by Kat Colmer
‘Ever thought it might be Jason who’s the bad kisser?’
She shakes her head and slumps back in her seat. ‘It’s got to be me. I’m not exactly, um …’ she peeks over at me from under her long, long lashes, ‘… experienced.’ Forget the tinge of pink; the girl flares a deep, traffic light red. That urge to punch Jason? Yeah, real strong right about now.
‘MJ, if a guy is into you it shouldn’t make any difference how much or little experience you have.’
She snorts. ‘Oh, please. No one likes a complete novice.’
I stop pockmarking Jason’s imaginary face. ‘Are you saying last night was the first time you’ve ever been kissed?’ Because … no way! Not when she’s, what, eighteen? Seventeen at the youngest?
‘Of course not!’ Her arms band across her chest. ‘It was the second time.’
Second time? She’s only been kissed twice?
‘There, see?’ She points a finger at me. ‘You’re gaping like I’m some aberration. That’s all the proof I need that it’s important to know what I’m doing.’
I snap my mouth shut, then open it again to set her straight. ‘I’m gaping because I thought when you said you weren’t “experienced” I assumed you meant you haven’t, you know …’ I wave my hand in front of her, hoping she’ll catch on to what I’m trying to say.
‘I haven’t what?’
Ah man.
‘Other things, MJ.’ I raise both brows. ‘That you haven’t done … other things.’ Okay, too loud. The guy in the next booth is looking a little too interested. Across from me, MJ flares traffic light red again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop her from jumping back on her guys-prefer-experience band wagon.
‘Again, you’re proving my point. People my age are doing a lot more than just making out, and here I am, practically a kiss virgin.’
‘Kiss virgin?’ Where does she come up with this stuff?
‘No wonder it lasted all of five seconds. Jason could tell I had no idea what I was doing.’ Those deep, long lines between her eyes make a reappearance. ‘This is bad. This could jeopardise everything.’
‘I think you’re overreacting. First date, remember? Maybe Jason didn’t want to come on too strong.’ Or maybe he had to rush home to watch a special on the Science Channel.
MJ leans forward suddenly, so close her breath brushes my face when she speaks. ‘Tell me the truth, have you ever kissed a girl you really liked for less than five seconds, first date or not?’
I open my mouth and … nothing. She’s got me there. And by the smug look on her face, she knows it.
‘Didn’t think so. Which means I suck at kissing.’
Or Jason sucks at kissing, but there’s no convincing her of that.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her eyes going wide all of a sudden. ‘We’ve wasted half your tutoring session talking about my problems. We should get going—’ she opens my test paper, ‘—go over the things you got wrong.’
I won’t lie, I’m glad to move on to something other than MJ’s need to impress Jason with her lip locking technique. I’m reaching for my chem textbook when she grabs my arm again.
‘Go over the things you got wrong!’
I frown. ‘Yeah, that’s what we said, wasn’t it?’
Her fingers dig into my arm. Hard enough to be uncomfortable. ‘No, don’t you see? I need someone to go over the things I got wrong. With Jason.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t follow.’
‘Like a tutor. Yes, that’s it.’ Eyes growing larger than I thought possible, her face morphs into a disturbing kind of excitement. ‘I need someone who’ll tutor me on the finer points of kissing.’
I look around the study space, just to make sure I’m really in the library and not stuck in some weird rom-com version of the Matrix.
The guy in the next booth looks over again. I send him a back-off glare, then face MJ.
‘Please tell me you’re not serious.’
‘I’m completely serious.’
No words. I have no words. MJ, however, seems to have plenty.
‘Surely kissing can be learnt. It’s an activity. No different to, say, netball or chess. All I need is a tutor.’
Wrong. I have words. They’re just stuck at the back of my throat, choking the bloody life out of me. How can she compare something as intimate as kissing to a game of netball or chess?
