The Holiday Kiss (Briarwood High Book 4)

by Maggie Dallen

  “A joke,” I repeated. Anger rose up quickly. I hated this anger, but it seemed to be there, always under the surface when Luke was around. “So all these years you and your friends have just been joking when you made fun of my clothes or whispered behind my back.” It was a struggle to keep a neutral expression. “Good to know.”

  I saw him stiffen. Watched his jaw twitch with barely concealed anger. “Maybe you just don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “I don’t. Not for things that aren’t funny.” I jabbed my finger into his chest, trying not to notice how hard it was, which was especially difficult to do since my finger hurt from the contact. It felt like I’d just jammed it against concrete. Still, I had a point to make. “You and your friends? You’re not funny to anyone outside of your elitist clique.”

  “Elitist clique?” He shook his head as he repeated my words, clearly frustrated and obviously stunned, as though he’d never thought of themselves that way. I’d always assumed he wasn’t terribly self-aware, and this conversation just proved it.

  “That’s what I said.” My voice was calm and even, despite the fact that my heart was beating too fast and my stomach was roiling.

  I didn’t do confrontations. Scratch that. Up until very recently, I didn’t do confrontations. But it seemed that’s all Luke and I were capable of when we spent more than two seconds in close proximity.

  “Don’t blame me and my friends because you don’t fit in.”

  I let out a laugh that had zero amusement. “You think I want to fit in?” I took a step closer, which was a giant mistake. He smelled freakishly good at this close range and knowing that did little to help that fuzzy, unsettled feeling I’d been battling all evening.

  “Everyone wants to fit in.”

  It was the way he said it that really drove me nuts. That cocky assuredness that made me want to scream. He might as well have said everyone wants to be me.

  “Believe it or not, not everyone at Briarwood wants to be a vapid jock or a clueless cheerleader.”

  “Wow.” He widened his eyes and he honestly looked shocked. “Talk about clichéd stereotypes. No wonder you walk around looking down on everyone if that’s the way you see the world.”

  “Oh please.” I let out a snort of disgust. “Don’t act so innocent. The only reason I never fit in was because I wasn’t like you and your friends. I didn’t adhere to your standards. I was labeled a nerd and that was that. If that’s not stereotyping then I don’t know what is.”

  He leaned down slightly and I got another whiff of that yummy scent. It temporarily derailed my anger because my mind became preoccupied with figuring out what on earth was causing that smell. It was all male but in every great way. If one could bottle it, I’d label it eau d’man. My sidetrack took another leap off the path as I racked my brain for the French word for man. Spanish was my jam, but French? Not so much.

  “If you don’t want to be seen as a nerd, then why do you dress the way you do? Why do you act like you do?”

  I blinked in surprise, not just because he’d interrupted my wayward thoughts, but because he sounded honestly curious. I mean, yeah, he was trying to make a point, but he seemed frustrated that he didn’t know the answer.

  I resisted the urge to reach out again and touch him. Instead I planted my fists on my hips. “I could ask you the same thing. If you don’t want to be seen as a mindless, brutish jock, why act the part?”

  His nostrils flared and I knew I’d hit my mark. But the funny thing was, rather than a surge of triumph, I felt…ill. My stomach heaved and a wave of nausea rose up alongside guilt and shame.

  I wasn’t a mean person. I really wasn’t. I never made nasty, snide comments. Not like this. I closed my eyes to shut out the angry expression on his face and to focus on calming my breathing.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Then I bit back a sigh because one honest to God conversation with this guy and I’d already had to apologize twice.

  I opened my eyes to find his stare still fixed on me. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, but as I did, another wave of nausea rose up.

  Oh hell. This wasn’t just guilt. I had to get out of here before I truly got sick. I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Maybe we should just agree to disagree, okay?”

  I was backing away but he followed.

  “You don’t look so good.”

  I didn’t feel so good. In fact, I felt like crap. I kept my mouth shut because I was a little afraid if I opened it, I’d puke. Spinning around, I darted toward my bungalow, no longer caring that it looked like I was running away.

  I was running away, but for a very good reason.

  I didn’t make it. I’d just reached the front door to my bungalow when I lost the battle with vomit.

  It…wasn’t pretty. Let’s just leave it at that. But worse than the misery of tossing my cookies into the cacti beside our walkway? Doing it in front of Luke. It just didn’t get any more embarrassing than that.

  No wait, it could get worse. And it did. I was still leaning over, clutching my belly when I felt him beside me. Oh God, please say he’s not going to—

  Yup. He was holding my hair back. Like my mom. Or like a boyfriend. I mean, Brandon had never done that for me, but then I’d never hurled in front of him either. Even if I had, though, we didn’t have that kind of relationship.

  You know who else I didn’t have that kind of relationship with?

  Luke freakin’ Perona.

  With the hand that wasn’t holding my hair, he rubbed my back gently. “You done?” His voice was gentle, the ever-present mockery and intensity gone. He sounded surprisingly normal. Human, even.

  I nodded and took a deep breath through my nose. I started to tell him that I was fine. He could go back to his brothers. But he was already helping me up, one ridiculously strong, muscular arm wrapped around my waist and the other tugging my luggage along behind us.

