A Kiss Like This

by Sara Ney

  Cecelia: (eyes huge) This is me hanging on your every word!!! Start talking, and don’t leave anything out. On second thought, I’m calling you. 5 minutes. ANSWER YOUR PHONE!!!!

  CHAPTER 6

  Abby

  “…and I couldn’t even get a copy of the practice test. I mean, I was hardly ten minutes late.” Jenna, who’s sitting cross-legged next to me on our ratty old couch, finally stops talking. “Hey. Are you even listening?” She nudges me in the ribs.

  “Huh?”

  She rears back a little so she can look me in the face. “What’s your deal? You haven’t heard anything I’ve said in the last half hour.” She reaches over and snatches the bag of pretzels off the coffee table, grabbing a handful and chomping on one.

  “Sorry, I’m just…”

  But Jenna isn’t a fool, and even though I can tell she wants to say something, she stays quiet instead. It goes without saying that she’s totally addicted to those Crime Scene shows and has learned from watching them religiously that the most effective way to interrogate a perpetrator or suspect is silence.

  Silence.

  “I’m just… preoccupied.”

  More silence.

  “For your information, I was listening. For the most part.”

  Again, she says nothing.

  “Would you knock it off,” I grumble.

  She cocks her head and gives me a patronizing, toothy grin with her pearly whites, the contrast against her deep burgundy lips creating a wide, Cheshire Cat-like visual as she mutely watches me.

  Dang it. I fall for it every time.

  “Remember that guy? The one I fell on top of when I climbed out of Tyler’s window?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Oh. You mean the guy whose name you refuse to tell us?”

  Undeterred and suddenly in the mood to discuss it, I ramble on. “I ran into him today at Wally World while I was buying tampons.” I shudder at this memory and then sigh when I continue. “That wasn’t the worst part. Oh, no. The worst part was when I couldn’t stop looking at him. Like, totally checking him out.” I cover my face with the palms of my hands in mortification. “My god, Jenna. I was so utterly embarrassed. He must think I’m an utter idiot.”

  Utter? Ugh.

  “Uh, Abby? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that guys like being checked out?” She gives me a sometimes I wonder about you look before chewing on another pretzel. “They totally love it. They think you’re undressing them in your mind. It’s a turn-on.”

  “I was not undressing him in my mind, I swear. But I was studying him like a science fair project.”

  “Jeez, you are so adorable when you get all flustered.” Jenna pats my leg.

  “I’m five foot seven—that’s not adorable. Petite—that’s adorable. You’re adorable. Puppies are adorable. ”

  “Aww, schucks, you think I’m adorable?” My roommate clutches her heart and bats her long false lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

  I let out a long sigh. “So, here’s the thing; he has a gap in his teeth. A freaking gap. My new kryptonite.” I run my fingers through my long hair distractedly, and frown. “He seemed kind of insecure about it, but I couldn’t stop staring. Like really, really staring. Because it was so… endearing. But then he started blushing. And I was already blushing, and ugh, it was horrible.”

  Jenna stops chewing. “Well, shit, a gap. And sooo much blushing.”

  I ignore her sarcasm. “Yeah. So then he made a wisecrack about my tampons, I died of mortification, and I exited stage left.”

  Her green eyes get wide with interest. “What kind of a wisecrack?”

  “The cashier asked if I wanted a receipt, and he said I probably wouldn’t be returning them. Because, you know. Tampons.”

  “That. Is. Awesome. I already freaking like this guy.” She stuffs another pretzel in her mouth and leans toward me. “Tell me more about this gap.”

  I close my eyes to conjure up a mental picture of Caleb. I need to remember the details so I can recount them to Jenna. Details like him standing in the checkout aisle in his faded, low-slung jeans, beat-up brown construction boots, black Badgers Hockey track hoodie, and baseball hat pulled down over his forehead. The dark, day-old stubble surrounding his strong sculpted jaw, an angry scar marring the upper corner of his eyebrow.

  He looked angry, awkward, and about as embarrassed as I felt.

