by Kylie Adams
First Kiss
Kylie Adams
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
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Don't miss the other books of The Bridesmaid Chronicles
First Date (Available now)
First Dance (Available in August 2005)
First Love (Available in September 2005)
Praise for the novels of Kylie Adams
"Cutting, cunning and real. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough, couldn't forget the characters when it ended."
Stephanie Bond, author of Cover Me
" A breezy, humorous romp." The Best Reviews
"Smart sexy a truly moving story."
Holly Chamberlin, author of The Summer of Us
"Quirky, lighthearted downright entertaining."
The Romance Reader
"My favorite flavor spicy! Kylie Adams's wit and intelligence make this book impossible to put down."
Carmen Green, author of Atlanta Live !
"Achingly hip, furiously funny and thoroughly unput-downable." Emma Gold, author of Easy and Hard
" A talented and creative new voice."
Romantic Times BOOKClub
"Tabloid hilarity with a heart."
Roz Bailey, author of Party Girls and Girls' Night Out
"Fresh and funny a laugh-out-loud romp."
Wendy Markham, author of Slightly Settled
"A razor sharp novel smart and funny!"
Patrick Sanchez, author of Girlfriends and The Way It Is
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Books by Kylie Adams
Ex-Girlfriends
Baby, Baby Fly Me to the Moon
Anthologies with Kylie Adams
Santa, Baby featuring the novella Holiday Stud
The Only Things Better Than Chocolate featuring the novella Sex and the Single Chocoholic
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SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, July 2005
10 987654321
Copyright © Jon Salem, 2005
Excerpt from First Dance copyright © Karen Moser, 2005
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARKMARCA REGISTRADA
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book PUBLISHER'S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
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Acknowledgments
Kara CesareMy editor. She's an absolute doll, even in the face of my worst Barbra Streisand moments (I tend to be opinionated/difficult about plot points, character motivations, cover art, back cover copy, font type, marketing plans, basically everything but the routine maintenance of the printing press).
Karen KendallAuthor of Books 1 & 3 in this series. Her e-mails are an absolute hoot, and somehow she managed to bang out a manuscript while moving and fighting a hurricane. She's practically Xena, Warrior Princess.
Julie KennerAuthor of Book 4 in this series. She's prolific beyond belief (by comparison, Danielle Steel works at a snail's pace). Plus, she's raising kids. An amazing multitasker.
Shelley PowersMy hilarious friend. We share a certain solidaritythat would be a common obsession with Tom Welling of the WB's Smallville . Episodes that feature him without a shirt routinely get a second, third, sometimes fourth viewing. And we can spend entire lunches waxing lyrical on how this event (Tom Welling taking off his shirt) is simply just good for America.
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Men who have pierced ears are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewelry.
Rita Rudner
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From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
[email protected]
Subject: Venting
Suzi-Suzi and Danni!
It's after midnight and too late to call, so here I sit banging away on my laptop. May I please share two things that are currently driving me insane?
1) Polygamy! Why is this a crime? The multiple wives/husbands are at least sharing responsibilities. Meanwhile, there are no laws to protect bridesmaids. I'm already booked for four weddings this summer, and now my brother is getting married. That's five new dresses to buy that I will only wear once! Five trips to spots on the map that require me to get on a plane and fly coach! Five bridal shower gifts! Five wedding gifts! And you know my luck. If there was one straight, single, smoking-hot groomsman to look forward to, then it might be worth it. But that's never the case. I get stuck trudging down the aisle with the teenage boys fighting acne, boring salesmen who are already married, and gay cousins. Never the straight hot guy. Ugh! It's so unfair. I should write my congressman. Hmm. Who is my congressman? Wait! I'll e-mail Hillary. She's a senat
or. That's higher up the political food chain. I'm sure that she'll want to help. I mean, Chelsea's probably just starting to go through this sort of thing. I imagine that she'd be a very popular bridesmaid. Don't you think?
2) Botox! I can't afford it this month. Why? Because of all these wedding expenses! And there's also the fact that I'm not working right now. That doesn't help. Anyway, I don't know what's worse for my frown linesnot getting Botox, or stressing out about not getting Botox. All I can do is double up on my new Principal Secret products. Victoria's new Reclaim line has an ingredient called Argire-line that's supposed to smooth out lines. I've been applying it every two or three hours. You know, I think it's starting to work.