  He waited patiently for me to grab my keycard from the little pocket in the front of my pants, but he took it from my shaky hand and let us in.

  Once inside, he dropped the luggage and eased me onto the bed, pulling the covers up over me as if he always tucked me in at night. I watched him warily, waiting for a snarky comment or a cocky smirk. None came. His brow was furrowed in concern as he leaned over me and felt my forehead.

  Nursemaid Luke…who would have known?

  “I don’t have a fever,” I said, my voice coming out kind of raspy and rough after the hurling session. “I just have a weak stomach.”

  That was putting it mildly but this was embarrassing enough without explaining my intestinal issues. Besides, in this case, the vomiting was most likely due to the spicy food I’d had earlier today.

  My taste buds loved spice, but my stomach? Not so much. My mom insisted I must have gotten my father’s stomach since hers, she proudly stated, was made of steel.

  He nodded as he straightened. His eyes roamed over me. “So, you’ll be okay then?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it’ll pass soon.”

  “Do you want me to call your mom?”

  I shook my head quickly. Too quickly. “No, please don’t. She’s out having fun with your mom and they both need that.”

  His mom more than mine, but my mom deserved a break too. She worked hard, and this was her big night out. I wasn’t going to ruin that just so she could fuss over me, when all I wanted and needed was a good night’s sleep.

  He gave one more short nod before heading to the bathroom. He came out bearing a trash can that he set beside the bed and a wet washcloth, which he gently laid across my forehead.

  Embarrassingly enough I moaned at the feel of the wet cloth on my skin. It felt so nice against my skin, and it helped to rid that fuzzy feeling that had been plaguing me all evening. “You should go,” I said. “Make sure your brothers are okay.”

  He nodded and headed toward the door, leaving without another word.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Now I could lay h
ere and wallow in my misery. A few minutes later the silence was interrupted by the soft click of the door opening. I sat up in panic.

  Luke held up my keycard. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just had to run back to make sure my brothers knew where I was. Figured I’d let myself back in.”

  I stared at him in confusion for far too long before words came. “What are you doing here?”

  He was already moving toward the bed, falling into the armchair on the other side of my nightstand. The look he gave me was equally incredulous. “I’m not going to let you lay here alone when you’re clearly sick. I’ll wait with you until your mom comes home.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but his expression stopped me. God, this guy was so stubborn. And so ridiculously confident, as though he never once debated his decisions. He just made them and then he expected everyone else to fall in line.

  I wanted to argue. I should have argued. But I just couldn’t summon up that kind of energy. It seemed so much easier to just go along with it. “I don’t need a babysitter,” I managed to mumble, but without any real heat. “I just need to sleep.”

  He leaned back and kicked his feet up so they rested on the edge of my bed. “So sleep.” He held up an old beaten-up paperback that I’d bet money had been left in his room from former guests. Each room had a sort of mini lending library, and the political thriller he held up? I recognized it as one I’d left behind during our last stay.

  He flipped it open to a page that had been dog-eared about a third of the way through and picked up reading where he’d obviously left off. I continued to stare at him. He wanted me to sleep. Seriously? As if I could just nod off knowing that Briarwood’s most eligible athlete was watching me drool. Instead of closing my eyes, I glared at him. “I thought I told you I didn’t need a babysitter.”

  He shrugged, glancing up from the book. “You did. I didn’t listen.”

  Ugh, this guy was so infuriating. And I was so not in a condition to argue. “You’re going to pay for this, you know.”

  Even my voice sounded weak and shaky so my threat came across as pitiful rather than threatening. Luke definitely didn’t have the desired reaction. He didn’t make a move to leave or even glare at me, which would have put me back on solid ground. No, he smiled. “What are you going to do? Puke on me?”

  I’d lifted my head to glare at him properly but now I let it drop back down onto the pillows and the movement made me groan. I heard him shift. “Do you need anything? Water, maybe?”

  I shook my head, but this time I moved my head gently to keep my stomach from rebelling again. “No…thank you.”

  The thank you came out more grudgingly than I’d intended. I mean, the guy was being nice, I supposed, albeit in his bossy, irritating way. The least I could do was finish the apology I’d started before vomit had so rudely interrupted me. I licked my lips and stared up at the ceiling. “What I said before, about you being a stereotypical dumb jock…that was really rude.”

  His little snort of amusement had me turning to look at him. “You were defending yourself from an overbearing ass,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal.”

  The fact that he’d admitted to being an overbearing ass temporarily stunned me into awkward silence. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? “Well, I’m still sorry.”

  His gaze met mine. “I’m sorry too.”

  The silence that followed was unbearably awkward. I looked away but I heard Luke shift in his seat and his tone had a forced casualness about it. “Believe it or not, I’ve been called worse.”

  “Oh, I believe it.” I was joking, but I held my breath after the words came out. See, even though I’d said earlier that he and his friends weren’t funny—the truth was, I was definitely not funny. My “jokes” tended to fall flat except with those who knew me well enough to know when I was kidding.

