The Kissing Booth #2

by Beth Reekles

  Plus, since Lee had to keep his grades up for the football team and if he wanted to get into Brown, he was focusing a lot of his spare time on that. I knew I couldn’t hold that against him. (Though I kind of did.)

  “We were thinking,” I said, “about asking around the school if anybody has a band that wants to perform at the dance. Free entertainment, you know? Remember there were a couple of bands that performed at the Spring Carnival last year? And I’m not talking about the marching band, or the guy who wouldn’t stop playing ‘We Are Family’ on his tuba.”

  “That’s actually a great idea,” Ethan said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Put up some posters around school, ask them to send us a video submission. That way we can show you who we pick, and we don’t have to find somewhere to sit and listen to them for, like, eight hours after school.”

  “Perfect. Get on it, guys. Now, chaperones, I’ve been told we need chaperones since it’s being held in the school gym. Where are we on chaperones?” As Ethan spoke, he flipped over the handwritten list in front of him, revealing…another full-page list.

  “We’re not getting out of here before the end of lunch, are we?” Lee mumbled.

  I dug a hand into my backpack, passing him a packet of beef jerky under the table.

  “You’re my hero.”

  “Just call me Wonder Woman.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Friday afternoon after school, my dad had taken Brad to a soccer tournament and wouldn’t be back until later on in the evening. Lee was going to the movies and dinner with Rachel—after checking I was cool with it first; the rest of the guys were having a guys’ night in (playing video games, eating too much pizza, and drinking a few cans of beer they’d managed to persuade someone’s dad to buy for them), and I was relishing some me time.

  I’d been invited to the guys’ night in, but I said I’d give it a miss.

  My “me time” involved me pasting on a thick green tea tree–oil face mask, painting my toenails and waxing my legs while lying across the couch watching an old season of RuPaul’s Drag Race that was being marathoned on one of the TV channels.

  I had my laptop out in front of me, too, a YouTube page open with a video of some guys from school playing a Mumford & Sons cover. Actually, they weren’t too bad. One of the best I’d seen so far. I forwarded the link to Ethan with the message “/10?”

  That done, I closed my laptop. I was determined to put the stress of school and colleges and even my doubts about my relationship with Noah out of my mind and relax properly for the first time in weeks.

  Until the doorbell rang.

  I froze. No way could I answer the door like this! My hair was scraped back. Green goop covered my whole face. There were waxing strips still on my legs (just three minutes until they came off) and I had toe dividers in to stop my nail polish smudging.

  And I was in Winnie-the-Pooh pajama pants rolled up to my knees and the T-shirt of Noah’s I wore to bed.

  Crap.

  I figured I should probably see who it was, though, in case it was important. Or Lee. Lee had seen me like this too often to find it funny anymore. He’d join me in the face mask and pedicure fun, sometimes. If it was Levi, I got the feeling he’d take a picture to send to all the guys.

  I waddled to the window, pulling back the corner of the drapes to look out and see who it was. They were mostly hidden from view, but it couldn’t be anyone other than Lee. Maybe his movie night got canceled? Maybe Rachel got sick.

  I was way too happy at the thought of something happening to spoil his night with Rachel and hanging out with him for the night.

  So I waddled a little farther out to the doorway, desperate not to ruin my carefully applied nail polish, and opened the door, saying, “Hey, dude, what happened to—”

  And slammed it back shut again.

  A hand caught it, laughter drifting in through the crack in the door. I stumbled back a few steps as it opened, and Noah walked in, laughing, a smile splitting his face. He was in the leather jacket and big black boots I knew so well, a white T-shirt hugging his torso.

  “What are you doing here?” I cried. If it weren’t for the mask all around them, I’d have rubbed my eyes. I had to be seeing things. All the fumes from the nail polish were making me hallucinate.

  Because Noah couldn’t be here, inside my house. He was across the country at college.