The guy in the next booth leans forward and opens his mouth. I clear my throat. Maybe I growl at him. Whatever. It has the desired effect. He slinks back to his books and I turn my glare on MJ.
‘Are you insane? You can’t go and ask someone to … to … you know!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s kissing!’
More furrows congregate between her eyes. ‘What, you don’t think I can learn?’
‘No! That’s not—’ Ah hell! ‘Kissing’s too personal. You can’t go and ask just any guy to teach you how to do it.’
‘It wouldn’t be just any guy. It’d be someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘That’s not what I—’ I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. ‘It’s not going to work if you don’t feel comfortable with the guy.’
She thinks about this for a second. ‘If you’re the one to recommend him I’ll feel comfortable enough.’
Yeah, and hedgehogs will fly. ‘Sorry, can’t think of anyone.’
‘Fine.’ MJ crosses her arms and burrows back into her seat. ‘Don’t help me then. I’m sure Sandy knows plenty of guys who’d be willing to—’
‘I’ll do it.’ Did I just say that? Ah hell, I just said that! And now the damn study booth is shrinking around me.
‘You?’ MJ’s nose crinkles, but I think it’s in confusion, not disgust. At least I hope so.
‘Yeah.’ I shrug, hoping it comes across more whatever than I actually feel. ‘At least you can trust me. And I’ll be honest with you.’
She blinks. Man, those eyes, so huge, so dark—so full of possibilities. Just the thought of someone else looking into them before touching their lips to hers makes me want to pockmark every page in my chemistry textbook.
Say yes, MJ. Because suddenly I’m real keen to get into another tutoring session—one involving a whole different kind of chemistry.
MJ
Kiss Me Slow
Luke. Teaching me how to kiss.
I turn the idea over and around in my head. As insane as the suggestion seems, it’s not entirely without merit. I mean, he has had a steady girlfriend, so it stands to reason he knows something about the activity. I can’t really see the appeal in any of it, but what would I know? Isn’t that why I’m in this predicament in the first place? And if I want to keep Jason’s interest, I better start learning about the appeal, unless I want the relationship’s pulse to move slower than that of a hibernating bear’s.
I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth as parakeet green waits for my response from the other side of the booth. What the heck. It’s not like it can hurt.
‘You’re right. I can trust you.’ And I realise I do; I trust Luke. Not just to tell me the truth, but to do the right thing. Even when it comes to something as crazy as giving me kissing lessons. ‘When do we start?’
His eyes widen. ‘You don’t waste time, do you?’
‘No point in stuffing around.’ And, okay, if I’m honest I’m eager to get going. For Jason’s sake, of course. ‘My next date is Saturday.’
Luke picks up his pen and starts up his twirling again. ‘I’ve got another lesson at five tonight. With Sandy.’
Sandy. At the mention of her name, something inside me pinches.
The pen stops spinning and Luke angles his head. ‘You can come by my place after?’
‘No, not your place.’ Because it’s also my brother’s place. The make-out session might be instructional, b
ut the possibility of Theo walking in on us seriously puts me off the idea.
I drag Luke’s notepad closer and flick the pages while I think. ‘What about the music room here? I could meet you there after your lesson?’ Well after Sandy has left.
Luke bites the top of his thumb considering my suggestion, and my gaze is drawn to his lips. Like Jason’s they’re full, though a deeper red, and there’s nothing soft-looking about them. Last night’s kiss might have been short, but it was long enough to confirm the softness of Jason’s lips was indeed nothing more than a trick of the coffee shop’s light.
‘The music room could work,’ Luke says. ‘As far as I know, no-one’s booked it after six.’
I’ll have to get permission for evening leave for the third time this week, but if I say I need to be at the uni … ‘Perfect.’
‘Music room it is then.’
He nods, then there’s a moment of silence, and I suddenly find myself lost for something to say—until Luke’s notepad provides me with an out. ‘We should look over your test.’