  People who were not my close friends or family expected me to be serious and my voice wasn’t exactly emotive. All that combined, strangers and acquaintances seemed to take me seriously even when I was trying to make a joke.

  Like now, for instance. I opened my mouth to qualify the statement with an “I’m kidding.” I was the kind of person who had to say that after a joke.

  But, to my surprise, Luke let out a short laugh. His smile lingered as he studied me, his tone thoughtful. “Well, look at you. Maya Rivero, cracking jokes on her deathbed.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh, though the noise came out sounding stilted and rusty. “I’m not on my deathbed. I’ll be fine by the morning.” I arched my brows meaningfully. “Which is why I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He blatantly ignored me. Instead he studied me with a thoughtful expression as he dropped his feet and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the paperback dangling in his hands. “You know what I think?”

  “What?” My voice was wary, as was my expression. This new shift in him was unnerving. He was watching me too closely, and without that judgmental dislike I didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Maybe you and I should view this vacation as a sort of social science experiment.”

  I squinted at him, wondering if I was worse off than I’d thought. Maybe I was hallucinating right now. Maybe I was hearing his voice but he wasn’t really talking. Audio hallucinations were a thing, I’d read about it, and this was clearly an example.

  “Think about it,” he continued, clearly warming to his topic. “This is almost as good as traveling to the Amazon to study pygmies.”

  My mouth opened but no words came out. Finally I shook my head, no longer noticing the nausea. If his intent was to distract me from the physical discomfort, he was succeeding. “What are you talking about?”

  His lips twitched up in a small smile that made my heart leap with something that fell somewhere between nerves and excitement. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t know if I liked it.

  “Come on, Maya, don’t tell me you don’t remember Mr. Herman’s anthropology class.”

  I struggled up onto my elbows, the wet cloth falling to the side. “Of course I remember.” We were in the same class last year, I just hadn’t realized he’d noticed. It wasn’t like we’d ever spoken.

  He leaned forward and gently pressed on my shoulders until I laid back down. “Then I’m guessing you remember the lessons on observing people of different cultures.”

  I frowned up at him but despite myself my interest was piqued. “And you think you and I should study one another to…what? Learn different customs and cultures?”

  “Something like that.” His lips were definitely twitching with amusement now. Not his typical smirk but an honest-to-God grin was threatening to form. It was boyish and cute and, oh dear Lord, he had dimples.

  Of course he did. Six-pack abs just weren’t enough. No human Ken doll would be complete without dimples.

  I forced my mind back on topic. “There’s a flaw in your idea,” I said, feeling utterly ridiculous because obviously he was teasing and now I looked like an even bigger nerd because I didn’t get the joke. I was too busy applying logic to his hypothesis.

  “What’s that?”

  I shifted, trying to prop myself up more so I wasn’t in quite such a vulnerable state. It’s odd to be lying prone in bed when a hottie who disliked you was looming overhead. “Those studies were all about studying people of different cultures in their own environment. Neither of us is in our natural habitat here. To truly conduct this kind of study we’d be better off watching one another interact with our peers at Briarwood.” I arched my brows, ignoring his blatant amusement at my expense. “Which, in essence, is what we’ve been doing our whole lives.”

  “But that’s just it,” he said. “We clearly both have pre-conditioned ideas about one another because of the activities we take part in and the people we hang out with—”

  “The clothes we wear, and the way we act,” I felt compelled to add. His earlier words came back to haunt me and I threw them back at him now.

  “Exactly.
” He didn’t exactly wince with regret but I caught a flicker of something that was close enough to regret to assuage my hurt pride. Besides, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been judging him the same way he judged me.

  I might not be a saint, but I tried not to be a hypocrite.

  “When we’re at school we see what we expect to see,” he continued. “Our preconceived notions inhibit our ability to see one another without observational bias. But here?” He glanced around the room with raised brows as if stressing the oddness of our circumstances. He brought his gaze back to meet mine. “Here we have a clean slate. The perfect setting to observe without preconceived notions…” He shrugged. “Or at least try.”

  His point had merit. We were in a rare situation that did kind of feel like some sadistic social experiment gone awry.

  Despite my physical misery, that thought made me smile.

  When I looked back at Luke, I stopped breathing. He had that intense look going on, and it was focused on my lips again.

  My smile faltered as I tried to think of something to say. It was hard to think when he was staring at me like that—intensity minus the judgements. And then, on top of that, I was still mentally reeling from his little speech. I mean, I’d always assumed he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but hearing him talk so easily about observational bias and preconceived notions…he’d sounded a hell of a lot smarter than I’d always imagined him to be.

  I’m only mildly embarrassed to admit it was a little bit of a turn on. Intelligence in guys was hotter than hot. Still, I had to ask the one question that couldn’t be ignored. “Why?”

  He gave me a lopsided grin as he leaned back in his chair. I half expected him to say something frustratingly vague, like “why not?”

  “Because you intrigue me.”

  I stared at him in shocked silence. I intrigued him? What the hell did that mean? That simple phrase made my heart rate skyrocket.

  I had no clue what to say to that, mainly because I wasn’t sure if he was joking. Maybe he, like me, suffered from the inability to tell a joke. I didn’t think so, but there was always that chance.