Every Kiss

by Tasha Ivey

  I need to get out of these tight clothes and cool down. Fast. Lying in the floor, I shimmy my jeans down my thighs and kick my feet until I fling them over by the bed. I dig through my bag in search of the black running shorts I stuffed in there this morning, and I pull out a black bikini instead.

  Hmm. As long as I can sneak through the gate unnoticed, I could go for a private swim back up at the main house. A heated pool and the chilled night air sound oddly invigorating and refreshing. I slip into my bikini and reluctantly pour myself back into my jeans, noticing the yellow-green stains from rolling in the grass earlier. Just a reminder of the jerks I’ve had to put up with the last couple of days.

  After cramming my feet in the running shoes I brought to wear tomorrow and tugging on a t-shirt, I grab a towel from the bathroom and step out onto the balcony to take the stairwell off the back side, which requires me to walk past Wes’ room.

  Damn it.

  I slide my back against the outside wall, all out ninja-style, which probably looks more like newborn-calf-style to the untrained eye. I peek into his window as I approach it, only to be met with complete darkness. He’s either asleep or not in there, obviously. Thank God. I reach for the railing and actually connect with it, making me thankful that I’m sobering up a little bit, and the cool air on my exposed skin is cooling me enough to quell my nausea some.

  The plan to get out of the house is probably the best one I’ve had all day long.

  Taking each step carefully, I finally make it to the safety of the firm ground, and I stop for a moment to listen for any signs of life in the direction of the main house. The only voices I hear are coming from inside, so I skirt around the edge of the yard, just under the cover of the bordering trees to maintain my ninja stealth. Hey, you don’t sneak around in the woods in the middle of the night without feeling like you didn’t earn some nun chucks or something cool like that.

  After surveying the front of the guest house one more time, I open the gate latch quietly and listen for the soft rasp of the metal connecting when I push it closed. As I suspected, no one has thought to come out to the pool on such a cool night. It’s tranquilly quiet; the only sound is the quiet hum of the pump and the water gently lapping at the sides. A calm, blue aura glows from beneath the water, lending a little mood lighting to my otherwise atrocious evening. I’m hoping a little perfect serenity will cancel out the shitty day I’ve had.

  I walk around and check out the hot tub, as well, but I’d really like to start with the pool. Kicking off my shoes, I dip one foot in to test the temperature. I can tell it’s losing its heat now that the sun is long gone, but it’s still fairly warm. Almost like a bath after you’ve soaked in it for a while. I peel myself out of my jeans once again and lay them out across a lounge chair. After whipping my t-shirt over my head, I wish that I’d thought to put my hair up, but I’m definitely not going back to the house now. Besides, I’m freezing, just standing here in March in a bikini like an idiot.

  But once I’m submerged up to my neck in the soothing warmth, I’m wishing I could give the person who invented solar energy a big kiss. After taking a deep breath, I sink below the surface, allowing the weightlessness to take the strain from every muscle. It’s as close to anti-gravity as I’ll ever get, and life is definitely full of gravity. Everything drags you down, piling on top of you until you can hardly pick up your feet anymore. For only a brief moment, that’s all gone.

  I break the surface and languidly skim the top of the water, only moving just enough to keep myself afloat. Back and forth, I swim the length in a lazy backstroke until my arms and legs quiver with exhaustion. Even then, it’s still exhilarating. Finally deciding I’m too tired to go across again, I quickly change over to the hot tub. The water is much hotter than the pool, so it stings slightly as I sink slowly onto the seat.

  “Ahhh.” It feels that good.

  “You’re a kidnapper’s dream come true. You know that?”

  I slosh water everywhere as I turn toward the voice. “And you’re my worst nightmare. Why do you keep popping up and scaring the life out of me?” My eyes finally focus on the figure in the chair just across from the hot tub. Wes sits in total darkness but the glow from the water reflects onto the bottle in his hand.

  “Sorry,” he offers a sincere apology, sitting forward so that the light illuminates his face. “I saw you walk past my room, so I followed you to see what you were up to.”

