Stuck With You (First Kiss Hypothesis)

by Christina Mandelski

  He tugs the edges of the blanket, and me inside of it, toward the bed. He sits down and pats the spot beside him. I take the blanket, pull it tight, and thrust out my chin. “No. You can’t just kiss me like that and then order me around. I’m not going to sit down.”

  “Please?” He stares up at me while I glare at him. I’m tempted to walk right out, but the way his eyes settle on me? That look could soften the heart of the devil himself.

  I sit, leaving ample space between us, just so he knows I’m still not very happy.

  “Look,” he starts. “I made your mom a promise, and if this”—he points to me, then back to him, then back to me again—“if this happens, I won’t be able to look her in the eye when they get here, or maybe ever. And if your dad finds out, he’ll kill me. You know he will. And I wouldn’t blame him.”

  He reaches out and takes my hand again. This time I let him.

  “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it.” Cue killer smile.

  I can’t agree with him. I can’t smile back. I’m not ready to give up yet. “Isn’t this what they’ve always wanted—for us to get together?”

  He sputters out a laugh. “I don’t think this is exactly what they were picturing.”

  I agree—it is a weak argument. I’m 100 percent sure that our parents never planned for us to have sex on a random Tuesday at the beach house. I’m pretty sure our mothers figured if there was ever any sex, it would happen on our wedding night, which would come after we both had college degrees.

  Still, my blood is pumping fast. I want to believe everything he’s said. He thinks I’m beautiful. He thought I was beautiful even before this. Can I believe him? Can I trust him?

  I want to, but I’m not sure. I stand again, too worked up to sit, still holding the blanket tightly.

  “Look, Caleb,” I say. “If this was a mistake, just tell me now. Don’t waste my time. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m used to that.” I stare into his blue eyes, crinkled with what looks like concern. He doesn’t speak.

  “Catie.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his, squeezing it firmly in what feels like a friendly gesture. Oh my God. He’s going to do it. He’d going to reject me again. It’s going to happen, and I am an idiot. He is completely mute.

  “Okay. Fine.” I pull my hand away and reach down to the floor to pick up my sopping-wet dress again. Tears prick at my eyes, and I want to run away, but he’s still got my one hand. Tears come, and I hate myself for crying. I make a sound, almost a growl, mad at myself for letting this go so far. I should have known.

  He reaches for the blanket again.

  “Let go,” I say.

  “Wait,” he says, his voice as loud and booming as the thunder outside. Mo seems to be distracted, though, by our weird little mostly naked dance. Caleb stands up and wraps his arms around me. He doesn’t let go, even though now I’m crying.

  “Stop.” I half-heartedly try to pull out of his arms. “I’ll be fine. Let me go.”

  “No,” he says.

  “You’re not supposed to say no.” I want to go, but I can’t seem to make myself do it.

  “Catie?” he says, his voice a gentle hum.

  “What?” The word breaks in half as it comes out of me.

  He takes a step back and looks into my eyes. I look straight ahead, into his chest. “Catie, look at me.”

  Fine. I do.

  “I swear,” he says. “I’m not trying to save your feelings, and I am not rejecting you. I just—honestly I just—I can’t. Not here, not right now. It wouldn’t be right.”

  I make another strange grunting sound, still not sure I believe him. He tilts his head and smiles. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. But come on. I haven’t even taken you on a date yet.”

  My heart lifts just a little. “A date?”

  “Yeah.” He’s back to the big, melty smile that I can feel in my knees. “Will you go on a date with me?”

  I want to trust this. Still, I don’t want to show all my cards. I give him my most serious face, eyes focused like lasers, mouth flattened into a straight line, chin lifted. His smile only gets bigger. “If this is going to work, you’ve gotta stop smiling like that,” I say.

  He forces a frown. “I’ll try,” he says. “I promise.”

  I roll my eyes and push out of his arms. “So, when is this alleged date taking place?”

  “I guess it should probably be tomorrow?” He inhales deep. “Is that a yes, then?”

  I take a step back, then another, even though all I want to do is attack him and push him back down on that bed. “I guess I’ll give you a chance.”

  “Good.” He pulls me toward him again and lowers his lips toward mine. “Now would you please put some clothes on? I’m dying over here.”

  It’s all I can do to make myself walk out of that room, but somehow I manage. The blanket is still wrapped around me, and even though worry is pricking at my brain, I push it back and let myself believe that this thing I dreamed of for so long might actually happen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caleb

  She comes out of the bedroom a few minutes later in an old hockey jersey of mine. I don’t know why it looks so sexy, a giant shirt on her tiny frame. Maybe it’s because now that I’ve seen almost all of her, I can’t help but think of what’s underneath it. I need to stop that, or I’ll be walking funny around the house for the whole rest of the week.