  “I only caught a peek of it. He doesn’t really seem like the sunshine-and-rainbows kind of guy.”

  “There you go again with the blushing,” Jenna teases. “And you’ve barely even said anything. I hate to break it to you, but guys totally dig the blushing, virginal look, and you’ve got it in spades.” She glances down at my white cashmere sweater and boyfriend jeans, and raises her eyebrows knowingly.

  “Screw you.”

  “Yes!” Excited, Jenna begins bouncing on the couch cushions. “See! Screwing! Now that’s the spirit we’re looking for!”

  She’s so obnoxious. “Remind me again why I let you live here?”

  “Because I just transferred to Madison, and Molly already had a roommate, so even though all we do is argue, you were so desperate for a sublessee you had to overlook my domineering personality and our penchant for fighting?”

  “Yup. That about sums it up.” I fiddle with my hands, nervously twisting the middle finger where my gold ring should be. “Shoot! Crappers!”

  “What?”

  “My ring. I forgot to look for it. What if I sucked it up when I vacuumed yesterday?”

  “Wait. The house gets vacuumed?” She lets out a titter. “Kidding. But you do know that if you sucked up a ring with the vacuum, it would sound like this.” Jenna begins making loud slurping sounds, complete with VVVvvvv suction noises, while she bangs an empty Coke can on the coffee table. When she’s done making a spectacle, she nonchalantly asks, “Want me to help you look for it?”

  “Er, no. I’ve looked everywhere. I’m sure it will turn up eventually…”

  “And you can’t remember the last time you had it?”

  I stare blankly at the television screen for a few seconds, zoning out, then snap my fingers. “Tyler’s!”

  ~ Abby ~

  I don’t always go crawling around on the grass outside decrepit frat houses, but when I do, I look like a homeless person scavenging for spare change.

  Down on my hands and knees, my palms swipe at the grass in between the Omega and Kappa houses, my head bent so far down at one point, my nose skims the ground. And can I just add—for the sake of details—that grass actually went up my nostrils, and I sneezed a few times?

  Carefully, determined, and without pause, I slowly eyeball what I hope is every square inch under Tyler’s window, biting my lower lip in concentration. I look inside the basement window wells, finger through the crunchy gravel, scout under the countless dead scrubs and inside the hose wheel.

  I stand.

  I crawl.

  I sit.

  I pick up some random garbage strewn on the lawn, and only stop scrounging around like a hobo when I feel like someone watching me. Because someone is watching me.

  I can feel it.

  Raising my head, I do a quick scan of the perimeter, glancing across the street and into both side yards from my vantage point on my hands and knees.

  I raise myself up on my haunches, resting my palms flat on my knees, and continue my perusal of the landscape. The super-fine baby hairs on the back of my neck tingle, causing me to shiver.

  Narrowing my eyes, I give one more cautionary stare into the hedgerow before returning to my hands and knees to continue my search.

  “You really shouldn’t let your guard down so soon,” Caleb’s deep voice says from somewhere above me, and I hear a wooden, hollow shuffle. “Now would be the perfect time for you to get assaulted.”

  He’s standing on the porch of the Omega house, leaning against the heavy white balustrade, hands stuffed in the pockets of black Adidas track pants, shoulders slouched. The hood of his light-gray sweat
shirt is up, but I can see that he’s not wearing his baseball cap.

  Black.

  His hair is jet black.

  “I’m not going to get assaulted, unless it’s by you. Besides, it’s broad daylight.” Self-consciously, still kneeling, I look up at him cautiously from the ground.

  “See, that’s the kind of rationale that gets girls in trouble.” He draws the sentence out slowly, his dark eyes boring into mine.

  I emit a scoff. “Do you make it a habit to creep up on people from the shadows?”

  He wordlessly continues surveying me from the porch and crosses his arms.

  It’s driving me crazy. Pushing myself up off the ground, I get to my feet, swipe the loose gravel off the knees of my navy leggings, and pull down the hemline of my running top so it covers my rear end.

  “Why do you hardly talk?” I exclaim somewhat rudely to break the unbearable silence, propping my fisted hands on my narrow hips.