  I sink to my neck in the water, not wanting him to see me in my revealing bikini. Again. “You mean you’ve been out here all this time?”

  “Yep. Which brings me back to my point. You really should be more aware of your surroundings. You don’t ever know who’s watching you. You can’t be too careful, you know.”

  I scowl at him. “Babysitting me again, huh?”

  “No. Just a friendly observation.” He stands and places his nearly empty bottle on the table next to him, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over his head and opening the front of his jeans. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  “It’s your house.” Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

  “My parents’ house,” he corrects. He shoves his jeans down his legs and steps out of the pile of denim, leaving only his boxer briefs behind.

  Oops, I looked. I freaking looked. And now I can’t stop looking. I didn’t think he could possibly be hotter than in those clothes he had on today. I never thought I’d have the opportunity to see what’s underneath. I had it right earlier today when I compared him to a Greek statue, but this time I’m seeing it all. Well, except I never saw boxer briefs on any of the statues, they usually didn’t have . . . oh damn, I just looked at his package. Close your eyes, Callie. Abort. Abort!

  “See something you like, sweetheart?” He snickers, mocking me with the same statement he made to me this afternoon.

  I need a subject change before I completely embarrass myself. “How would your girlfriend feel about finding you in the hot tub with me?”

  “Allison isn’t my girlfriend, per se.” He reaches over to some controls and bubbles erupt from the jets around the sides. It feels amazing.

  “I caught her leaving your room a while ago, and she stopped in the hall to put her panties on. Define ‘per se’ because it sure looked like the physical aspect of your relationship was still going strong less than an hour ago.”

  “It’s an on-again, mostly off-again kind of thing with her. Right now, though—forgive me if I offend you—it’s purely sexual. Nothing more. I asked her to be here tonight, just for that reason. I don’t know why she wasn’t wearing panties because we never got that far, but I suspect she won’t be coming back around for a while.”

  “Why not?” As much as I should probably be offended by his admission, I can admire his honesty about the situation. I can’t really fault him for it if it’s all they both want out of the relationship. Unlike Tanner, who failed to mention it to me.

  “Well, without sharing too many of the gory details, before anything really got started, I just went numb. I was bored with it. With her. I wasn’t, uh . . .” He motions to his lap. “You know.” He stutters after realizing what he’s admitted. “Uh, umm, not that it’s ever not worked before, but she was pissed when I told her I wasn’t into it.”

  I have a sudden urge to spout something off about testing his equipment to ensure proper working order, but I somehow refrain. “You’ve had a bad day and a lot to drink. Surely, any normal human being could be understanding of that.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. Far too much to drink.” He leans back and appears to contemplate. “Speaking of drunk assholes, I saw Jake on my way over here as he was walking to his car. It looked like his eye was swollen and he was walking funny. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to him, would you?”

  “I would.”

  He scoots around and bumps his shoulder into mine. “You okay? I tried to warn you about him. I would ask if I need to kick his ass, but it looks like someone beat m
e to it. Shane?”

  “Me.”

  His laughter echoes off the back of the house. “Haha! That’s freakin’ awesome.” A frown quickly replaces the smile, though, as soon as a thought crosses his mind. “What did he do to you?”

  I shrug like it’s no big deal. “He kept kissing me after I wanted him to stop, and then he stuck his hand down the front of my pants. So I punched him. And then kicked him . . . you know . . . in his junk.”

  Wes stands up unsteadily with his fists bunched. “No wonder he got in the car without speaking to me. I think I need to go pay him a visit.”

  I grab his sinewy arm and pull, urging him to sit back down. “Yeah, like you can drive anywhere. I can take care of myself, you know. And I did. I don’t need you to be my big, bad protector. I’ve taken self-defense classes for years. I know how to handle myself.”

  He sits down and wraps his arms around me, pressing me into the wet warmth of his chest. “Sorry. You’re right.”

