Shut Up and Kiss Me: A Lost Boys Novel

by Jessica Lemmon

  “We promise.” When Devlin opened his mouth, probably to argue with her, she held up a hand to stop him. “It’s none of our business that those two are about to get it on like monkeys, Dev.”

  A smile twitched on his lips and I growled in the back of my throat, leaving in my wake a ripple of laughter from my so-called friends. But once I stepped outside into the sun, I realized their laughter was contagious. I was smiling too.

  Because getting it on with Cade wasn’t a bad visual to start my day with.

  —

  There were not enough capital letters on the planet to express the ire I felt after my stupid pathophysiology class. Two of my former friends shared that class with me, but since Tony had kissed one and slept with the other, we no longer confided in one another.

  I pecked a text into my cell, my thumbs blurring over the touch screen.

  Hell hath a name and it is Dr. Shonram’s class! 50 min of my life I’ll never get back!!

  I added a row of angry orange emojis, sent the text to Rena, and then waited.

  Nothing.

  I figured she was neck deep in beer bottles, given it was a Friday night. Great for her tip jar, but terrible for me. It left me with no one to bitch to. And yeah, we sort of snapped at each other earlier, but we had texted since. It didn’t take long to reclaim our rightful BFF status. We liked and respected each other too much to let Cade Wilson or Devlin Calvary come between us.

  I hesitated over my phone for a moment, cleaning the fingerprints from the screen with the edge of my shirt. Before I overthought it, I typed a text to Cade and sent it.

  I’d only typed one word—Hey—and now it sat on my screen, looking back at me lamely. My heart pounded. Rain pelted my windshield, just a few drops. I watched the water gather and blot out the scenery beyond, and decided to go to my apartment and tell my worries to a glass of wine and a bubble bath rather than sit here in the parking lot and rehash my miserable day to myself via unreturned text messages.

  Before I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, it beeped. Cade had texted me back.

  Hey. Sup?

  Sup? Was he serious?

  Heading home from class, I texted back. I waited and wondered if he’d respond. Then I swallowed every ounce of my pride and typed in, Want to go out for a drink?

  I watched for the bubble signifying he was typing a response. It didn’t come. Then it did. I chewed on my lower lip and waited for his answer to pop up. Why did I feel so desperate for him to say yes? Maybe it was because things were unresolved between us. I hated when things were unresolved.

  Can’t, came Cade’s reply.

  My chest deflated. There was my answer. The kiss had been one-sided. My refusal of Paul’s payment an act of desperation. I should have known—

  Stranded.

  I stared at that one word and considered what he meant by that.

  Car probs? I typed. A guess.

  Come here.

  Anticipation zinged through my bloodstream and echoed through my bones at those two commanding words.

  I could go to him. Unload the stress about my stupid class on him. If we were friends—having thought about that again, it was the best descriptor for what we were—then I should be able to sit and have a conversation with him. Plus, the benefit to Cade’s not being much of a talker was that he was a really good listener.

  Going over to his house for an impromptu visit wouldn’t be that much different from any other session. Except I’d be tempted to kiss him again.

  I scrunched my eyes closed and decided I would absolutely not overthink. Nope. I’d go with the flow. Channel my inner Rena and do it because it was fun.

  Of course, on the way I’d drive safely and obey traffic laws. I was still me, after all.

  Who knew what would happen when I arrived? Maybe he’d be moody and I’d vent about my class, and no one would kiss anyone. Maybe he’d work on his exercises without complaint.

  Maybe he’ll work on me.

  Oh, boy. This was such a bad idea.

  But it couldn’t be all bad, given that I was smiling and excitedly anticipating my evening, right?

  I sent one final text to Cade—Be there in 10—then put my car in gear and left campus. I didn’t want to give him too much credit, but the knowledge that I was going to get to see him did introduce a zing of exhilaration.

  I noticed I was speeding and eased my foot off the gas pedal. It was raining and the roads were slick.

  Hey, only one risk at a time.

