“Thank you,” I said, and placed my hand in his. I couldn’t help but revel in the feel of his strong hand around mine as I climbed out of the car. If you’d have asked me yesterday if I was a fan of chivalry I might have likely said no. But that was because I’d never experienced it before.
Jett closed my door for me while still holding onto my hand. The realization made me pull it away. I felt rude after doing it, so I played with my hair to make the action look necessary.
“It’s a pretty night,” Jett said.
Aside from the sight of the Sweet Water Chapel, I hadn’t paid much attention. I looked up to see a stretch of wispy clouds circling the bright moon. The light from it reached all the way to the small town of Sweet Water, where it lit Jett’s face up like a spotlight on a Greek god. “Yeah,” I agreed.
Jett pulled a grin that triggered that million-dollar dimple.
I gulped. Holy holy. I was in trouble now.
He led me through the front room and into the kitchen where a dining table stood beneath a hanging light. “I figured we’d study in here,” he mumbled. “Is that okay?”
I nodded, wondering what that delicious aroma was. I glanced over to see a pan on the counter. Corndogs and french fries were spread over the surface. Normal food! It looked and smelled so good.
“You hungry?”
I pulled my gaze off the pan since I was probably looking at it like a starving person. “No. Not really.”
Jett seemed to study me for a blink. “I made too much. My mom, she’s, uh, taking care of my grandma in Atlanta, and Ava and Ivy are gone for the night, so I’m just going to have to toss it all in the fridge.”
I glanced at the food once more, and I swear the action made my stomach moan. It wasn’t that my mom didn’t feed me. Heck, she tried to feed us better than any mom in town. I just couldn’t palate the disgusting taste of it all.
“Here.” Jett moved into the kitchen and snatched a paper plate off the counter. Using a pair of tongs, he placed a corndog, some fries, and a few square-shaped things I didn’t recognize onto the center. “Want ketchup? Mustard? Ranch?”
I nodded as my stomach growled.
Jett chuckled under his breath. I watched him retrieve the condiments from the fridge while my backpack hung off one muscular shoulder. The white shirt he wore was clearly an undershirt, the thin fabric revealing the muscled contours of his chest. A chest I’d had my hands on, actually. Get it together, Harper. You’re at the pastor’s house, for crying out loud.
“So where’s your dad tonight?” I asked.
Jett’s face scrunched up as he splatted mustard beside the ketchup blob. “Counseling,” he said.
I lifted my brows, wondering if Jett was going to tell me about his parent’s situation after all.
“He counsels couples from church, you know? As part of the job.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” I knew that what Jett said was true, but could it be that the counseling session Pastor Bryant was at was for him and his wife? One of those video chats, maybe. I wanted very badly for Jett to open up to me about it. I had no idea why. Except for that I’d been through it already. Watched the two most important people in my life tear apart in a world of angry words and bitter tears. Maybe I could help him.
“So do you plan to major in theater at UNCW?” he asked.
I shot him a how-did-you-know-I-was-going-there look, but he just grinned. “I helped Pastor Bri pick out cards and candy for all the students who got scholarships,” he explained.
“Ah, that makes sense.” Bri was the youth pastor at church. “And no. Theater’s fun, but I never wanted to pursue it beyond high school. In fact, rather than try out for a lead this year, I told Mr. Meadows I just wanted to be in the ensemble.”
I guessed since Jett knew so much about me I could admit to knowing a little about him in return. “I heard you’re also going to UNCW. You got a basketball scholarship, right?”
He grinned. “Yep. I’ll be playing for the Seahawks,” he said.
I kind of liked how…together he was. Compared to TJ, especially. “Nice,” I said, remembering the excitement when the university came to scout him out. “What will your major be?” I asked.
“Civil engineering,” he answered.
My face scrunched up. “So you’ll be doing what when you graduate, exactly?”
He chuckled. “Most likely I’ll be designing or maintaining infrastructure projects like roads, tunnels, airports, bridges. That type of thing.”
