A Kiss Like This

by Sara Ney

  “Hey, man, I’m not the one dangling from a window, so maybe you shouldn’t be arguing with me. Drop to the ground before you fall and get hurt. I’m strong. Promise I’ll catch you.”

  My grip quickly becomes sweaty, and the thin metal gutter guard creaks again, this time shifting under my weight.

  I gulp, fighting back the tears burning my eyes.

  “Come on, come on, come on, be quick about it. I give you two minutes before the gutter gives out and you land on the concrete, probably splitting your head open,” the angry voice charitably points out. “But don’t take my word for it—it’s just a guess.”

  “Would you shush? Please,” I plead down over my shoulder, polite to the core even as I dangle from the side of a house.

  “Okay, it’s your funeral,” I hear the guy grumble. “Literally.”

  Suddenly panicky, not wanting my lifeline to walk away, I gasp when the wooden siding creaks again. “Wait!” I shout with a tremble. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry! Just please, tell me what to do.”

  “Alright, calm down. I’m going to come stand underneath you, and when I do, let your hands slide from the window ledge and I’ll catch you.” I can hear his feet kicking up the wobbly concrete somewhere beneath me.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I whine. “I can’t do this.”

  I would rather shrivel up and die, then have my dead, lifeless body shrivel up and die again. I cannot do this.

  “Yes you can. Stop being a little pansy. Ready? On my count of three, release your hands. Ready?”

  No! No! No!

  “One… twooo…”

  At his count, I squeeze my eyes shut, release my hands from the side of the building, and fall faster than I can blink. I’m plummeting, dropping, landing with a thud. I think I’m tumbling to the ground, but I’m not. I-I’m lying on a huge, hulky, solid, warm-blooded male form.

  A solid male form that’s now sprawled out on the pavement beneath me, spread eagle and muttering a curse. “What the everloving fuck was that? I said on the count of three!”

  It takes me a few seconds to acclimate myself, and I lie there on top of this new source of warmth. My head goes down, and with the wind still knocked out of me, I rest my cheek on the stranger’s comfy sweatshirt, nuzzling the padded torso without thinking twice.

  So, so comfy.

  Like a big, comfy bear. Like the big, comfy teddy bears at Costco. Mmmm. Aren’t they only fifty dollars? I want one of those.

  I hear a heart beating erratically, likely from the traumatic force of being knocked on one’s ass, and exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  A low, displeased rumble emits from deep within the stranger’s chest.

  It’s enough to rouse me from my shell-shocked stupor. Lifting my drooping head from the broad, muscular body I’m lying limply on top of, my out-of-focus gaze searches out the face of the guy who could very well have just saved my life.

  We lock eyes and I manage to blink.

  Sweet Jesus is he scary.

  And he’s glaring up at me.

  ~ Caleb ~

  The girl and I lock eyes, but I finally manage to blink.

  “Can you get off me?” I mutter, trying to pull myself up on my elbows—no easy task with this chick bedding down on top of me. She’s clearly delirious.

  “Can you please get off me,” I repeat, giving her a nudge. “No offense, but you’re no lightweight.”

  It’s a lie, but I want her off me, like, yesterday. She’s getting way too comfortable, feels way too soft and warm and pliant, and I’m beginning not to mind.

  “I… excuse me. Oh my god.” The brunette stumbles over her words, a furious blush reddening her face. I suppress a laugh at how hastily she goes from snuggling on top of me in what’s obviously a confused, concussed haze, to pushing back on my chest—briefly cutting off my air supply, I might add—and rising to her feet, all within seconds.

  She stumbles a bit then rights herself.

  “Aren’t you going to help me up?” I challenge her with an arched brow, glaring up from under the brim of my hat, a whole catalog of first impressions imprinting themselves on my brain now that I’m getting a look at her.

  First of all, she is adorable. Flushed. Embarrassed.

  Pretty.

  Her thick, dark coffee-colored hair, which had obviously been piled haphazardly on the top of her head at one point, is now in a messy rat’s nest. Huge chunks of soft waves have escaped the knot to rest lightly upon her slight shoulders and cascade loosely down her back.