  “And you’re drunk. Obviously an affectionate drunk, seeing how you couldn’t wait to get away from me when you were still half sober.”

  “Not true.”

  “Umm . . . I have to disagree with you on that.” I try to fight it, but I relax into him. “But we might as well try to tolerate each other and get along. As long as Makenna and Shane are together, it looks like we’ll be seeing each other on occasion.”

  “Tolerate each other? If you can tolerate me after today, you deserve a medal. I swear I’m not normally such a jerk. You, on the other hand, haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Well, I’m glad we agree on that. “Like I said, you’ve had a bad day. I don’t know all of the details, but it’s forgivable.”

  “And, Callie . . .” His tone is more serious now. “I am sorry about intervening earlier with Jake when I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  I look up at him. The blue glow makes his eyes seem brighter. “Why? You barely know me. Why worry about me?”

  “I have no freaking clue,” he says, pushing the wet hair from my face.

  With that single touch, the mood shifts, electricity buzzes in the air between us. I try to keep him from noticing, but I labor for every breath and my heart races in my chest. He was simply getting the hair out of my eyes, nothing more. But why does it feel like every nerve in my body has come alive, begging for him to do it again? I don’t even know him.

  Okay, so I know I’ve done a lot more with a couple of guys I didn’t really know. One night stands aren’t about knowing the other person. Only the end result of it is what really matters. Sex is the driving force. Literally. So why the hell am I suddenly concerned with how well I know him, when nothing has even happened? An even better question would be why I’m thinking about a one night stand with Wes.

  Must be the alcohol. This is why I don’t like drinking. It screws with my head—and hormones—too much.

  His eyes bore into mine, and I feel warmth creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. I hate that being around him makes me blush. He finally lets out a long sigh and releases me to stand, reaching out as far as he can to pick up the whiskey bottle he left on the table. He rejoins me, though, and puts the bottle to his lips, taking a deep pull.

  “I thought you were cut off,” I joke, a poor attempt at lightening the mood.

  He shrugs. “Probably need to be. I can’t think straight.” His eyes meet mine again, telling me that something hidden in that statement was aimed at me.

  I take the bottle from his hand, and he starts to protest. But I’m rewarded with a wicked grin when I press the bottle to my lips and take a mouthful of the smooth liquid. The whiskey may have an initial hint of sweetness to it, but the bitter burn coating my throat as it slides down makes my eyes water a little. “Thinking straight is usually overrated.” And I drink again.

  “I agree.” He takes the bottle back from me, raising it to his mouth. When his tongue slips out to swirl around the opening—where my lips just were—my breath catches in my throat. And as he finishes it off, I struggle to exhale as the last drops slide from the neck of the bottle to his full lips. “You want more?”

  “Yes,” I croak, realizing after I answer that he meant more to drink, not more of watching his mouth.

  He steps out of the hot tub and grabs my towel, wrapping it around his waist. “I’ll be right back.” I watch him walk up to the dark house and stop to punch a code into a keypad above the doorknob. The door swings open and the kitchen light floods from the oversized window, allowing me to easily see him inside. He grabs items from the fridge and a couple of cabinets, giving me the opportunity to admire the muscles in his back and arms bunching and flexing with every movement. Then, the house goes dark again, just before he’s pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Have you eaten tonight?” He asks, approaching the iron table next to the hot tub.

  “Does a bowl of cookie dough count?”

  He eyes me with an eyebrow raised. “Definitely not.” He rips a sandwich in half and holds one side out to me. “Eat this.”

  I watch him while I nibble on the corner of the sandwich. It’s just turkey and swiss with some spicy mustard, but it’s surprisingly delicious. On a wide tray, he has a couple of glasses, a full bottle of whiskey, two cans of cola, and a bowl of ice. He mixes two drinks as expertly as he did earlier today and hands one to me, but mine isn’t quite as strong as his. I’m thankful.

  He rejoins me, holding his sandwich out to bump mine in a toast before taking a big bite of it. “To one hell of a birthday,” he jokes around a mouthful.

