The International Kissing Club

by Ivy Adams

  “So, let me get this straight: you came all the way to Australia to kiss guys?” Lucas gave her a sidelong glance.

  Cassidy came back to the conversation at hand. She heard the incredulity in his voice and was glad it was dark, because pink was not a good color on her, and right now she was covered in a huge blush head to toe. “I told you it was stupid.”

  Why had she told him anything about the IKC at all? She blamed that damn dimple—it was like Kryptonite; she was powerless against it. He could charm anything out of her when that little divot made an appearance.

  He slouched a little in his seat. “So, how many points do you have so far?” For the first time since she’d met him, Lucas didn’t sound so surfer-Zen-go-lucky.

  “Me? Oh, well … you see … actually …” She fiddled with the zipper on her sweater as she practically glowed red. She should make up some number. What did it matter? He’d never know. God, if he were playing this game, he would probably have twice the points she did in just the time it took to drive over here.

  “Tell me. It’s a lot, right?”

  She sighed. This was so embarrassing. “Three. I have three points.”

  “So … you’ve kissed three guys since you’ve been here,” he said, his tone deflated. “Are you still seeing them, the other guys?”

  What? No. Wait … what was that? If she was better at reading guys, she’d say he sounded pouty and a little bit jealous.

  She’d never had a guy be jealous over her before. Cassidy didn’t know how to take this development at first, but then she considered it. It was way sexy.

  The idea that he didn’t like the thought of her kissing other guys gave her off-court confidence a supercharged injection. She scooted toward him and in a gesture a complete one-eighty from her usual reserved self, she did something she’d been dying to do since that day at the airport: she touched his dimple with the tip of her finger.

  Cassidy let it linger there before trailing it down his cheek to his chin to turn his head toward her.

  “No. The rules of the International Kissing Club state that I get three points for an amazing, earth-stopping, epic kiss,” she said with all the matter-of-fact seriousness she could muster.

  It took a moment for what she was saying to sink in, but then a grin broke out across Lucas’s bronzed face, crooked and just a little cocky. Her insides turned molten. Oh. God. If he kissed her again now she wouldn’t be much more than a puddle of mush on the vinyl seat.

  “Epic, yeah?” His hand stole around the back of her neck and he nudged her nose with his. “I can live with that,” he whispered against her lips. Cassidy closed her eyes and melted.

  The International Kissing Club was Piper’s Best. Idea. Ever.

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  Messages

  Between Mei and Izzy:

  Mei

  What are you up to? Are things any better at school?

  Izzy

  Let’s see … I’ve spent the better part of the week converting all our family home movies to digital; I started working on a design for a rainwater collection system for my garden; and I downloaded an instructional video to learn how to weave plastic grocery bags into purses. In other words, I’m bored out of my mind. But I do start my new job tomorrow, so that’ll be something different.

  Mei

  Hope it works out for you! Who knows, maybe you’ll make a new friend at Tanner’s farm—it’s something I highly recommend doing. :)

  Izzy

  Oh yeah? How’s your new friendship working out? Any lip action yet?

  Mei

  No. It’s not like that. We’re just hanging. He’s trying to get me to skateboard.

  Izzy

  Oh, Mei. Get your head out of your books. If the boy wants to teach you something, it’s because he likes you. And if he wants to teach you to skateboard, it’s because he wants to get his hands on you.

  Mei

  Izzy!

  Izzy

  Just saying.

  Mei

  Have to go now. Am late for dinner. Don’t know how I’m going to look Guiran in the eye now.

  Izzy

  I hear it’s better with your eyes closed, anyway.

  Mei

  Izzy! Not helpful. Logging off now.

  Chapter 15

  Izzy

  Izzy drove Brittney up to the Sun Valley Orchard the following Saturday morning, hoping—rather desperately—that Tanner had been joking about the tractor.

  Tanner had told her to be there by seven.

  Seven was freakin’ early. Earlier even than she got up for school. Was this really worth ten bucks an hour?

  But it wasn’t like she had anything better to do on Saturday. Sure, she could have spent another day at home, resenting her parents’ poor financial planning, but she already had that covered. Besides, it had been so long since she’d actually spoken to anyone, her vocal cords were starting to atrophy. It was time to rejoin the world of humans.

  So she rolled out of bed at six fifteen, stumbled downstairs, and made herself an espresso before leaving the house. Her parents couldn’t afford to send her to Costa Rica, but they could still keep the coffee maker stocked with a nice Costa Rican blend. Glad to know where their priorities lay.

  The Google Map directions led her down a long dusty road that ended at an aging ranch-style house crouching low under some oaks. She parked by the trees and went looking for Tanner. Something resembling an airplane hangar sat on the other side of the road, hunkered down in rows of cotton. The fields near the house were planted with something else. Izzy had lived in northeast Texas long enough to recognize the cotton, but she was used to her veggies artfully displayed at the farmers’ market, not still on the stalk.