“Wow,” I said, and I meant it. “That’s cool.”
“What are you majoring in?” he asked.
“Business. I figure that’s broad enough I should have some good options.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and eat, and I’ll see if I can pull up some info about this.” He brought the plate over to me and slid it onto the oak table.
Warm light spilled over the floral design casing the paper plate. It wasn’t as if he’d slaved over a five-course meal or anything, but he may as well have. As horrible as it might seem, this was the food I dreamt of. The stuff normal families ate when soccer practice and theater fell on the same night. Or when Mom shuffled in after a late day in the office.
“Thank you,” I said before reaching for the square thing first. I stared at the sauces for a blink.
“That one goes in ranch.”
“Oh,” I said. “There’s pizza in this one, right?”
He smiled wide. “Right.”
“I had these at Bailey’s house forever ago.” I dipped it, took a bite, and groaned from the incredible flavor. “This is amazing,” I said before dipping it again.
“Yeah,” he said. “I love those things.”
A sense of comfort fell over me, and suddenly, I felt very much at home. Jett cracked open a laptop and pulled up an article about the origins of the kiss. Sounded like a good place to start.
He read aloud while I worked on the food—dipping, eating, and nodding along. According to one article, the act of kissing dated all the way back to 1500 B.C. There was conflicting evidence as to how many cultures actually kissed—some said ninety percent of them; another said it was closer to fifty—but one thing was widely agreed: people liked doing it.
“It says here that they used to sign documents with an X and then give it a kiss, which still exists today, hence the use of X’s and O’s when we sign a letter.”
“That’s so cool,” I said. “I wonder where the O’s came from.”
“That’s a good question.” He squinted back at the screen and continued.
I looked at him as he read aloud, imagining what it might be like to sit across from him twenty years from now, a few kids playing out in the backyard while he read me an article from the newspaper. Would he be wearing a white collared shirt, the top few buttons undone while his loosened tie hung just beneath? Or would it be more of a Sunday morning thing? Both of us lounging in our robes, mugs of coffee resting before us. Would he have a five o’clock shadow along that chiseled jaw of his?
I sighed. He just seemed so…solid. And for whatever reason, I appreciated that more than ever. I knew—by rumors of what happened at Carl Macky’s kegger—that Jett had sown a few wild oats. With him being the pastor’s son, it seemed everyone knew. But Jett had it together now. At least he seemed to.
The sight of my empty plate save the corndog stick sent a splash of embarrassment through me. I hopped up, walked into the kitchen, and found the trash bin under the sink. Worried that my hands now smelled like food, I washed up with a squirt of yummy-scented soap, something Cathy had bought for sure.
“So,” Jett said. “That revealed a lot about the history of the kiss, but not so much about the chemistry.”
I walked back over to the table and took my seat, noticing a bowl of filled with candy.
“They’re hot cinnamon,” Jett said. That explained the hints of cinnamon I’d detected on his breath. He must have just finished one himself. “They look like they might be peppermint,
” he added, “but they’re not. Take one if you’d like.”
“Okay.” I hated that he caught me looking at them. First dinner and now this? I was starting to wonder if he viewed me as one of the “less fortunate” his father always preached about. But the fact was, I didn’t want corndog breath so I snatched one, unwrapped it, and stuck it in my mouth.
Jett turned the laptop screen so it faced me this time. “Want to work your magic?” He reached for a notepad and began scribbling out a few notes.
“Sure,” I said. I grabbed my backpack and retrieved a notepad of my own, along with my favorite purple pen. I typed in the words why do people kiss and hit enter.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said. “I should have searched for it that way.”
I tucked the candy in my cheek so I could speak. “What did you type in?”
“About kissing.”
“Those two words? About kissing?” I glanced over in time to catch a hint of color appear in his cheeks.
“Yeah. Is that lame?”