  Caleb considers this and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know.” Pause. “Why does everything embarrass you?”

  My mouth falls open. “I-I…” I stutter, but nothing more comes out. I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts, and just as I’m about to squeak out an unapologetic quip in reply, another figure emerges from under the overhang of the large covered veranda.

  I close my jaw.

  Just slightly shorter than Caleb but just as large, he’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms and stretching, his green tee shirt riding up and revealing a taunt, tan six-pack. He yawns, staring down at me with keen interest as I loiter in their side yard.

  He’s glancing back and forth between Caleb and me, and I can tell he’s trying to assess the situation but coming up short. “Well, well, well—who are you?”

  I give pause. “Who are you?”

  The blonde guy laughs. “I’m Blaze. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing down in the yard? You should be up here, getting to know me better.”

  How charming.

  “Oh, brother,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms. “Does that line usually work for you?”

  “I don’t know, does it?” Blaze laughs again, his white teeth gleaming in the morning sun against a tan face. Jeez Louise, he’s really freaking cute. So much so that his flirting is actually overwhelming me.

  Wow, do I suck at this.

  But he’s friendlier, and more welcoming, and safer than gloomy Caleb, so I relax a little.

  “Maybe you’re just having an off day,” I hypothesize, giving them both a shy grin before I can stop myself. “I’m sure you’ll have much better luck catching the next girl who wanders through the yard.”

  “I sure hope so.” Blaze rubs his chin, brainstorming, then snaps his fingers. “Maybe if I cast an actual net I would catch one?”

  I titter. “Excellent idea.”

  Blaze folds his arms, his heavily tattooed biceps bulging. I catch him dart a sidelong glance at Caleb before giving him a hard nudge from behind with his elbow. Caleb loses his footing and staggers forward, shooting Blaze a dirty look over his shoulder and loudly mumbling, “Would you knock that shit off?”

  “Only if you stop being such a cock-guzzler and go talk to her.”

  “Why are you pushing this?” Caleb hisses.

  “Because you’re being a little bitch-ass.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, fuck you.”

  What. Is. Happening.

  Amused, I watch them feverishly taunting each other in hushed whispers. Their vulgar bickering actually makes me choke back an entertained laugh.

  Curiously, I brazenly advance a few feet and cock my head to the side. “Does everyone around here have a terrible nickname, or is it just the two of you?”

  “Terrible nicknames?” Blaze grins down at me. “Are you trying to say that Blaze is a terrible nickname? We earned those nicknames on the ice, sweetheart.”

  “Ah. And here I thought Showtime and Blaze were just s-sex references.”

  “Honey, if that were the case, they’d call me Hung Like a Stallion, not Blaze.”

  I blush a crimson red, embarrassed to even have asked. And yet… “Well, what does your nickname mean, anyway?” My eyes dart to Caleb, who is intently watching my exchange with his friend.

  He hasn’t moved an inch of what I assume are solid muscles.

  “I’m fast, and I score. A goddamn blaze of glory! My buddy Showtime here—” Blaze jerks his thumb at Caleb. “Well, he’s the best damn goaltender in the entire NCAA. Did you know that? We used to call him the Lockhart Show when he was a rookie. You should see him work his stick.” He lets out a low whistle, and I hear Caleb let out a horrified groan at the innuendo. My brows only raise a fraction as he continues. “We shortened it to Showtime, right, buddy?”

  The Lockhart Show.

  Lockhart.

  Caleb Lockhart.

  God, even his name is schmexy.

  My gaze shifts and our eyes meet as Blaze continues to ramble on obliviously, and I force myself not to stare at the grass. “Showtime here could show you moves you’ve never seen. Right, buddy?” He winks at me and slaps his hand down on Caleb’s shoulder, rotating his hips like he’s got a hula-hoop around his waist. “Hockey players are notorious for giving good swivel action.”

  Caleb shrugs his hand off, agitated, causing the hood covering his head to shift and giving me a better view of his dark, unruly hair.

