by Cassie Mae
He takes one look at my bouncing knees and lets out this laugh-grunt thing that used to make my whole body respond. It used to make my head cloud and my heart pound, but right now it makes me want to throw up.
“It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“Eh?”
“Damn, I really thought I’d done this the right way.” He pounds his fist on the steering wheel, but not in a mad way. More like he’s joking but not really joking. And I’m too messed up in mind and body to react.
“Uh, what do you mean?” At least I’m capable of speech.
His blue eyes turn to mine and I wait for my uncontrollable sigh, but it doesn’t come. Instead my mind goes to Wesley, and I wonder if he still stares at Reagan like she’s the most fascinating person in the world.
“It’s been almost a month since Ray and I broke up, and I made sure she was a hundred percent over me before I even thought about asking you out. But I never considered how weird it might be for you. I’m sorry.”
Why are they apologizing to me? I’m the evil wench who wiggled my way in to split them apart. And why doesn’t Wesley feel guilty about this? Or does he and it’s his nerves that overpower that guilt? Grr … why is his name popping up in every other thought?
“Okay,” I relent. “It’s weird. But it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
His thick eyebrows go up, and he inches closer. Is it okay for me to like that? Do I like that?
“Kayla …”
Okay, I still like the way my name sounds in his voice. I’m just going through a funk. Once more time passes, I’m sure this whole plan and the immediate after-emotions will be long gone and Talon and I will be together. A real-life couple like I’ve imagined since he said “Awesome” to me at the park.
And Wesley and Reagan will be … together.
I press my top teeth into my tongue so hard I may not be able to talk for a while.
“I don’t want this to be weird with us. Your friendship is important to me. I know I was a friend by default at first, but I hope I’m not that way now.”
“You’re not,” I manage to squeak out, even as the battle between internal guilt and bliss, between jealousy and happiness, continues in my brain.
He bows his head, exposing the back of his neck and the top of his back muscles. He’s sexy, every single bit of him. And I want him, I do, because I have to still want him, right? Because I’ve wanted him for so long. He’s right here, being vulnerable and honest, talking into his knees and saying things that I’m not really hearing. There’s a translator in my brain that turns his “You’re so fun to be with” into “You destroyed my relationship.”
He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine, and I finally start to hear what he’s saying. “We don’t have to think of this as a date if you don’t want to. Just two friends hanging out. We’ll go to the movies, heckle the acting, and try to get popcorn in each other’s mouths. And whenever you’re ready, if you’re interested, I can take you out for real. Sound good?”
He’s such a great friend. And he’s being so sexy and majorly hot over there in the driver’s seat. I should react to this. I should do what I would’ve done if he’d never been with Reagan. He’s the guy I want. I should pounce on him like I did with Wesley. Erase all the guilt and jealousy and replace it with my fantasy.
So I do.
No joke. I lose whatever is left of my mind and throw myself on his lap. His face is hilarious, like he’s thinking, Holy crap! My ex-girlfriend’s best friend popped herself on top of me. What do I do? And I’d laugh if I wasn’t so torn.
Well, I can show him what he can do.
Only this isn’t exactly going as I planned. In movies and books it seems so flawless—the girl pops over the center console and lands on the guy’s … well, body parts. But it is not comfy in real life. At all. My chest is squished up against his chin, which I’m not sure if he minds, but I sure do, because I can’t get access to his lips without my rear honking the horn and drawing the attention of every soul on Stoner Boner.
“Uh …,” I stammer, and he nervously chuckles, reaching down to pull the seat back so my butt isn’t riding the steering wheel. But he grabs the wrong lever and we both fly down toward the rear seat, and—oh shit—I bite his nose. And it’s not like a tiny nibble. I freaking draw blood.
“Oh crap, Talon. I’m so sorry!” I fumble around for the fast-food bag and whip out some napkins. Pressing them against the bite I took out of him, my hands shake. He sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I keep babbling, and as white goo plops on his cheek, that’s when I realize I’ve pressed a mayonnaise-covered napkin on him. “Oh holy hell.”