I shrugged and set my eyes back on the screen. Now that I wasn’t starving anymore—in fact, I was more satisfied than I’d been in a long time—I could smell Jett’s incredible spicy cologne. I felt him looking at me too. I couldn’t decide if I liked that or hated it.
“Here’s one,” I said. “About why kissing feels so good.” I felt myself blush after saying the mere title. How was I supposed to read this one aloud? Getting rid of the candy was a good place to start. I crunched it up (an act my mom swears will make my teeth fall out) and took a quick gulp of water. I clicked, sighed out a deep breath, and began to read.
The article started with a few facts like the ones Jett read, but soon it moved onto possible reasons humans were so attached to the activity in the first place. My palms grew sweaty as I spotted the next line. This was starting to feel a little…personal, but there was no going back.
“‘The combination of abundant nerves and thin skin make the lips more sensitive than most areas of the body. In fact, there are more…’” I tried not to trip over the word, “‘neurotransmitters in the lips than in the genitals.’”
“Wow,” Jett said with a laugh. “Glad my dad didn’t walk in and overhear that line.”
I glanced over at him, laughter bubbling up my throat. “No kidding.” I set my eyes back on the article, pausing for a moment to find my place, when suddenly Jett picked up where I left off.
“‘The sensation of kissing sends signals to the brain’s reward and pleasure centers, unleashing a spectrum of neurotransmitters and hormones. These are so powerful they can cause addiction and even withdrawl.’”
Hearing those words in the masculine tone of his voice sent a ton of transmitters into motion in my own brain. In fact, I felt it everywhere.
“Oh, this is interesting,” he said. “‘The first draw of a kiss just might be traced to the fact that women often paint their lips a shade of red, a color which men are often attracted to.’” He glanced over, his gaze meeting my eyes, which made me realize how very close we’d gotten. His face was mere inches from mine.
I watched as his gaze dropped to my lips. I tried to remind myself of what the article said. Something about lipstick. Was he checking to see if I’d worn any? I had put on a color stain. One that would stay right in place and not even smudge. But it wasn’t red by any means—pink was more like it. Frosty Rose, that was the name of it.
Jett shook his head, an absent-looking motion, and turned back to the screen. I decided I should have been taking notes on that, so I grabbed my notebook and scribbled some of the things he’d said.
He read a bit more, something about a smelling test suggesting that women were attracted to men who had a difference in MHC which, from what I understood, had something to do with one’s immune system. The women from the study were attracted to men whose immune systems carried what theirs lacked, meaning their babies would have even stronger immune systems.
“Huh,” Jett said as he leaned back into his seat. “Guess that’s a little different from the romantic chemistry Tolken was talking about.”
“Yeah,” I said. “To think I could be drawn to some guy, all because he was going to help me make healthy babies one day…”
Jett chuckled. “Yeah. Pretty crazy.” He was holding my gaze again. “But I liked the part that talked about, you know, how good it feels to kiss. I mean, it feels good to me, but I like knowing that it feels good for women too.” He shrugged with just one shoulder.
I wanted to speak up and say that yes, it was true. But I hadn’t had the best experiences so far, so I just nodded instead. When that didn’t feel like enough, I added to it. “Yup.”
Jett tilted his head, seeming to study my face.
“What?” I asked. Dang; my cheeks were going pink, I could feel it.
“You don’t like kissing,” he accused.
“Yes, I do.”
He shook his head, still reading my face like it was the latest game plan. “No, you don’t.” He nodded as if I’d actually given him confirmation. “Huh, that’s too bad.”
“What’s too bad?” Now my defenses were picking up. This was the pompous Jett I remembered. Heat spread over the back of my shoulders.
Jett leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “The fact that you’re dating a guy who doesn’t know the right way to kiss a woman.”
Woman? Technically I was still in high school and hadn’t exactly considered myself to be an official woman yet, but that didn’t stop the odd thrill that shot through me. “So you’re so confident, are you? About your kissing ability?”
A triumphant grin spread over his face. “Yes.”