PS This is way off point, but I would totally get behind the controversial cloning issue if a brilliant scientist agreed to duplicate Jude Law.
Air Kisses, K
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Chapter One
At the crack of eleven, Kiki Douglas slowly began to stir. To the crunchy guitars of Hoobastank blaring from the alarm clock radio. To the steady hum of traffic thirteen floors below. To the incessant yapping of the Scottish terrier next door.
For a moment, she simply lay there as the cold, hard realities began to sink in. The weight of the obvious seemed to push her deeper and deeper into the Tempur-Pedic mattress. Sleeping on one of those was a dream. And Kiki had bought it for a steal, thanks to Suzi-Suzi's married boyfriend, who worked for the company. Poor Suzi-Suzi. She was struggling to find work as a model and involved with another woman's jerky husband. But Kiki had her own problems to face down this morning.
Like no job. Damn those writers on All My Children for pushing her character off a cruise ship!
And no money. Damn American Express for ex-pecting that she pay all those Bergdorf Goodman charges at once!
Andworst of allno one to blame it on. If she had a husband/boyfriend/whatever, then she would at least be able to make him responsible for all of this.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Kiki erupted from the bed and pounded on the wall. "Shut up, Alfie! Your mommy won't be home for seven hours!" Now fully awake, she shuffled into her tiny kitchen to snatch a bottle of Voss water from the could-go-at-any-moment fridge. And the landlord called this cramped one-bedroom newly renovated . Only in Manhattan.
She eyed her Macintosh iBook atop the sleek desk situated in front of the window. The arrangement was very Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City . In fact, when Kiki tapped out her philosophies on the message board of her Web site, sometimes she could feel the muse of Sarah Jessica Parker as her fingertips went peck-peck-peck over the keyboard.
Ten years. An entire decade. Practically a lifetime ago. That's how long it had been since Kiki represented her home state of Texas in the Miss America Pageant. Thinking back on that crushing moment, when she realized that Miss California had won the title, when the cruel truth of being forever banished to the forgotten Siberia of first runner-up crystallized in her brain well, even now it still conjured up that familiar feeling called gut-twisting nausea.
And how many times had she played the events over and over in her mind? The evening gown competition. The swimsuit contest. The talent showcase. The all-important onstage interview. God, it was like her own version of the Zapruder film.
The swimsuit memory triggered Kiki's most intense regrets. How in the world had Miss California scored higher? The woman had ugly knees. And when the surfer girl did her turn-step-turn-spin in front of the judges, she tottered slightly and almost lost her balance. Robbery! That bitch had beaten her in the talent showcase, too. What did those judges know about opera? The idiots probably gave her high marks by default just for singing in Italian. Meanwhile, Kiki's dramatic monologue from the movie St. Elmo's Fire had earned a lukewarm reception at best. So over their heads. What did Charo know about acting anyway? Please. A few skits on Bob Hope specials hardly made a dinosaur like that the second coming of Meryl Streep.
Kiki pushed the replay of her personal Waterloo out of her mind and logged on to www.misstexas95.com to check her message board. It was amazing that she still had fans from that era. But the truth was, more girls seemed to seek her out from her pageant days than from her soap exposure. No wonder. The moment she felt settled into a role on a daytime drama, the writers dreamed up a plot twist to kill her off. On One Life to Live , she'd been the victim of a mob hit; on Guiding Light , she'd been poisoned by a psychopathic husband. God, what she wouldn't give to slip into a coma on one of those shows. That could mean months of dramatic screen time without having to worry about memorizing lines. Heaven.
As expected, Kiki found a new posting from Ariel C. A high school senior now, Ariel had represented Texas in last year's America's Junior Miss competition and routinely sought Kiki's counsel on everything from makeup tips to dealing with parents. But today's missive was her most serious to date.
From Ariel C: Kiki, my boyfriend (we've been together for six months) is really pressuring me to have sex. I'm one of the few virgins still left in my class, and he says there are plenty of girls who want to hook up with him. He also wants me to quit the Abstinence Club because his friends make fun of him about it. Part of me wants to hold on to my convictions, but another part of me doesn't want to risk losing this guy. I really love him. What would you do?
Kiki was determined to craft a response that would steer Ariel in the right direction, and for a moment, she was so engrossed in the assemblage of her own thoughts that Alfie's barking receded into white noise.