  She joins me in the kitchen where I’m making a snack, hoisting herself up so she’s sitting on the counter, her bare legs hanging.

  I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “What’s wrong?” She grins.

  “Where’d you find that?” Her wet hair is still down but combed smooth, her face makeup free, and she looks even better. Not sure how that’s possible, but there you have it.

  “It was in a drawer in my room. You don’t mind, do you?” she asks with one eyebrow arched.

  I walk to her and hold my arms out to put around her. “Is this okay?”

  She pulls me to her and wraps her legs around me. My lips touch hers, and it’s like I can do this forever. Lips, tongue, neck, arms. I could kiss her until it kills me. I pull back, knowing I should stop, but then come back for more.

  This is impossible. I tear myself away, and she laughs. Maybe now she believes me. I want her more than air.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” I say.

  She smiles. “Okay. I won’t.”

  “And no, I don’t mind the jersey.” I turn on the oven and cross my arms. She has no idea how much I mind. I’d rather have her dressed the way she was a little while ago, but I would not be able to control myself if she were. I open the freezer and kneel down to dig for something.

  “Are you making food? We just ate,” she says then hops off the counter, walks to the fridge, and leans against the closed side, her legs crossed at the ankle. My eyes make their way up those legs slowly.

  “I’m still hungry,” I say.

  “Me, too,” she says. I look up at her. She’s not talking about food. Groaning, I go for her again, and we kiss some more. She pulls away this time, but I keep my hand on her waist. I’ve kissed a good amount of girls, but this is different. It feels like I’ve been searching for someone who has always been right here, in front of me—but it’s not that simple. I’m leaving after this weekend. No matter what, we won’t be together again for a long time. I wonder if she’ll wait for me.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks.

  I wonder about the guys she’s kissed. Darren McKee, who shot off his mouth about having sex with her last fall, and I felt the need to threaten him in the parking lot. She and I weren’t even speaking, really, and I still wanted to kill the guy.

  I wonder if she regrets him. I’m not judging. I have stories, and I have some regrets. I just don’t want her to regret us.

  She tweaks her mouth into a sort-of smile. I’m not one to think too far into the
future—hell, it’s always been figured out for me—but this situation throws me a little. I have to go back to Florida. She’s going to do her senior year. I pull her to me. “I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be, Catie.”

  Now it’s her turn to laugh. “Good,” she says and lifts up on her toes, wanting another kiss.

  I kiss her forehead and wrestle myself away. “All right. Enough.” I turn to the still-open freezer. “Pizza rolls?”

  She sulks. “If that’s my only option.”

  I lean forward. “It has to be. For now.”

  She rolls her eyes, then turns and walks out of the kitchen, slow and sexy, with my name written across her back—GRAY—which makes my blood rush to places that aren’t making this easy at all.

  She watches me from one of the bar stools, at a much safer distance.

  While we wait, we talk. I ask her about Northwestern’s deadlines, and she quickly changes the subject. She asks me about the program at A&M, and I ask her if she wants to watch a movie.

  It’s fine. I think the last thing we want to talk about is the future. Not today, anyway, so while the pizza rolls bake, we talk about our lives back home.

  I tell her about a few guys from lacrosse—Eli and Alex, who have become good friends of mine.

  “Any girls?” she asks, eyebrow raised, mouth in a semi pout.

  I give her a small smile and scratch my head. “A couple.” I snort, then chuckle. “Strange enough, both of them are now with Eli and Alex.”

  I think of Nora Reid. Huge crush on that girl. She had big dreams and made me start questioning my own path. But she ended up with Eli, and that’s all right, because she’s become a friend, too. She’s off to Emory in the fall to be a medical researcher.

  “You’d like Nora,” I say. “She’s smart, like you, and has no problem speaking her mind. Then there was Bailey, who was gonna ask me to prom, until she realized she had a thing for Alex.”

  “So basically, you drive women into the arms of other men?”

  I chuff and raise my eyes to hers. “I don’t know—is there anyone I should worry about?”

  She leans that chin of hers on her hand. “I can’t think of anyone.” She smiles at me, and I smile back, because I can’t think of anyone else, either. No one else.