  It falls into his dark, brooding eyes, shaggy and thick, before he reaches up to brush it back under his hood. I swallow at the sight of it, guiltily looking toward the detached garage in between the two houses to avoid his intense gaze.

  Bashful now, I clasp and unclasp my hands, glancing back up at the porch. “Well, I didn’t find what I was looking for, so… I’ll just… you know. Be going. Home.”

  I try stuffing my hands into a pocket of my short shirt before awkwardly remembering this shirt doesn’t have one. Self-conscious of the fact that my rear end is on full display, I descend down the driveway, tennis shoes crunching on the loose concrete.

  I risk a glimpse over my shoulder and find Caleb glaring after me, then quickly scurry down the driveway.

  CHAPTER 7

  Caleb

  “Bro, you should get on that,” Bryan “Blaze” Wallace announces beside me, giving me another hard nudge. He stares off into the yard at Abby’s retreating form, both of us appreciating the view of her in tight navy yoga capris as they showcase her firm runner’s ass.

  Abby looks back over her shoulder, long chestnut ponytail swinging, before her hands fumble around her aqua-blue top, searching for a pocket and failing to find one.

  “For fuck’s sake, dude. Don’t just stand here, go say something.”

  I’m rooted to the spot.

  “Jesus Christ, Showtime, she’s going to be halfway down the goddamn street before you pull your head outta your ass.”

  Blaze shoves me again, aggressively, toward the stairs. But this time, instead of resisting, I go. I go because I want to. I go because my feet are on autopilot, forgetting that chasing girls across my yard isn’t something I would normally ever do.

  Bounding down the stairs, I cross the yard and make toward the sidewalk.

  “Atta boy!” Blaze shouts obscenely loudly from the porch, and I shake my head skyward, making a mental note to sack him in the nuts when I get back.

  I jog down the sidewalk, bounding around the corner, and falter momentarily in my tracks when I catch sight of Abby leaning against the stop-n-go light on the corner, forehead pressed to the pole and arms hanging limply at her side.

  I quicken my pace. “Abby?” My voice comes out slightly panicked. “Are you okay?” I ask as I approach, jamming my hands back in my pockets.

  “Oh my god, Caleb.” Abby’s head flies up, and her posture straightens as she clutches a hand to her chest. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I’m six foot three. It’s humanly impossible for me to sn
eak anywhere,” I point out sardonically. “Are you okay?” I ask again. “Why were you leaning against the pole? Did something happen?”

  “Can’t a girl take a breather?” Abby ignores my question, looking both ways before hopping down from the curb and crossing the street, leaving me no choice but to trail after her.

  I hesitate before gracelessly catching up.

  “Yes. But you…”

  When I don’t finish my sentence, she stops abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to face me. “But what?”

  You scared the shit out of me. But of course, I don’t admit that out loud.

  So I just go with a casual shrug.

  “I’m… sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” My eyebrows go up as Abby emits a sigh. “I’m just frustrated. I was at the house looking for a ring.” She bites her lower lip. “It was a gift from my parents.”

  Yeah, I know.

  “They gave it to me when I graduated from High School…”

  I figured.

  “…and I lost it. I thought maybe it would be outside Tyler’s window, but…” She looks down at the sidewalk under our feet, her shoulders hunched in defeat.

  I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

  “Have you searched his bedroom?” I casually suggest, trying to school my features so I don’t look like such a lying bastard.

  “I asked him to look. I’d rather not have to go back up there; it’s pretty gross. I’m sure he would have mentioned finding it.” She doesn’t look very confident chewing on her thumbnail.

  We continue walking, side by side, until we come to an old blue house with a small crooked porch that sags in the middle. Quickly assessing it, I determine it could use new siding, new windows, and new gutters. Abby stops at the end of its gravel driveway, gesturing over her shoulder.

  “This is me.”

  “This is where you live?”

  I glance down the street, counting houses, making a mental catalog of the distance.

  Two blocks away.

  “Yup. This is where I live,” she says, smiling. “Home, sweet dilapidated home.”

  “It’s very majestic,” I say with a poker face, glancing over at her off-campus rental.