“How? How can you be sure?” I don’t know why, but suddenly I started to feel like I needed a little space, so I scooted my chair back a foot or two. It didn’t feel like such a weird thing to do until Jett stared down at the space between us with a furrowed brow.
Slowly then, he pulled away from the back of the chair, leaned forward to drop his elbows to his knees, and squared a good, hard look at me. “That’s a good question.”
A blast of firecracker-heat flared in my chest. Just where was he going with this? But then every fiber in me threatened to go limp as I realized exactly where he was going with it.
“How about we let you be the judge?”
Jett Bryant was actually asking me to kiss him. I couldn’t have anticipated the kind of euphoria that spilled over me at the thought. I wanted to bask in this moment. This wasn’t a game of me chasing him. This was, finally, him chasing me.
I had to wonder if all this talk of kissing was playing tricks on us. Because all I could picture in that moment was me leaning forward, him wrapping his hands around my waist, and the two of us locking lips in a passionate, movie-worthy kiss.
I heard the slam of a car door. Not a distant one either. Seconds later came the squeaking sound of a swinging door. “Hello?”
I widened my eyes at Jett to get him to…stop leaning in and staring at me like this. His dad would think we were up to something.
Jett only grinned. “Hi Dad,” he called. Still leaning over. Still staring right at me with a challenging grin.
“How’s the homework coming?”
I pulled my gaze off Jett and gave Pastor Bryant a wave. It felt weird being in his home suddenly. Especially considering the conversation I’d just been having with his son.
“What is it you two are studying?” He leaned to one side to take a look at the screen. “Oh yeah, the kiss. That’s an interesting topic.”
Jett finally straightened up. “It sure is,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.
The pastor gave my arm a nudge with the back of his hand and nodded to his son. “You don’t have to kiss this kid in order to get an A do you?”
“Huh?” I squeaked.
He broke into a smile. “Kidding,” he said with a laugh. He walked over to the counter and looked at the food on the tray. “Think the girls will have already eaten again?”
he asked, glancing up at Jett.
Jett yawned, his biceps popping as he propped his hands behind his head. “Probably.”
“Yeah. I’ll get this put away. You two go on with your studies. Don’t mind me.”
“Well, we would, Dad,” Jett said, setting his gaze back on me, “but our research actually does involve kissing, so I think that’d be a little awkward.”
“Ah,” Pastor Bryant said with a nod. “Are you sure you don’t want a different partner, Harper?”
I laughed. Partly out of nerves and partly because it was actually funny. I really had pleaded with Ms. Tolken regarding the issue.
“Actually,” Jett said with a grin. “She did ask for another partner. Tolken said no.”
“Ha ha,” his dad said. “Well, at least you tried.”
I shot to my feet. “I’ve got to get going,” I announced. It came out as awkward as it felt but I didn’t care. Any minute, Pastor Bryant would disappear and I’d be stuck sitting alone with Jett and his seriously tempting offer to see for myself whether he really was a good kisser.
“I hope I didn’t scare you away.” His dad piled the corndogs, french fries, and pizza pockets into one big storage bag and zipped it up.
“No, you didn’t. I just…remembered I was supposed to be home by…” I had no idea what time it was so I just said, “…by, um, now.”
“Okay then,” the man said pleasantly.
Jett didn’t let me off so easily. He reached his foot out and bumped my shoe. “By what time?”
I glared at him, hoping he’d let it drop.
“What time was it that she told you to be home?” he repeated under his breath.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Pastor Bryant rinsing an apple at the sink. Wasn’t there a microwave over there too? Yes, green glowing numbers that read five after nine.
“By nine o’clock actually,” I said, “but she won’t mind if I’m home a little late.”
I stuffed my notes back into my bag, zipped it up, and scooted my chair back into place. Jett came to a stand and shut his laptop. “I’ll walk you out.” He rested his hand on my lower back, causing a sensation of tingles to move over my skin.
Chemistry of a Kiss Page 4