  Cade

  The skies had opened up since Tasha texted me. In my room above the garage, part of the roof had sprung a leak. Well, more of a drip. I slid the bucket under it, listening to the pat pat pat sound as I sent Tasha a quick text letting her know to meet me in the main house. Then I jogged across the dim garage, past my car—the only vehicle in it—and into the kitchen.

  Rain slid down the windows and blew the trees. I stood at the front door, worriedly watching the weather and picturing Tasha’s fancy BMW getting whipped around. I regretted suggesting she come over.

  Her safety was the only reason for my regrets, though. Every other part of me itched to see her. Even after I watched her refuse to take my dad’s payment for our “therapy.” I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d given up on me, or what. Then when I hadn’t heard from her this week, I decided that, yeah, she’d given up on me.

  Her text was surprising, and my text back was a test. Would she come to me if I asked? After the way she’d run cold—and arguably I’d deserved it for my attitude—I had to know if she was still interested. If maybe, just maybe, she’d refused my dad’s money because she wanted to kiss me a few more times.

  My 1969 Camaro worked fine, by the way. A white lie to see if she’d accept my invitation. When I won that round, I’d punched the air in triumph. Now I wished I’d gone to her instead. No way should she be out in this mess. I was a skilled driver—more skilled than her—and I handled shitty weather better than she did. That wasn’t a sexist accusation, just the truth. Driving was a skill I’d honed. She merely climbed into a car to get her from points A to B.

  A branch from the tall ash tree in our front yard thwacked the porch and snapped in half. It might as well have smacked me in the back of the head for the crap I’d pulled to get Tasha here. Dammit.

  I should have told her to go home. She’d be safer there.

  Out of the rain? Or away from you?

  I lifted my phone to call her to ask if she was okay, stutter be damned, when headlights slashed across my wet street through the deluge. I yanked open the front door, ran to her, and pressed my lips to hers as the pounding rain soaked us…

  In my head.

  In reality I stood gripping the doorknob, swearing under my breath that I lacked the balls to do that whole Nicholas Sparks scene in my head. Yes, I knew who Nicholas Sparks was. I wasn’t a total dick.

  Tasha parked and darted across the driveway, her bag held over her head. She stepped around me and into the threshold as lightning split the sky. The day had been warm, still was warm, the rain creating more humidity rather than cooling it down.

  I shut the door and took her dripping bag out of her hand as Tasha pushed her hair over her shoulders, splattering my shirt with rainwater.

  “Wow. So, it’s raining.” She gave me a nervous smile as she swiped the hollows of her eyes.

  Was she nervous because I knew she was no longer on the clock? Or maybe she was nervous because she knew I wanted to attack her and have her pliant and moaning against me.

  “Is your dad at work?” she asked, her eyes darting around the house.

  I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice. And now that I thought about it, maybe I should have warmed up with a couple of vocal exercises before she got here. I should’ve practiced a few of those sounds while looking in the mirror to see if I looked as stupid as I thought I might.

  “I hope he doesn’t get caught in the storm.” She sent a worried look out the window and I realized I’d have to
tell her sometime.

  “Ow—” I started, then closed my eyes and pulled in a breath. “Out of town.”

  Paul had gone to see a client in Michigan. Or so he said. He’d been sneaky lately, spending more time out of the house than here. I couldn’t help wondering if there was an underlying reason for his absence other than Veri-tech’s quarterly taxes.

  Once she’d inventoried what she could see of the empty house, those blues landed on mine. Then a specific brand of calm curled inside my chest. I didn’t trust that sensation, but it only happened with Tasha, and only happened recently. I liked the way it felt far too much to question it.

  “Drink?” I asked. No stutter. Nice.

  Maybe if I viewed this as a game, it’d be fun. I mentally chalked one point into the “Me” column.

  “No, thanks. I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure how long I’m staying. I’m not sure why I texted you.” She frowned and so did I. I didn’t like that she didn’t know why she’d texted me. Not that I expected her to say she missed me, but it would’ve been nice to hear.