  “Is it still your birthday? I have no idea what time it is.”

  “Yeah. About thirty minutes left of it. Thank God it’s almost over. I think I’ll spend the next one in a foreign country where no one can find me.”

  I swallow the last bite and take a sip to wash it down. “You mean your mother.”

  He sighs. “Yeah.” Finishing his sandwich, too, he grabs his drink and gulps it down. I’m immediately sorry I brought her up.

  “Sorry.”

  “It is what it is.” He refills his glass with straight whiskey this time. I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I need to learn to think before I speak.

  Clearly needing to lighten the mood, I grab his glass and set it on the side. “So, birthday boy . . . did you even get to blow out your candles and make a wish?”

  “No. I’ll go get you some of the cake if you want it though.” He reaches across me for his glass, but I grab his wrist and hold onto it until I turn to kneel in my seat, facing him.

  “Come on. You have to make a birthday wish before time runs out.” I make a fist but hold up my index finger. “Pretend this is your candle. Go.”

  “Callie, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. If you don’t make a birthday wish, I’ll make one for you. And you’ll regret that when you wake up three inches shorter in the morning. And I don’t mean your height.”

  He snickers, and his eyes glimmer in the soft light. “I wouldn’t want that. Three inches less would make me a chick.”

  “I have no shame in admitting that I checked you out earlier. I seriously doubt three inches would do much damage to your current stock. I can double the wish if your pride needs a more serious hit.”

  “I know you were looking.” He grins, angling his body toward me. “But, fine. You win. I’ll make a wish.”

  I hold my finger out between us again, and he closes his eyes tight, really laying the dramatics on thick. When he opens them again, he looks . . . smug. Devious. “There. Wish made.”

  “Good.” I begin to drop my hand, but he grabs it.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what my wish was?”

  “No. That’s against the rules. You’re not supposed to say or it won’t come true. Everybody knows that.”

  He pulls my arm until I’m against him, dragging me over until I’m sitting sideways in his lap. “I’ll show you then.” Wes slides his hands up my wet arms to my
shoulders and coaxes me toward him until we’re barely an inch apart.

  My brain gave up the moment he said he’d show me, so I have no reasonable thoughts of rejection forming. Just pure, yielding approval fostered by my clearly intoxicated hormones. “Showing is always more fun than telling, anyway,” I whisper against his lips.

  He leans in and crushes his mouth to mine. One arm snakes around my back, urging me closer, while one hand fists in my wet, tangled hair. The scalding bubbles tickling at my sides are only a whisper of warmth compared to the heat I feel from his bare skin against mine.

  And that kiss? Oh, what a perfect oblivion it is. It’s a kiss that makes me forget yesterday’s drama of breaking up with Tanner. A kiss that forces away the memory of Jake, the sickening taste of beer, and the anger left behind. A kiss that fills me with only gentle unspoken trust and a hint of sweet whiskey.

  I was wrong earlier. This is perfect serenity.

  OH, WHAT KIND of hell is this?

  The light streaming through the windows only amplifies the pounding in my temples, and each footstep going down the stairs sounds more like a sledge hammer connecting with the wall over my head. I want to crawl under a rock somewhere and die. I knew it would be like this, but I continued to drink anyway, like a great big idiot. And then, I only made things worse by drinking whiskey with Wes.

  Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that. That’s probably why I have this funky taste in my mouth. Deciding I’ll feel better if I clean myself up a bit, I grab my bag and carefully head into the bathroom, lazily stripping out of my clothes and laughing at myself when I notice I’m still wearing my bikini.

  Not caring to fight for the perfect temperature, I just aim for somewhere in the neighborhood of boiling hot and step in, squealing as it stings my skin and then groaning because it actually feels good. I lather my hair and body and rinse until I’m clear of not only soap, but tension, too. Even though my head is still pounding, I feel refreshed when I step out and pull on my clean clothes—a pair of black running shorts and my slightly wrinkled Breaking Benjamin t-shirt.