  Straight nose. Full mouth with a slightly pouty bottom lip.

  Her complexion is clear, and radiates a blush—either from her recent fall off the second story, or from being ashamed. Probably a bit of both.

  Large, expressive blue eyes stare down at me from under perfectly arched eyebrows, and I quickly avoid her scrutiny by glancing up to the window from whence she emerged. For a moment, I’m envious of the Kappa Omega Chi fucktard who just spent the night with her, although quite frankly, she looks far too wholesome to be a quick lay.

  Naïve. Innocent. No freaking way could she have been in that house having her brains screwed out all night.

  I squash the thought back because facts are facts, and the indisputable proof stares down at me as I continue my appraisal.

  Second, she’s not short.

  Even from down on the ground, I can tell that when I stand, I might tower over her with my six foot three frame, but it won’t be by much. Her short-sleeved, fitted black tee shirt is tucked into belted skinny jeans, elongating a pair of long, athletic legs. Her tight, dark jeans are neatly tucked into a pair of tall, shiny equestrian boots all the girls are wearing these days.

  She begins tapping the toe of those black boots nervously on the paved driveway, regarding me warily, an internal debate making her mouth turn down in a frown and her perfect eyebrows crease. It’s obvious she wants to bolt and leave me lying here in a heap but is too polite to actually do it.

  I mean, I probably just saved her careless neck, and she damn well knows it.

  Takin a deep breath of courage before exhaling, her full pink lips emit a long pppuh of air before she cautiously bends toward me with her palm extended.

  She’s shaking.

  I stare blankly at that unsteady hand a few seconds before grasping it, wrapping my large fingers around her slender ones, and resisting the urge to squeeze. Or pull her back down on top of me.

  Her bones are delicate, petite, and feel fragile compared to my rough mammoth palms. I’m overly conscientious of the scraps and callouses marring my battered skin.

  The unnamed brunette tugs on my arm, heavy and lifeless, unable to budge me. Biting her quivering lower lip, she yanks at me again before extending a leg and planting her booted heel in the ground to gain better leverage.

  She heaves and puffs, inhaling a loud gulp of air, holds it, lets out a out a huff, and eyes me skeptically. “Do you even need my help?”

  Withholding a grin, I shake her hand off and lift myself to my feet in one easy motion, unassisted. “Nope.”

  All her timid restraint flies out the window in that moment. Crossing her arms and glaring, the brunette purses her rosy-pink lips for the second time. “You! Y-you made me go through all that trouble when you could have gotten up yourself? You are a… a jerk.”

  Can’t deny that.

  I snort, amused. “Whoa. A jerk? Trust me, I’ve been called worse.” Jamming my hands inside my hoodie, I shrug. “Besides. You had to at least try to help me up…” since I just saved your ass.

  The implication hangs between us, unspoken.

  “I already said thank you. What more do you require?”

  “What more do I require?” Seriously, who talks like that? “And actually, no, you didn’t say thank you.”

  “I—” She opens her mouth to argue, then clamps it shut. Her almond-shaped eyes go wide for a few seconds, and she takes another calming breath to steady her breathing. I can see her pretty brain
counting to ten. “Thank you.”

  Behind us, vulgar voices float from inside the house as my friends stir to life from within. Pretty soon guys are going to start filtering out to leave for work, or time on the ice.

  “Listen, I’d love to stand here and chat with you, but…” My sarcastic remark trails off as I dust off my gray athletic pants, glancing around to survey the street, which is mostly void of any parked vehicles. I scowl. “Wait. Do you have a car around here?”

  She waves a hand airily and bites her lower lip. “No, but I don’t live far. I can walk.”

  “Ah, I’ll call you Walk of Shame. It suits you.”

  The brunette gasps, dismayed, and pleads, wide eyes darting to the Kappa O house. “Please don’t call me that.” She takes another deep, calming breath. “For your information, the room I climbed out of was my cousin’s.”

  “Seriously? That was your cousin’s room? Wow, that makes the story even better. So very… backwoods Appalachia of you.”

  “Backwoods Appalachia! That’s… we’re not… are you implying what I think you are…?” She pauses expectantly.

  “Caleb.”