He laughs that awkward chuckle again, even though his eyes are watery. I don’t think it’s from pain necessarily, as much as it is from smacking him in the nose. That’s how everybody reacts to a nose hit. But it still makes me feel way more than embarrassed.
“It’s okay, Kayla,” he says, grabbing a fresh napkin and wiping the food and blood from his face.
My hands fly up to my cheeks, and I hope I’m covering the flames erupting under my skin. “No, Talon, I’m sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking. And I’m usually smoother than this.” Well, with Wesley, at least our lack of smoothness seems on purpose. “I’m sorry. I … I …”
He’s still got the napkin pinched over his nose. “Don’t apologize. I was the one who pulled the wrong lever.”
“Yeah, but …” Crap. I don’t know how to tell him I’m apologizing not only for the nose bite but for the entire thing. Especially while I’m still straddling him.
I bury my face in my hands. There’s this prickling going on behind my lids, and I really wish I could force it back. But I can’t. I start crying because I’m so confused, so lost, and I don’t know how else to handle it but by crying.
“Kayla,” Talon whispers. He sits up, bringing the seat with him, but keeps it reclined so my butt won’t hit the steering wheel. Instead of trying to kiss me—I kind of still want him to do that, but I’m more relieved when he doesn’t—he pulls me down and lets me settle my head in the crook of his neck. His nose is still bleeding, but he takes care of me. And because I’m super selfish, I sit on his lap and let him.
Step 23:
When in the Middle of a Tragic Love Story, Remember You Have Your Best Friend
(Which is, surprisingly, not the friend you grew up with.)
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I pull my jacket off and toss it on the beanbag chair before slouching down next to Wesley on the couch. He’s got that white undershirt on again, and his pajama pants. His guitar rests quietly in the corner, an instant red flag that his night probably went as well as mine did.
As soon as my disaster of a date ended with my dream guy, I shot a text to Wesley just to see if he’d answer back. He did almost immediately, and said to come over if I wanted to talk. So here I sit.
“What are you watching?”
His folded arms twitch as he fingers the remote. “Only the most tragic love story ever.”
My eyebrows crinkle as I watch Jeff Daniels rush to the bathroom and explode on the toilet. “Dumb and Dumber is a tragic love story?”
“Hell yeah. Think about it. Guy falls for girl and travels halfway across America just to return a piece of luggage she leaves behind, but it turns out she’s married.”
I laugh, relaxing into the cushion and releasing the rest of the weirdness I’ve felt all night. “At least he has his best buddy, right?”
He uncrosses his arms, smiling so that dimple pops on his chin. His fingers still toy with the buttons on the remote. “I guess you’re right. Not completely tragic, as long as you have your best friend.” His foot taps my thigh lightly before he sits up straight and turns the TV off.
“Aw, Wesley. Did you just call me your best friend?”
“I believe I did.” He smirks, and I push away the bubbly feeling that gave me.
&nb
sp; I smile back at him. “Date went that well for you, huh?”
“Disaster. You?”
“Likewise.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m a jackass, but that’s a relief. I thought it was just me.”
As long as he doesn’t think I’m a horrible person for thinking the same thing.
“What happened?”
“Totally bombed. You were right, by the way. Reagan went in for it, and I chickened out. So I …”
My heart seems to have stopped. Do I want to hear the kissing details when my own attempt was so awful?
He watches my face for a second before spitting out the rest of his sentence. “I sneezed in her face.”
I’m so relieved they didn’t kiss, I belt out this Wesley-like laugh and have to clutch my tummy so I don’t end up hurting my sides with how hard I’m giggling.
“It’s not funny!” Wesley grabs my hips and pulls me flat on the couch under him, tickling me while I kick him. I connect with one of his knees and he falls on top of me, pressing me into the cushions. It’s not comfy. There’s something digging into my back and my neck is kinked at a weird angle, but I don’t want to move. His hands halt on my sides and we both gulp. Then we lick our lips. Then we laugh because we’re doing it all in unison.