  “I had a crappy day at school. I guess I needed someone to talk to.” Her shoulders drooped in defeat.

  A laugh shook my chest. I couldn’t help myself. She wanted to talk so she came to the guy who didn’t? Not much struck me as funny, but that irony did.

  Catching on that I was laughing with, not at, her, she grinned up at me. She was dripping wet and damn beautiful. Watching the water pool at her feet made my imagination go wild. I pictured her in the shower, those rivulets running down her bare breasts instead of into the neck of her shirt.

  I dropped her bag on the rug by the door, took her hand, and led her to a half bath bisecting the foyer. Inside, I pulled a towel out of the closet and unfolded it. She held out a hand that I ignored. Dropping the terry cloth on top of her head, I began to scrub.

  “No,” came her muffled voice from under the towel. Her hands came out to stop mine. “I have fine hair and you’re tangling it.”

  I removed the towel and she carefully tried to arrange her hair. Rather than scrub vigorously, she ran her fingers through the strands and squeezed the water out with the towel. Watching her move had me in a trance. The way her fingers gingerly separated the knots. The way she bent to slide the towel down her bare legs and arms.

  I was transfixed.

  “Since I’m here, I guess we could have our session tonight instead of next week.”

  Her pragmatism and her work-as-usual attitude snapped me out of the sensual fantasy of her in my shower. I willed my thoughts back to the kiss at the museum, the way she clung to me as I slid my tongue along hers.

  With my dad out for the weekend, we had the house to ourselves. I figured we could do another kind of therapy while we were at it. The lyrics to Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” tumbled through my brain and I shook my head, having no idea where or when I had heard that song.

  Then I remembered. And frowned. Brooke played it once.

  “I have my speech books with me,” Tasha said. “And the straws. If I can talk you into trying things my way.”

  “We d-did them yuh-your way.” Crap. Two points for the stutter demon.

  She either didn’t care or didn’t notice. Okay, she probably noticed, and probably cared only from the standpoint of wanting to help me. The interesting thing was that whenever I tried to be a silver-tongued fox again, she missed the attempt. It would be nice if I could get a positive response from a girl the way I was now. Getting a response from this girl would be the best.

  “What do you think?” She propped her hands on her hips, and that’s when I noticed she was chilled in the cooler air of my house. I tried to keep from it, but my gaze trekked to her nipples pressing against her RU T-shirt.

  “Do you mind?” She thrust the towel at me and I accepted it, following her out of the bathroom.

  “Not at a-all,” I mumbled.

  In the kitchen I opened the fridge and made an executive decision. I pulled out two beers instead of one. To my surprise, she accepted the other bottle when I offered.

  “Sure, why not? After my day, I need it.” She slid onto one of the stools at the island and drank as I took a few deep gulps from mine.

  Watching her delicately sip from a longneck could be the highlight of my evening…but I hoped not. If I had my way—and I would as soon as I took her mind off treating me—I’d be making out long and slow with her.

  I could use another bite of that bottom lip.

  “Oh, hey, I know what we could try.” She smiled and I became instantly worried. “Singing.”

  “Ssssinging.” Shit. Three to one. I was losing.

  “Not really singing, but one of the warm-ups involves a tongue exercise and you do this: la la la la la la.”

  “That’s singing,” I forced out, then gave myself two points. Tied.

  Her smile was pretty, almost flirty. She pulled in a breath to speak, but I didn’t feel like being a patient. So I palmed her hand, and when she met my eyes, I tipped my head toward the big gray sofa in the living room.

  She slid from the stool but dropped my hand to snag her pack and bring it with her. Not what I wanted, but at least she followed. We sat on the couch, and when she put the pack between us, I moved it to the floor and patted the cushion between us.

  “What are you—?”

  “You c-came to tuh-talk.” I swallowed and pushed out my request. “Talk.”

  Chapter 9

  Cade

  She let me have it.