And that’s what we do. But if I’m honest, I’m having trouble concentrating on AOs and MOs, because my mind keeps drifting across the desk, wondering if the lack of softness of Luke’s lips is nothing more than a trick of the study booth’s light.
***
I hear him the moment I round the corner into the last hallway. A heavy boom bada-boom boom, boom bada-boom boom pushes against the music room’s walls, under the door, and straight into my quickening blood. I pause and peek through the small window in the door but can’t see anything; the drum kit is out of direct sight. Bummer. Seeing Luke in his element the other weekend, watching him handle the kit like it was an extension of his body, was excit—entertaining! That’s what is was, MJ. Entertaining.
Liar.
I close my eyes and rest my hand against the cool door pulsing with the heat of Luke’s drumbeat. What am I doing? It’s pre-med brains that turn me on, not drum belting bleeding hearts.
Pre-med brains, not bleeding hearts… I repeat the mantra a few more times, then take a shaky breath and push on the door handle.
The drumming stops the moment I step over the threshold. Shame I can’t say the same about a certain vital organ of mine.
Luke slides off the little stool behind the kit. ‘I thought you’d changed your mind.’ I can’t for the life of me tell if there’s relief or regret in his voice.
‘No.’ I pull the door closed behind me before I prove him right and bolt. ‘I just thought it’d be prudent to wait a bit, after your lesson, I mean.’
He angles his head. ‘Because of Sandy?’
I nod. He does the same but doesn’t say anything, and gives no clue as to what he might be thinking.
I grip the strap of my messenger bag tighter as I step further into the room. The rehearsal space is smaller than I expected. That walls-pressing-in-on-you feeling might be the effect of the soundproof panelling. Or it might be Luke’s presence, standing next to that big drum at the front of the kit. Having shed his grey hoody sometime between our tutoring lesson and now, the denim and long-sleeve white T combo he’s wearing isn’t exactly earth-shattering, but at the same time the way his crossed arms stretch the cotton across his chest as he taps his drumsticks against his bicep is … distracting.
‘What’s the big drum here called?’ I ask, both to divert my attention from his, um, T-shirt, but also because I’m curious.
‘That’s the bass drum or kick,’ Luke says, pushing away from the massive drum and thereby shrinking the acceptable two metre gap between us to a disconcerting one.
I quickly step around to the side of the kit and point to a smaller drum perched on top of the kick. ‘And this one?’
‘Toms.’ He rounds to the back of the kit again and hits the drum I pointed out along with three others, filling the room with four different pitched booms. ‘I’ve been thinking, about this whole thing with Jason. You sure the date wasn’t a flop and that’s why the kiss was a dud?’
‘The date? No. The date was, um, fine.’
‘Just fine?’ Luke angles his head as he looks at me. ‘Because it’s kind of hard to enjoy kissing someone if you’re not, you know, connecting with them on other levels.’
‘We connected.’
‘Yeah? How?’
I adjust my bag strap on my shoulder. ‘Well, intelligent conversation, for one. We’re both serious about study, about science.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Medicine. We’re both working towards becoming doctors.’
‘But you don’t want to become a doctor.’
I suck in a breath. I should never have told him. You didn’t. No, I didn’t. He figured it out by himself. More proof the drummer isn’t stupid.
‘What I want is irrelevant. We’re both going to become doctors.’
Luke’s eyes narrow but a moment later he blows out a breath and starts twirling one of his drumsticks. ‘Okay, okay. Science and medicine. Anything not related to study?’
Not related to study. I clamp my teeth down on the corner of my bottom lip. There’s got to be something, surely? Luke’s patient gaze shoots restlessness into my feet, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of shifting from foot to foot. Not related to study. Not related to—
‘We both hate asparagus!’
Luke lifts a brow as though to say seriously? and that’s when I’ve had enough.
‘The date was fine.’ I cross my arms and glare at him. ‘The problem is me. So are we doing this kissing thing or not?’