“What about you?” he asks, though he doesn’t move. Like our position isn’t affecting him the way it’s affecting me. Like we have all our conversations this close. Like every single nerve ending in my body isn’t screaming at me to do something other than talk. “What made your night so bad?”
It’s not so bad anymore, and I smile. “The same as you. Kiss gone wrong.”
The color in his cheeks drains, making him look a little sick. “Forgot to keep your breath fresh?” He tries to joke, but neither of us is laughing.
“Not sure that would matter, considering I may have taken away his ability to smell.”
Damn that smirk and dimple. “Huh?”
“I bit his nose.”
He rolls off me laughing, but it’s more to himself than at me, and we both adjust ourselves back to sitting positions on the couch. “Aren’t we a pair? Did you do it on purpose?”
I shake my head. “Total accident.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes,” I spout off before I realize he’s talking about if I was nervous with Talon, when I’m thinking I’m nervous right now.
He nods. “Yeah, me too. It’s like there’s all this pressure to make sure it’s good, and I keep thinking I’m going to botch it. And I haven’t kissed someone since the drunk party girl who said I didn’t know how to please a woman. I sort of want to get it out of the way, but Reagan deserves more than that.” He pauses, studying my face. I have no idea how I look, but I know I feel kind of upset, and I can’t figure out why. He swallows and lightly punches my foot, which is resting on the middle cushion. “Why is it hard? It shouldn’t be hard to kiss someone you’ve wanted to kiss for a long time.”
“Right.” I nod. “Maybe we’re broken.”
“Maybe we are.”
“Maybe we just need some practice.”
“Want to make out with the back of our hands like in middle school?”
“Please tell me you didn’t do that.”
“Only once, and it was magical.”
“Maybe you should have Reagan kiss your hand.”
“Maybe I’ll have you kiss it. Let me know if it’s any good.”
“Maybe I should kiss your lips instead.”
Ho-lee hell.
His eyes get big, and he looks like he’s choking on his tongue. “W-what did you just say?”
“Nothing. I said nothing.”
His lips quirk at the corners. “I’m pretty sure you just offered to kiss me.”
Back it up, Kayla. Shrug it off and laugh. “Um …” But I don’t want to. I’m looking at his lips and his dimple and that cowlick and it’s that same feeling I had in the car with Talon when I suddenly felt the need to close the distance, only ten times stronger. I’m confused and messed up, but he’s looking so sexy and being so funny, I want to pounce on him. However, I keep my butt planted this time. “Well, why not?”
“Huh?” His smile’s gone.
“We could get it out of the way, like you said. And we wouldn’t be hurting either one of them with a nervous, meaningless kiss.” Even as I say it, I know it’s bogus. But his eyebrow goes up like he’s really considering it.
“We’re friends, right? A kiss wouldn’t mean anything between us.”
He’s totally considering it. “Of course not. Just me helping you, you helping me. Like the other day. No big deal.”
He nods and takes his bottom lip between his teeth while I chew on my tongue. And the whole room fills with this big huge gray animal that screams from the corner, telling me that it’s a huge deal. He’s just my friend? Um, yeah … sure. He’s my friend who’s in love with my best friend. I guess that gray animal is named Reagan.
But that doesn’t mean it’ll stop me.
And from the look in Wesley’s hazel eyes when he glances at me, I know that damn elephant won’t stop him either.
We let out this synchronized chuckle, and shake our heads. Then laugh again because we’re still doing the same things at the same time. I can’t believe I’ll be kissing Wesley before I kiss Talon.
As long as I don’t bite his nose.
My heart stops, like it’s preparing for the long sprint it’s about to do. I guess I still haven’t returned to the universe I belong in. The one where I’m disgusted by Wesley and he is just my friend. I’m stuck here in this one, confused as hell because I want to kiss him, and even my body tells me I want to kiss him, but I have no idea why.