  She stopped several yards away from the tractor. The John Deere loomed over her, like the bright green and yellow carcass of a dinosaur. The behemoth was mud splattered and scuffed, rusting out in places, patched over in others. It looked as though someone should have hauled it off to the dump a decade ago in a mission of mercy. Hooked to the back was a contraption straight out of a medieval torture chamber. Massive rods of metal supported a row of disks, each easily two feet across, their edges gleaming wickedly in the early morning light.

  In her mind, the theme from Psycho played.

  Just then, Tanner appeared as if from nowhere. He clapped her on the back in a casual, buddyish kind of way, laughing when she jumped. “Come on. I’ll show you around the barn.” He walked toward the building behind the tractor.

  “That isn’t an airplane hangar?” she asked when he started walking.

  He shot her another one of those bemused looks. “If we could afford an airplane, the tractors would be newer. And I wouldn’t need a football scholarship.”

  Good point.

  She pulled her gaze away from the evil tractor as he walked toward the barn. It was all arching steel and heavy corrugated doors.

  Looking from the barn to the tractor, she tried to muster her courage. Tanner had already rounded the John Deere and was several long-legged strides in front of her. “Seriously,” she called. “I thought you were joking about the tractor.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  Nearly running to catch up, she said, “Um. Just, in the interest of full disclosure, I failed my driving test. Twice.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t need a special license. You won’t be driving on public roads.”

  “That’s so not reassuring.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You sound really worried.”

  “I am really worried.”

  “Don’t be.” He stopped abruptly just outside the barn door and turned to face her. She nearly slammed into him but he caught her hands in his, catching her before she fell against him. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”
<
br />   His thumb brushed the back of her hand before she jerked it away. It seemed like an awful lot of physical contact between farmhands.

  Wrapping her arms around her chest, she pulled her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “Sooo. This is a barn,” she said brightly as they walked inside.

  This was one of the situations where changing the subject abruptly was socially acceptable. Wise, even.

  Tanner slanted her an odd look and spoke slowly. Like maybe she was slightly deranged. And maybe she was. “Yes. This is a barn.”

  “It’s … less red than I expected. And there’s no silo.” The barn where she’d lost her virginity—the one out at Mike Jenkins’s place—hadn’t really been used as a barn in years. Everybody knew his family had made their money in the high-tech industry and then moved out to Paris. They stabled horses there sometimes, but the Jenkinses’ barn was mostly just for show. Not unlike River had been.

  She shied away from the memory, focusing instead on what was right in front of her. Tanner’s barn was completely different—all big machinery, dust, and motor oil. It surprised her how at home Tanner looked here as he snagged a set of keys from a workbench. “And no cows,” she added inanely. “Or chickens.” When he still didn’t comment, she added, “Or pigs.”

  Finally—thank God, before she said anything else idiotic—he said dryly, “My parents live on a farm. They don’t live on the Fisher-Price farm.”

  “Right.” Again her tone sounded overly bright. “I know that. I mean, of course.” Resisting the urge to slap a big L onto her forehead, she babbled on. “I guess that means I’m not going to be milking any cows, huh?”

  WTF? Why can’t I stop talking about farm animals?

  Why did her hand still feel warm where he’d touched her skin? It wasn’t like he’d never touched her before. So why was she suddenly so much more aware of him?

  Looking up at Tanner now, she noticed he had a dazed expression on his face. Like she’d gone so far into crazy he didn’t even know how to respond. So she brought up the one topic every football player wanted to talk about. Himself.

  “My dad said you’re doing a really good job as quarterback.”

  “You asked your dad about me? Ah, Isabel, I didn’t know you cared.” A slow smile split his face and he looked extremely pleased with himself.

  Of course he would think she’d asked her dad about him. That was jocks in a nutshell. Me, me, me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Derringer. Football is all we talk about at the dinner table.”

  Poor Linc had looked miserable the other night, listening to her father talk about how easily Tanner had moved from wide receiver to quarterback. She’d almost felt sorry for him. But what kind of idiot put his entire future at risk by punching a locker? She’d bet good money—if she had any—that he’d done it only because he thought it would make him look cool. God, she hated sharing chromosomes with that moron.

  Surprisingly, Tanner didn’t seem to want to talk about her family any more than she did. He grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the front of the barn. “Maybe we should skip the tour and go straight to the tractor.”

  She stopped walking and dug in her heels. “The tractor?” Her gaze darted to the beast looming just outside the doorway. “Shouldn’t I at least meet your parents first or something?”

  “My parents?”

  “I am going to be working for them.”

  “They’re not here. They spend every Saturday out at the farmers’ market in Sherman.”

  “Oh. Right.” She should have guessed that—she’d seen them there just the previous weekend. But if she’d known that she was going to be all alone with Tanner today, then … then what? She wouldn’t have come? That was ridiculous. They weren’t alone alone. Not in an intimate or romantic way. And it wasn’t like she cared. She wasn’t Piper, after all.

  Besides, he was Tanner. Arrogant, obnoxious football star. He was everything she hated in a guy. Not to mention—

  Okay, was it even possible for your thoughts to babble? How nervous was she about this stupid tractor anyway?