  I listened, content to sit back into the arm of the couch and watch her talk with her hands, gesturing at nothing. Her frustrations about her teacher and friends were all things I could relate to. I’d had some a-hole teachers, and I’d also been involved with mutinous friends who turned on me. Though, if I were being fair, they probably saw me as the mutineer, and technically that was accurate.

  The part I didn’t like, the part that made anger climb my spine like a knotted rope, was that her friends had ditched her because of her ex. I hated that guy. I hated more the way she talked about him with a forlorn look in her eyes. I hoped it wasn’t because she was still in love with him. She definitely had been hurt by him. The sting of it showed in her slumped posture when she brought him up.

  “Every time I see him, I’m reminded I wasn’t good enough to keep him, you know?” She asked that question to her lap, shoulders curled. Then she snapped her gaze to mine, eyes going wide. Pretty sure she hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go into the Tony stuff. I guess I was on a roll.”

  Spunky Tasha looked uncharacteristically fragile, and I was so unused to that look on her, I lifted my hand and brushed her jaw with the backs of my fingers. Her eyes closed and she blew a soft breath into my face. She smelled like peppermint candy and beer.

  I leaned in for a taste, and she had to have felt the cushion between us depress, but Tasha kept her eyes closed. Mine were open and watching as the beautiful girl on my couch leaned closer to me. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. It was a heady realization.

  Our lips touched, and just as my hand came up to cradle her head—just before I slid my tongue along hers—a high-pitched wail pierced the air.

  Siren.

  She jerked away and I blinked, dazed, as my brain chugged into gear.

  Eyes wide, she gripped my arm. “Is that the tornado siren?”

  Yup. It was.

  Outside the kitchen window, the wind whipped leaves and rain against the glass. Tasha shook, her hand around my arm tightening as a small, helpless sound left her throat. Another instinct flooded me. This one, to protect her.

  I snatched her pack, knowing she’d worry about it if I didn’t, and clasped her hand as I led her out of the room. She held on to me while I navigated the basement stairs. The house was a newer build, and since my father wasn’t much of a handyman, the room down here was not finished. The previous owners never bothered, and despite my mom’s—er, Joyce’s—insistence that she wanted a
rec room, it hadn’t happened.

  A sound like rocks pinging the siding made Tasha cling closer to me as we took the stairs down to the chillier air of the basement. In the midst of studs and shiny silver insulation, there was one furnished corner my dad had carved out for himself. After Joyce left.

  I walked Tasha over to the television setup, the recliner in front of it. There was a rug, a table, and a mini fridge stocked with beer and water bottles. It was as good a setup as we could ask for in this situation. I turned on the television to find a somber weatherman pointing to a very blotchy map.

  The words “tornado warning” scrolled along the bottom of the screen with a list of the affected areas. In the distance the siren continued to wail. Tasha hadn’t left my side, the shake in her arm having worked itself down her torso. I knew because her entire body was plastered to my side.

  “Is that hail? Is it a tornado? Oh my God, what do we do?” Her voice was a desperate, dry chafe as her hands twisted my shirt. I curled her against me, my hand rubbing up and down her arm. She rattled, not unlike the house was doing right now.

  “Shh,” I said, hoping I was soothing her. I read the scrolling information on TV. I’d heard similar warnings from this same weather guy in the past, except the warnings rarely affected our area specifically. The only reason I’d recognized the siren at all was because they tested it the first Monday of every month, which set off the neighborhood dogs—a series of howling alarms themselves.

  TV guy wasn’t saying anything new. Stay away from windows, take cover in a bathroom or lower level. There wasn’t a bathroom down here, but it was plumbed for one. Figuring huddling there would be safer than standing in front of the television with basement windows behind us, I walked Tasha over to the tangle of pipes and sat, my back against the wall.

  She sat down next to me, knees to her chin, arms wrapped protectively around her while her shoes tapped the floor nervously. She was still shaking like a leaf. The wind blew louder than the sirens warning Ridgeway to take cover, and a shock of alarm ran through me. This could be the real deal.