  “Your name is Caleb?” she blurts out in surprise, changing the subject.

  I accidentally chuckle, the sound coming out in a rich timbre and sounding foreign. “Yeah, why?”

  “Nothing. It’s just… you don’t look like a Caleb.”

  “Wow, thanks. I’ll let my mom know,” I drawl out slowly.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just. You look more like a—” She clamps her pouty lips shut.

  I tip my head, curiously waiting for her response, and prod her on. “More like a…?”

  “I don’t know. Like a… like a…” her hand twirls around in the air aimlessly, her cheeks burning up with fire. “Biff.”

  I almost let out a bark of laughter.

  Almost.

  “My friends call me Showtime,” I supply, growing uncomfortable with the intimate direction our conversation is taking. I don’t want to know anything about her, and I don’t want her knowing shit about me. Pretty soon we’ll be sharing childhood tales and favorite colors.

  “Showtime?” She rolls her eyes, mumbling to herself with a feminine snort. “Guys are such idiots. Why would he let anyone call him that?”

  “Because I’m such a fucking idiot.”

  “How about you watch your mouth!”

  Instinctually, I go on defense. “How about this instead: why don’t you tell me why you were climbing out your ‘cousin’s’ window at seven in the morning rather than taking the front door?” Yeah. I use air quotes when I mock the word cousin’s, sounding suitably repulsed.

  “How about you mind your own darn business?”

  Darn business? Jesus. Doesn’t this chick ever swear?

  “I was minding my own darn business, sweetheart, only you were too busy sticking your ass out your boyfriend’s second-story window to notice. Oh wait. I’m sorry. Did you want me to let you kill yourself?”

  “I told you, he’s—ugh!” Pausing to shoot me a look of contempt, she starts stomping her feet across the grass and heads for the sidewalk, calling over her shoulder, “I don’t have to stand there and listen to you belittle me like I’m full of—”

  “Shit? Or were you going with… poopy?” I snicker at her retreating form.

  She halts abruptly on the lawn, spinning to face me with her hands planted on her hips. “You know what, Showtime?” She spits my nickname with such disgust I’m surprised saliva isn’t dripping out of her mouth. “You have some nerve making assumptions about me when you stand there looking like a… l-like a common thug who rolled off of his mattress just so he could rob the place.”

  Ouch.

  I take a few menacing steps toward her. “Oh, you think I look like a thug? Because I’m wearing a hoodie and Adidas track pants? Honey, clearly you wouldn’t know a thug if he passed out between your thighs. Hurry back to your dorm and bitch about the STD you undoubtedly contracted last night.”

  The brunette lets out another gasp, visibly mortified, and angrily flounces to the other side of the street. She’s so pissed I can hear the heels of her boots thrashing the concrete from here, one angry clomp after the next.

  Snarling, I turn toward the massive white house behind me, reaching under my ball cap to run a hand through my shaggy hair. Tugging the hat back into place, I only give pause when a glimmer of something shiny catches my eye. A pit of horror forms in my stomach, and, taking a few steps to my right, I bend down, hooking my index finger through a gleaming gold ring abandoned on the concrete driveway.

  More specifically, on the driveway underneath the window of a particular second-story Kappa Omega Chi house…

  Shit.

  It’s a simple band that I study closely in the rising morning sun, a small blue sapphire chip mounted on top. I hold it closer to my face for examination, turning it this way and that, and make out the inscription, Love Mom & Dad, on the inside shank that’s virtually been rubbed out from wear, and barely legible.

  My head snaps up, and I scan the perimeter for the brunette. Unfortunately, the only sight is an empty sidewalk, and a dog chasing a squirrel around the yard of the house across the street.

  I groan.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER 3

  Abby

  By the time I get back to my off-campus apartment, I am fuming breathing so deeply it sounds like I just returned from the Color Run. Flinging my door open so hard it hits the wall, I slam it shut behind me before stalking over and throwing myself on the bed.

  Muttering a curse, I let out a frustrated scream. “Who the frick does he think he is?” I ask to no one. “Off all the nerve.”

  Of course, he did kind of save me. Kind of.

  Whatever! The jackhole.

  Caleb.