From Kiki D: Ariel, take it from a girl who rememberssex with high school boys is no trip to the moon. They care less about bringing you to orgasm than your future husband will a few years after marriage. This guy sounds like a creep who's more concerned about what his retarded buddies think than he is about your feelings. I say stick to your principles. He's not worth the compromise. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not a staunch moralist who advocates saving yourself for marriage. I mean, that could be disastrous. What if future hubby is an absolute bore in the bedroom? Better to learn such things before involving innocent bridesmaids. I've been one of those more times than I want to count, and whenever I hear about a divorce (so many occur within just a few years, and it's usually about sex or money), I feel like demanding a refund on the tacky dress and any gifts that I bought. Anyway, I digress. Back to the main pointlosing your virginity. Are you traveling abroad this summer? If not, you should plan a trip. There's nothing like a hot foreign affair to awaken a girl's sexuality. I vote to save yourself for an Italian named Antonio or a Frenchman named Jean-Paul. It could be so delicious!
Kiki signed off, her spirits soaring. A few minutes upon rising and already she'd set a young woman on the proper path. What a glorious feeling of pro-
Kylie Adams ductivity. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she should write a book. Some sort of quasi-autobiographical/self-help/practical solutions tome.
First Runner-Up But Still a Winner.
The inspirational title hit her like an internal thunderbolt, causing the fine, tiny hairs on her arms to tingle. What a brainstorm. She scribbled the thought on a Post-it, then wrote call asshole agent, and underscored the reminder three times, each successive line scratched with increasing hostility.
Keith Bush. The bastard never returned her calls and so far had done nothing to turn around the slump in her acting career. But he did have the William Morris Agency clout behind him.
One more chance , Kiki thought. Better to give him the opportunity to redeem himself than shop around for new representation from a point of weakness. Word could get around that she was desperate. Which she was. But the trick in the industry was to never let anyone see you borrow money from your parents. Or was it to never let them see you sweat? Hmm. Maybe it was both. No matter, she made a second note to call her father. Rent was due soon, and American Express was stalking her. Come to think of it, they always called about this time of day. Yikes. Time to go.
Kiki rushed to get ready and get out. A quick Reclaim
routine. The lines were fading or was she simply fooling herself? Truth be told, there was noth-ing like the magic of Botox. Amazing. Certainly the best medical advancement since penicillin! A brilliant observation. Must save that for the book. She gave her teeth a good brushing with Sonicare, swiped on some mascara and lip gloss, dressed quickly in a tight Junk Food-label Cookie Monster baby tee and matching hot pants, tossed on a Juicy Couture charm bracelet for a bit of trendy flash, and dashed out the door just as the phone started to jangle. Thank God those pesky bill collectors didn't have her mobile number. The torment would be endless.
She stepped out into the middle of the street and raised her right arm to hail down a cab. It would gobble up her last bit of cash. Whatever. How could she walk in this suffocating heat? Nobody wanted to show up at an important luncheon shiny with perspiration. Okay, in all honesty, it was just a quick bite with the girlsSuzi-Suzi and Danni. But still. They deserved the same consideration Kiki might reserve for, say, the League of Women Voters. Hmm. This reminded her. Better register to vote before the next presidential election. Anyway, trying to tough it on foot was out of the question. And so was the subway. Way too early to deal with a pervert rubbing up against her or a mother with a stinky baby. Yuck.
A taxi jerked to a stop. Finally! A survey had been done revealing that unattractive people have to wait even longer. How awful. Kiki lamented the horrible injustice as she tumbled inside. That had been a good five minutes in the blistering heat. She could empathize with what it must feel like to just stand there like a statue in the park. Where were the social crusaders when you needed them? They should make this cab situation a priority. Hmm. More fodder for the book. Maybe a whole chapter. A mini-polemic on aesthetic worthiness in America. That could get her on Meet the Press . It was all about expanding your audience. Face it, the whole beauty queen/soap star bit all but guaranteed her a slot on Regis and Kelly . She had that demographic in the bag. But the Tim Russert crowdthey had no idea who she was or that she had great ideas for, say, all the hullabaloo about the obesity crisis in America. Example: Manufacture refrigerators with photos of Brad Pitt and Salma Hayek built in to the doors. That will curb late night snacks and make people want to exercise!