My hands are resting on his chest where his heart is pounding.

  He gives an unsteady nod. “Yeah, I am … I just …” He slightly leans back, opening his eyes. “I just …” Question marks fill his eyes.

  It’s like he’s asking me a silent question and expecting me to answer. And, while I wish I was a mind reader in that moment, I’m not, so I have no idea what he wants me to say.

  “Fuck,” he breathes out then leans forward and kisses me again.

  This kiss is much briefer, and then he’s leaning back and looking at me, again questioningly.

  Clearly, he wants something. And I’m not sure what.

  “When I kissed you in the hallway to shut up Masie … you were okay with that, right?” he asks, holding my gaze.

  I nod, confused. “Yeah … why?”

  “I just … wanted to make sure.” He reaches up and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “And, are you okay with the kiss just barely?”

  “Um … yeah …” I admit, but with a little bit less confidence than the last time.

  While this question is similar, it’s also different in a lot of ways. Because the kiss in front of Masie was for show. The kiss just barely was for … Well, I’m not positive what it was for. But I do know it definitely wasn’t for our deal.

  West is in love with you, the blackmailer told me.

  What if he wasn’t lying?

  Before I can arrive at a conclusion, West is nodding. Then he dips his lips toward mine and kisses me again.

  I start to notice how, the more I kiss him, the easier it becomes. Not just because I’m getting used to kissing, but because I’m getting used to kissing West.

  Because I’m starting to like kissing him.

  Oh my God, I like kissing West!

  I should pull back. I know I should. Instead, I kiss him back way more intensely than I ever have. He must like it, because he keeps groaning softly while clutching on to me, like he can somehow pull me closer than I already am. He can’t, though, because the console is in the way.

  Eventually, he decides to solve that problem and starts to pull me over it. It surprises me how eagerly I go to him, clambering over it and climbing onto his lap. Then nervousness creeps through me. And not just because I’m straddling his lap—well, that’s part of it—but the other part is how much I can feel of him.

  West is completely turned on.

  As that thought registers in my brain, I tense.

  He pulls back immediately, panting, out of breath. “You okay?” he asks, his lips slightly swollen.

  I know if I say “no,” he’ll stop. West is a good guy and would never pressure me to do anything. That much I’ve decided about him. And if I say “yes,” we’ll keep kissing.

  Resting my hands on his shoulders, I find myself nodding.

  He hesitates, his hand finding my cheek. “If at any time you want to stop, just say so, okay?” He waits for me to nod then seals his lips to mine again, kissing me for … Well, I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve kissed. And that number keeps growing and growing the longer we stay in his car.

  His tongue plays with mine as he kisses and bites and nips at my lips, causing me to moan in a way I don’t even recognize.

  “West,” I murmur as I tip my head back, my mind spinning with dizziness.

  “Mmm …” he hums, continuing to kiss me, making a path down to my jawline, my neck. Then he kisses me there, sweeping his tongue out and grazing across my skin, the metal of his tongue ring sending goosebumps sprouting across my skin. But that’s nothing compared to when he grinds his hips against mine.

  I gasp, squeezing my eyelids shut as I dig my fingernails into his shoulder blades.

  He pauses, tension rolling off of him. “Lex?” A silent question floods his tone, asking, do you want me to stop?

  Deep down, in the depths of my confused, broken, but maybe slightly healing soul, I know I should say yes. Know there’s a ton of other stuff we should be doing, like talking about the blackmailer, what he told me. We also should be talking more about his parents. But this is the first time in a very long time when I’ve felt marginally content without paint staining my fingertips. So, I don’t respond, simply rolling my hips against his.

  “Shit,” he mutters with his hands on my waist, that tension in his body amplifying.

  Reality starts to trickle over me.

  Maybe he doesn’t want this.

  Maybe he doesn’t want me.

  Maybe the blackmailer was lying.

  You’re so fucking ugly.

  Nobody
wants you.

  You should just get rid of yourself.

  I’m about to dive off his lap when he rolls his hips against mine while gently biting down on the side of my neck. This isn’t the first time he’s bitten me in this spot, although it was much gentler last time. And unlike last time, I remain where I am, holding on to him instead of pushing him away.

  He does the movement again with his hips, over and over again. Then he moves his mouth from my neck, but only to make his way up to my lips where he kisses me so deeply that I forget how to breathe.

  Just like I’ve basically forgotten where I am.

  However, a reminder that we’re making out heavily in his car in the school parking lot greets us moments later in the form of a knock on the window.

  We jerk back, gasping for air, my pulse soaring so swiftly that I swear the damn idiot is about to give out on me.

  I turn to see who knocked then a frown forms on my face.

  “Shit,” West mutters as he glances outside the window at the monitor who walks around during school hours and makes sure no one does … well, basically what West and I were just doing.

  “Yeah, shit for sure,” I agree, knowing we’re about to get detention.

  When West looks at me with a trace of a smile on his lips, I’m not sure that I’m that sad about that fact. At least, not sad about the fact that we kissed and touched. In fact, it might be worth the punishment we’re about to get.

  As I realize this, realize how much I liked kissing him, it freaks me the hell out for several different reasons. One being I haven’t gotten to tell him about what the blackmailer wants me to do, which means, technically, everything I do with West could be used against us. And another one is that I’m realizing that I’m not sure I was ever in love with Blaine. Not that I’m in love with West. But I never, ever felt this way about Blaine—all reckless and out of control to the point where I can’t think straight. It sort of scares me, knowing I may be over Blaine since it means letting go of something connected to my past. It might be time to do it, though. Let the past go and focus on the future.

  A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t even think about the future, but maybe that’s because I was grasping on to the past too much. Like with my feelings for Blaine and my friendship with Masie. And this thing that happened with Jay, I’ve never dealt with that, and I honestly didn’t want to. But then West found out, and I felt a bit freer in that moment. Still sort of do.