  And yet here he was, laughing at me, practically doubled over.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” he said when he managed to stop laughing.

  “What are you doing here?” I repeated, too shocked to say anything else.

  He grinned, the dimple in his left cheek showing. “After weeks of not seeing me, that’s how you greet me? I mean, come on, Elle. Where’s the Fifty Shades lingerie? Where’s the rose petals on the floor, the candlelit dinner?”

  “I—”

  And then his arms were wrapped around me and his lips were on mine, and I melted. The tension, the anxiety about us, it all vanished. Instinctively, my arms curled around his shoulders, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. It was shorter than when he left. He tasted like coffee. His body against mine felt exactly like I remembered. He kissed just the same.

  And, God, he kissed so good.

  “That,” he said, breaking the kiss but not moving away, noticeably breathless, “is how you should’ve said hello.”

  I drew back, my hands still on his shoulders. “You have stuff all over your face now,” I said, running a fingertip over his cheek, just below where my face mask had smeared. It was in his stubble, too. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He looked so cute like this—way more so in real life than he had on camera.

  He just smiled again. “God, I missed you.”

  In reply, I pulled myself up closer and kissed him.

  * * *

  • • •

  Once I was a little more presentable—still in pajamas but without the various skincare and beauty products—we lay down facing each other on the couch in the living room, my back to the TV and my nose touching Noah’s, his arms holding me in close, and I was right where I wanted to be. The few days’ scruff that Noah hadn’t shaved off suited him, and I liked it even though it was a little itchy against my cheek and neck. His eyes were impossibly bright, and even more electric blue than I remembered, and he didn’t take them off mine for a second as we lay there with Brooklyn Nine-Nine playing in the background.

  I still couldn’t believe he was here! Actually here. I felt so dizzy with it; it completely overwhelmed all the nervousness I’d felt around our relationship lately.

  Noah had talked to me through the bathroom door—his classes on Monday were canceled, so he’d decided to come home for the weekend and surprise me (which, he gloated, he’d done a damn good job of).

  He said that after our (admittedly mostly one-sided) argument a couple weeks ago, about the incident with the photo, he’d decided to come visit, because he missed me and said that things were probably so tense between us because we hadn’t seen each other in so long.

  “You could’ve picked a more opportune moment to show up. Like, five minutes later would’ve been great,” I’d called through the bathroom door, tearing off the last waxing strip. “Seriously. I’m mortified.”

  “Because I saw you looking a little bit like Princess Fiona from Shrek?”

  “Because I’m trying to maintain the illusion that I achieve this flawless beauty with absolutely no effort,” I’d joked, opening the door back up to him. “And now you know my secret.”

  He bent his head to kiss me again. “You always look beautiful, Elle. Even with hairy legs and zits.”

  Now I ran my fingertips over his cheek—he’d washed the face mask off—and over his nose, along the edge of his two-day beard, up around the shape of his eyebrows.r />
  “What are you doing?”

  “Just admiring my gorgeous boyfriend.” I kissed him. I’d forgotten how good it felt. Had kissing him always been like this? “I’ve missed you so much. Like, words could not describe.”

  “I missed you more,” he protested, smirking a little. I shook my head and kissed him again, slowly and softly, trying to memorize how his tongue moved with mine. Who knew how long it’d be until I got to do this again? I was going to make every minute with him count.

  When we did stop kissing, it was because a car pulled up outside: my dad and brother were back. We sat up. I straightened my shirt, and Noah stole another brief kiss before the door opened.

  “We’re back,” my dad called out.

  “In here.”

  Brad was already running upstairs, yelling, “Hey, Elle! Hey, Levi!” He was probably under instructions to change out of a muddy soccer kit straightaway (he always got muddy, and I was sure he did it on purpose) but my dad came into the living room—not before Noah raised an eyebrow at me for Brad yelling hi to Levi. I shrugged. He’d hung out here a lot over the last few weeks…more than Lee, actually.