The drumstick stops spinning and something flickers in his parakeet green eyes. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’
And suddenly all my restlessness is swallowed by the soundproof walls, and I can’t move. Which is fine, because Luke is doing the moving—towards me. He stops a very personal space invading half-metre away and slides his drumsticks into his jeans’ back pocket. I grip my bag strap tighter, the buckle biting hard into my skin.
‘First, we need to get rid of this.’ He pries the strap from between my fingers and pulls the bag off my shoulder. ‘If you were this tense last night, I’m not surprised the kiss was a dud,’ he says with a gentle smile, which does nothing to slow my heart rate.
He lowers the bag to the floor. ‘Okay, so show me what you did.’
‘What do you mean?’ I reach for my bag strap only to find the thick fabric of my school blazer. When I start to pull the edges together, Luke’s hands still mine and I drop them to my sides to escape the contact. Stupid really, when I’m about to swap spit with the guy.
‘Last night, show me what you did when you kissed Jason.’
I swallow. I didn’t do much other than follow his lead and hope it might get better than just teeth, tongue and the Niagara Falls of saliva, but Luke is looking at me expectantly, so I guess I better do something.
‘Um, sure.’ I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his for one, two, three seconds and … okay, no teeth, but not much else either. My heels find the ground again.
When I look up, flecks of confusion float in Luke’s eyes. ‘Okay, that was, ah—’
‘That bad, eh?’ I take a deep breath and let it out in a long, disappointed rush. My hands fumble for my blazer pockets since there’s no bag strap to tug on. ‘I told you. I suck at this.’ Ignoring the closing up of my throat, I reach for my messenger bag. ‘Maybe we should just forget the whole—’
‘No!’
It’s not so much the urgency in his voice that has me looking up, rather the brush of Luke’s fingers on my arm.
‘So, yeah, it needs a little, ah …’ he snatches his hand away and rubs it over the back of his neck, ‘… work, but nothing we can’t fix.’ For a heartbeat, his gaze probes mine. Then he’s the one reaching for my blazer edges, pulling me closer and before I have time to object—if I wanted to, that is—I�
�m lost in parakeet green for one febrile heartbeat before Luke’s lips find mine.
Firm. His mouth is firm, but the study booth light wasn’t completely truthful because it’s also …
Soft.
Especially when his lips part slightly and close over mine. Soft, but insistent, like he’s trying to tell me something. But what? I don’t know, until he gently sucks on my lower lip and … oh! A taste of warm breath, a whiff of lemon pie meets pine needles, and suddenly I get it. I get it! Because it’s not enough. Because I want … more! I want more!
My thoughts must bounce off the sound absorbent walls, because Luke’s tongue swipes along my lower lip. Blindly, I reach up to steady my restless hands on his chest and register the heated thud thud thud of his heart under my palms, but then—this, yes this!—his tongue finds mine and I forget all about his heartbeat, because my world is his breath and his lips and his tender, talented fingers—which have found their way into my hair—and maybe time melts and I can’t remember where I am, but one thing is crisp and crystal clear: kissing Luke Bains is far, far better than I ever imagined.
Which makes it oh so very dangerous.
Luke
Surprising Admissions
MJ wasn’t lying—she really has no idea what she’s doing. Her responses, like her facial expressions, are completely unguarded. Staccato hitch of her breath. Tentative touch of her tongue. The girl is definitely the kiss virgin she claims to be.
But the girl is also a quick learner.
By the time I’ve registered how well her tiny frame fits against the length of mine, how natural it feels to cradle her head in my hands as my mouth learns the cymbal clash secrets of hers, she’s leaning into me, clutching at my shirt with quiet desperation, returning my kiss in all her unguarded eagerness.
I pull her closer—my arms won’t follow any other command—until my head swims with heated thoughts of baked apple and exotic spices. Until my pulse pounds to a rhythm I’ve never heard before. Until—