It’s only for practice to kiss the guy. That’s all. Practice so I don’t make a fool of myself again. Yeah …
Wesley shifts on the couch, his leg resting against mine on the middle cushion. My heart gets ready at an imaginary starting line in my chest, waiting for the gunshot to start the racing pace it’s going to spring to once he sets his lips on mine.
“I think I should have you sign something,” I blurt out, keeping my eyes on his and refusing to drop them to his lips. “In case I end up chomping your nose too. I don’t want to get sued. Or have you call the cops.”
He chuckles and slides a bit closer, enough for me to smell gummy bears, but there’s a hint of mint in the mix this time.
The race in my chest starts counting down. On your mark …
“Will you take a verbal contract?” He smiles, putting his hand over his heart. “I swear I won’t sue or get you charged with assault.”
“Maybe I should record it.” I smile back. “Just to make sure.”
“That was my best offer. Take it or leave it.”
We’re closer. I wonder what my breath smells like, and because I’m oh so smooth, I mention his. “You smell like mint chocolate chip. And gummy bears.”
I’m pretty sure I’m up in flames. And my heart raises its butt—if hearts had butts—to position number two. Get set …
“You smell like blueberries. And rain.”
“Rain?”
“Yeah. You know how when it rains, things smell fresh and new and stuff? You always smell like that.”
“I’m trying to figure out if that’s a compliment.”
He scratches the knee that’s against mine, his knuckles creating this bizarre Pop Rocks–like feeling up my leg. “I love the smell of rain.”
I move my face forward, moistening my lips to make sure they slide against his when we finally do this. And his eyes drop to that action, and I have the urge to lick them again. But I don’t.
“Kayla?” he sort of grunts at me.
“Yeah?”
“Promise me something?” His eyes go back up to mine, flicking back and forth between them because we’re so close he can’t focus on both at the same time.
“Depends on what it is.”
His dimple pops up on his chin. “We won’t be al
l awkward after this.”
That’s the last thing I want. “Promise.”
Step 24:
Practice Makes Perfect
(You keep telling yourself that.)
His hands go to my cheeks, and the gunshot for the race in my chest goes off. And like I predicted, his lips cause my heart to sprint through my body, beating so hard I’m sure he can feel it through the thin skin where my mouth is connected with his. I know I’m supposed to be paying attention to details, like if he’s too slobbery—no. Or if he’s too awkward—absolutely not. But those are all the notes I have right now. I can’t help but notice what’s happening to me. The racing heart, yes, but also the heat shooting from his hands into my neck, up my cheeks, and down my chest. Like he’s poured honey from his mouth into mine, making me heavy and warm. And at the same time, all the heat stays in my center while my arms and legs shake like they’re too cold. Shivers threaten to take over, but before they do, he pulls away.
I open my heavy eyes, finding myself looking straight into his. I’m breathing way too hard, like not only did my heart just do a 5K, but my body took a trip without me knowing about it.
“Was it bad?” he breathes in my face.
Hell no. It was pretty amazing. But that’s not what I say.
“Um, I’m not sure.” I lick my lips again. “What about me?”
“I’m not sure.”
Before I can calm down, we’re kissing again. It’s just a peck this time, and when Wesley pulls away, he’s smiling. “What about that?”
I bite back my returning smile. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to decide.”
“Yeah.” And now he’s licking his lips. “Me too.”
He grins at me and I at him, and my heart stops again for the smallest of seconds. Then our lips crash together in the opposite of just a peck.
This is crazy. Absolutely bonkers! But my body won’t stop. My lips won’t stop. The only thing that does stop is my brain. Officially turned off. Or maybe not turned off, but it’s not in my head anymore. It’s in the other parts of my body—wherever Wesley touches me. Who the hell is this girl who told him he was a crappy kisser? I kind of want to go kick her butt because nothing about this kiss is crappy. Or should I say million kisses? Because each time we break away we get pulled back together like two magnets that you have to use all your strength to pry apart.