  Dad did a double take, staring at Noah with his mouth slack and eyes squinting. Noah’s arm was slung around me and he lifted it to wave. “Hey, Mr. Evans.”

  Then he cleared his throat, composed his face. “Good to see you, Noah. Home for the weekend?”

  “Yep. I haven’t got any classes on Monday, so figured I’d come see Elle for a couple days.” He punctuated it with a smile at me—with an expression so eerily like the soppy look I caught on Lee’s face when he was looking at Rachel that it made me blush.

  Dad nodded. “And how is college? Your mom said you seem to have settled in well.”

  Noah answered quickly, enthusiastically, and not at all like himself. “Yeah, it’s great. I’ve made some really good friends, and the football team is great, and my classes are really interesting. The only downside is having to do my own laundry,” he added, and they both laughed.

  We stuck around for a while, and when my dad was out making himself some decaf coffee, and Brad was in bed, Noah’s lips grazed over my neck and his hand slid under my shirt. Warm and heavy and familiar and making my heart flip. He said softly, “Do you wanna stay at mine tonight?”

  “Your parents won’t mind?”

  “Have they ever? You have a toothbrush and deodorant in our bathroom. You have a drawer full of clothes in Lee’s room.”

  “Yeah, but…I dunno, I feel like I have to check. It’s different now.”

  He kissed my cheek, lips grazing over my skin toward my ear. “Hey, if you want to stay here instead, all by yourself…” He kissed my neck, just below my ear.

  “Give me two minutes.”

  I hurried upstairs to put on some appropriate clothes to leave the house in, and threw some essentials in an oversized purse—namely, clean (and cute) underwear and my cell phone charger—before putting on some shoes and heading back downstairs.

  “I’m gonna stay over at Lee’s house,” I said to my dad. Then, seeing he was about to make some cringe-inducing comment about “being careful,” I added, “In the spare room.”

  I had exactly zero intention of staying in the spare room: the box of condoms in my purse was a testament to that.

  He nodded, like he didn’t want to hear more about it, but I didn’t miss the mildly disapproving look he cast me over the top of his glasses. “What time are you coming home?”

  I shrugged. “Sunday, I guess. Maybe after dinner?”

  Dad nodded. “All right. Text me tomorrow and let me know. Do you have a key?”

  “Yup.”

  “Got your pill?”

  My cheeks flamed. I should’ve known I wouldn’t get away that easy. I’d been on the pill for over a year—not so much because I’d needed the contraception at that point, but more to balance out my irregular periods—but it looked like my dad was treating the situation like alcohol at parties: he knew it was gonna happen, and he knew he couldn’t stop me, so he just wanted me to be safe about it.

  Even so, I hissed, “Yes, Dad. God. I’m a responsible adult.”

  “Yesterday you were playing Disney soundtracks. And singing along.”

  “Responsible adult. I’m going now.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The Flynn house was silent, save for the distant, steady rumble of the washing machine. Noah said his parents had gone to their friends’ twentieth-anniversary party and wouldn’t be back until the next day. Lee was still out with Rachel.

  Neither of us was complaining.

  Later, we were curled up in his bed, wrapped under the comforter even though it was a warm night, our legs tangled together and my head resting on Noah’s chest. I splayed my fingers out across it slowly.

  “You smell different,” I said to him. He still smelled of the citrus body wash and shampoo he used, and of his aftershave, but there was something different about it I couldn’t place.

  When I told him as much, he said, “Well, I haven’t smoked a cigarette for a few months, so maybe that’s it.”

  I pushed myself away, propping myself up on an elbow to look at his face. “I never understood that habit. It wasn’t even a habit. You just did it to look cool in front of everyone else, didn’t you?”

  His mouth twitched, and he glanced away for a second. “Kind of.”

  “Why’s it so important for you to be seen as a bad boy?”