  Caleb, Caleb, stupid Caleb.

  Ugh!

  I close my eyes, forcing the image of him stowed in my memory to materialize in my mind. And it does, so vividly it’s like he’s here, glowering down at me.

  Tall. Broody. Muscular. Of course, the muscles could have all been an illusion created by his bulky sweatshirt and slouchy Adidas athletic pants. The thick, heavy eyebrows, which peered at me from under a navy blue Flying W ball cap, were creased into a permanent scowl.

  Solemn, serious, full lips set in an unyielding expression, he’s hardly the man of a girl’s dreams.

  But that doesn’t stop me from wondering about that mass of hair hidden under that well-worn ball cap and the obscurity of his hooded sweatshirt. My thoughts stray to the five o’clock stubble casting a rugged shadow over his angry, chiseled jaw and cheekbones, all adding to his severe expression.

  Believe me, I’m not waxing poetic about Caleb because I’m attracted to the Neanderthal (puh-lease, I’m not that desperate). Nope. I’m simply wondering where he came from, because you have to admit, he did just kind of appear out of nowhere to help me…

  My chintzy, hollow bedroom door flies open, smashing against the wall behind it with a thud, and I glance up from under my pillow to see my two roommates in the doorway, both eyeing me with shocked expressions—Jenna, who I inherited as a roommate by default, and Meg, who I’ve been living with since sophomore year.

  Jenna is the first one to speak. Her curious green gaze, which has been artfully lined with bright aqua eyeliner, scans my bedroom suspiciously until it lands on the curtains. “We heard a loud bang. What the hell is going on in here? Are you okay?”

  I toss a pillow and roll to my back, staring at the ceiling to avoid her watchful gaze, measuring my words carefully. “Nothing. I was just upset before.” I give them a glance. “Jenna, you can stop staring at my curtains like a guy is going to jump out from behind ‘em.”

  She wishes.

  Our other, more laidback roommate, Meg, shrugs her shoulders idly and wanders into the room, plopping herself on the edge of my double bed. Unlike Jenna, Meg is still in pajamas—the fuzzy, footie kind we wore as ki
ds. “It’s Saturday morning. What on earth could you possibly be pissed off about?” Meg looks down at the vintage silver watch on her wrist that she is never without. “It’s barely nine.”

  “I’ll give you one guess,” I mutter.

  Jenna saunters leisurely to the window, trailing a yellow fingernail along the curtains, none-too-subtly sneaking a peek behind them. Her ever-changing hair is piled in a messy mop on the top of her head, and the lavender and blonde strands artfully wisp around her face when she turns to give me a once over.

  “Hmm. My first guess would be parent-related. But… since you’re obviously still wearing the same clothes you had on last night…” Her pert nose wrinkles with distaste and one skillfully plucked eyebrow arches into her hairline. “I’d say you just stumbled in.”

  Meg flops onto her back next to me, giving Jenna a duh look. “Nice detective work, Einstein.”

  Jenna ignores her. “Please tell us you finally gave it up to someone last night.”

  Meg’s mouth falls open, and she props herself up on an elbow. “Do you have to go there? Immediately? Why is everything always about sex with you?”

  “Because it’s always about sex with me.” Jenna rolls her eyes. “And because she’s twenty years old and hasn’t done it with a guy? Abby is still a virgin. I’m trying to help her.”

  My cheeks flush as they continue talking about me like I’m not in the room.

  Meg sighs. “Spare me. Not all of us lose our virginity when we’re fourteen, okay, hooker?”

  “I never said there was anything wrong with being a virgin, just that she was one. Sheesh! And for the record, I lost mine when I was seventeen. And I was in love with the guy, but nice try.”

  Jenna plops down in my desk chair, her large metal earrings jingling merrily around her face as she gives the chair a swivel. “Let’s try not to get off topic here.” She gives me a pointed look. “So? What’s the deal? Slamming and banging doors is so unlike you.”

  Meg immediately turns her attention back to me, absent-mindedly giving a loose string on her sock monkey pajamas a few tugs. She snaps it free and lets it fall to my carpet.

  “And it’s pretty obvious you didn’t come home last night, which is also very unlike you.”