  She sucked in a deep breath and shut up her mind. Gazing at the tractor she said, “Okay. Tractor Driving 101. I’m ready.”

  Tanner chuckled. “Not for that one you’re not. But nice show of bravado.” He led her past the enormous beast and around the corner to where a much smaller tractor stood in the shadow of the barn. “This is the tractor I’m going to teach you to drive.”

  Before her stood the baby version of the monster she’d been looking at just a moment ago. Equal parts red paint and rust, it looked as though it was easily as old as she was. Older, maybe. On the bright side, the oversized back wheels only came to her shoulder, rather than to above her head.

  She clapped her hands together with manufactured enthusiasm. “Okay. Where do we start?”

  The hand clapping reminded her of Piper, and for an instant she felt a pang of regret. Or maybe just loneliness. Piper would be so jealous if she could see her now, spending the day with Piper’s dream guy.

  Forget that learning to drive a tractor was about the most unromantic thing ever.

  Piper would still be jealous.

  On the other hand, Piper was in Paris at the moment. The real Paris. And she was racking up points faster than Tanner had during the last football game.

  Izzy suspected that by the time Piper got back home, she probably wouldn’t even remember who Tanner was. She certainly wasn’t going to care that Izzy had spent the fall working for his parents.

  It was so not an issue.

  Izzy turned back to Tanner and flashed him a smile. “Why don’t you toss me the keys and I’ll give it a try.” Then she looked back at the tractor with a frown. “Do tractors have keys?”

  Tanner just shook his head, his expression a little bemused. “Yeah.” He dangled the keys in front of her.

  What is it about this boy that makes my IQ drop fifty points every time I’m around him? Maybe that’s what happened to Germaine: too much exposure to Tanner Colt.

  Instead of tossing the keys to her, he crossed to her side and helped her climb up onto the runner. He narrated as he boosted her into the seat. “This is your basic open-air cab.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered.

  “You got your seat. You got your roll bar.” He slapped at the black bar arching behind the seat as he hopped onto the runner beside her. And then he started pointing at an array of pedals, sticks, and levers. “Your clutch, your brake, your gas. Your emergency brake. Your gear shift. Your throttle. Your ignition. And don’t forget your seat belt.”

  “Huh?” She’d just sat down on the cracked and worn vinyl. “Was I supposed to follow all that?”

  She looked down at him, only to find him climbing into the cab with her.

  “Oh, do you need to sit here?”

  “No. You’re good.” He reached across her. She plastered herself back against the seat, but there was barely enough room and his shoulder brushed against her chest. She found herself wishing for a less impressive bustline. There wasn’t room in the cab for her, Tanner, and her damn double Ds. “Here’s the other end of the seat belt.”

  She stared blankly at him as he straightened and handed her the buckle. When was he going to get out of the cab? She swallowed hard, then took the canvas belt he dangled in front of her. “Safety first,” she said faintly.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “What about you?” She didn’t glance over her shoulder as she asked the question, already keenly aware of how close he was.

  Tanner stood just behind her, wedged in between her seat and the roll bar. Despite the cramped quarters, he managed to stretch out, filling every extra centimeter of space. His voice dropped a notch, to the husky murmur that had melted hearts all over Paris High. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

  Good thing one of them did.

  He pointed to the right side of the steering wheel. “Ignition is right there. You’
ll want to turn the key counterclockwise for a few seconds first, to let it warm up. Then clockwise. Just like starting a car.”

  She followed his instructions, trying not to notice how good Tanner smelled. Fresh and clean. Like he bathed in catnip for girls. Most of the football players at her house either smelled like sweaty locker room floor or like they’d drenched themselves in cologne. Or worse, some combination of the two. But not Tanner. He smelled like clean soap and line-dried clothes.

  She drew in a deep breath and—

  “What was that?” he asked.

  All she could do was stare blankly in reply.

  “You seemed like you were about to say something.”

  “Oh.” Shit. What was she supposed to say? No, I was just smelling you? “Is that long enough?” she asked instead, looking back to meet his eyes.

  He hesitated. Like he could read her thoughts or something. Then he shook his head. “Sure. Go ahead and start it up.”

  She cranked the key in the ignition and the beast hummed to life.

  “From here on out”—he leaned even closer to be heard over the roar—“it’s just like driving your standard.”

  She settled her foot onto the clutch. The pedal felt huge. Spongier. This wasn’t like driving her standard. It seemed bigger. More dangerous.

  She pressed down hard and felt the gears line up. The gearshift was directly in front of her seat, right between her legs. Just as she reached down to settle her hand over it, Tanner leaned in and put his hand on top of hers. He had one arm resting across the back of her seat and the other practically draped across her left thigh.

  “Here’s first.” He moved both their hands together as he shifted through the gears. “Here’s second. Third, fourth. And here’s reverse.” This one was down and to the far right, so that his knuckles brushed against the inside of her denim-clad right thigh. “You feel that?”

  Was he joking? She swallowed hard. “Pardon?”

  “The reverse is a little tricky on this old girl.” He gave the gearshift another wiggle. “You’ve got to work to get it in.”