  Now I’d asked, I wondered why I hadn’t before. Noah sighed, and trailed his fingers through my hair. His fingers snagged in a knot, so he stroked the top of my hair down to the roots instead. It was the kind of absentminded, soothing gesture that I’d missed so much when he’d been gone.

  “What, you don’t think I’m a bad boy?” He was trying to be playful, mock dismay on his face now. “I’m wounded. Maybe I need to go punch a wall and light up a cigarette to prove it to you. Race off on my bike and pick a fight with someone. Go…I don’t know, go kick all the potted plants over outside. My mom would hate that. Seriously badass.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Funny. Seriously, though. You’re a big softy around me, and you’re a closet geek, but you put up this front for everyone else, like nobody can touch you. Sometimes you act like you’re just asking for a fight. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed it’s just a front.”

  Noah held my gaze for a moment; I thought he was trying to decide if I was bluffing or not. He must’ve realized not. His fingers moved to trace circles on my back, and I pressed a kiss into his shoulder blade.

  “You were too little to remember it, you and Lee, but in grade school I used to get bullied. A lot. I wasn’t as big as some of the other kids, and I was this weedy little guy.”

  “I’ve seen pictures. I kinda remember.”

  “I was smart, too. And you know what some assholes like to do to geeks and nerds—the bigger, not-so-smart kids like to pick on them because it makes them feel better about themselves. Happens all over the world, right? Textbook situation.”

  “Right…,” I said slowly, drawing the word out and my eyebrows together. How had I been so close to Noah all these years and never known he used to get bullied? Did Lee know? His parents never mentioned it—had he asked them not to?

  “I hated it, because I just wanted to shove them back, but, you know, if you fought back, you got in more trouble…and I wasn’t a snitch. I never tattled on a bigger kid when they pushed me off the swing or stole my cookies at lunch. It just made me so…angry.”

  Noah drew in a shaky breath, and I reached over to take his other hand in mine, locking our fingers together. He didn’t return the hold, but he didn’t pull away, either.

  “I couldn’t take my frustration out on them, and I didn’t want to tell my parents. You know what they’re like—they’d have called t
he school and made a lot of fuss and it would’ve made me an even bigger loser.”

  “So you took your frustration out on everything else,” I said, thinking about the time he told me he’d gone to anger-management classes a few years back, but they hadn’t helped.

  He carried on as if I hadn’t said anything. “Middle school wasn’t so bad. I had my growth spurt that summer, and my parents had signed me up for kickboxing—”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that.”

  “Because they thought I just needed an outlet, so I wasn’t a weedy little guy anymore.”

  “But you were still a geek,” I said, trying to fill in some of the gaps. This conversation was like a jigsaw puzzle—and I was trying to fill in the middle without having the edges to work from first. I couldn’t believe we’d never talked about this until now. “You’re smart. You’ve always been smart. Hell, you got into an Ivy League college, Noah. Not just anybody can do that.”

  “I remember,” he said, a wry smile on his face, “this one time in eighth-grade Spanish class. We had a test, and I got a C in it. I’d never had anything below a B-plus, even on a bad day in my worst subject. I was smart, I knew that, but I didn’t slack. My parents weren’t mad about the C—they said it was just one little test, no big deal. But they were disappointed in me. Even if they didn’t say it, I could see it in their faces. And I was harder on myself for it than they ever could’ve been.”

  “So…” I sat up a little more, snuggling farther into the crook of Noah’s arm, which tightened around me in response. He hadn’t been looking at me during the conversation, fixing his gaze on the wall in front of him instead. I pulled my hand out of his and titled his chin toward me so he’d have to look at me.

  “So,” he said, “I decided that I’d had enough.”

  “Of what?”

  “Hating everything and not doing anything about it. I started pushing back. I got into fights sometimes; I cut class once in a while. My parents and teachers thought it was just a phase. Give it a year, and I’d stop rebelling and take school seriously again, right?”