  Eventually, when the pizza rolls are bubbling out of their pillowy wrappers, we head to the media room. This time without Ainsley and Sunny, and this time, we can actually sit together without any eyebrows being raised. I guess as of today, I don’t really care what they thought, but it’s nice having this time alone before our parents show up and several other sets of eyebrows will be the issue. Scarier eyebrows.

  Catie sits down, and I sit next to her, bowl of pizza rolls in hand. She’s got the remote and is searching through our options. “What do you want? Action? Thriller?”

  I grin. “What, you don’t want another rom-com?”

  “No. I think we need to avoid any romantic story lines, since you’re making us behave and all.” She draws the word out “behave” like it’s stupid, and honestly, it is stupid. I reach out for the hem of my jersey that she’s wearing, but she rolls away, giggling.

  “Stop.” She swats away my hand and keeps her eyes on the TV screen. “We haven’t even been on a date yet, you animal!”

  I sigh big and settle into the cushions. Not. Gonna. Be. Easy.

  “How about this one?” she asks. “You like these, don’t you?”

  It’s one of the Jason Bourne movies, which yeah, I’m a fan of. “Do you like them?”

  She side-eyes me. “Are you implying that I’m some sort of girlie girl who only watches chick flicks? Cause you better not be. I’ll have you know I’ve seen every one of the Bourne movies, including the one with Hawkeye, and I’m not even sure that one counts. Plus”—she’s excited; I love when she gets like this, talking fast and really selling it—“this is the one where he stabs the guy with a pen. Seriously the most disgusting scene ever.” She presses play and scoots herself over, closing the gap between us.

  She’s excruciatingly close—like, it’s torture, but there’s not any universe where I’d tell her to move away. She leans forward, grabs the bowl of pizza rolls, pulls her legs up and onto the coffee table, and puts half the bowl in my lap and half in hers.

  When I don’t say anything, she pops a roll into her mouth. “By the way, don’t be afraid to put your arm around me. I promise not to make any moves.”

  I take her up on the offer and lift my arm around her. She moves her head so that it settles into the crook of my arm, and I can barely focus on Jason Bourne trying to outrun the bad guys. I can only think about her and how right this feels.

  We fall asleep like that, and I wake up with her in my arms, and it still feels right. It makes me wonder if I’d let her in earlier instead of pushing her away, if this would have happened. It could have been a disaster, or maybe it could have been just like this from the beginning. This is a feeling that I could get used to.

  I don’t really believe in what-ifs, and I know I probably shouldn’t be thinking about the future of us, yet, but I can’t help myself. It’s what I came to the beach for, anyway, to think about what comes next, and now, there’s a whole other extra component to consider. Her.

  She adjusts her body on the cushion. “Cate,” I whisper into the top of her head. I don’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but I want a bottle of it to take back with me when I leave.

  I nudge her again.

  “Hmm?” she murmurs.

  My throat constricts from the words it wants to say. “You want to go to bed?”

  She snuggles closer into me. “Sure,” she says, wiping her eyes with a balled-up fist. “Can I sleep with you?”

  If I were smart, I’d say no, but there is zero chance of that happening. “Yeah,” I say, and without another word, we get up and go to the bedroom. She lays down beside me. Our parents would not be happy with this. Her father would legit cut off my junk. But she’s so tired and soft, and she moves so close to me, and I wrap my arms around her, and she sighs in this satisfied way that makes me never want to let go.

  “Good night,” she hums.

  “Night,” I say.

  I let out a slow breath as she falls back to sleep on my chest. I’m not tired at all. Separate orbits? Oh no. That plan has been shot to hell. Now it feels like we’re hurtling through space like a meteor, out of control. What are the odds we’re gonna crash and burn?

  I wake up, no idea what time it is. She’s watching me. Her hand is on my face, her thumb brushing against my cheek. I don’t think. I lift my head slightly so that I can kiss her. It’s intense and quiet, except for the soft moans she makes as I move to her neck, and I know I should stop, but I can’t make myself. My hands have a mind of their own, disconnected from my brain. She writhes underneath me, and I can barely stand the agony of not doing this with her, but I think of that meteor, burning hotter, breaking apart. I need to do everything I can to keep it together, because at this point, losing her would be worse than what I’m feeling now.

  I force myself to think of her dad. That helps. Then I think of Gramps, who even though he’s losing control of his muscles, would somehow find a way to pick up his hunting rifle and shoot a hole in me. That does it.

  I roll onto my back, unable to speak, and she laughs. “You’re killing me, Gray.”

  I say nothing, just wrap her in my arms again and breathe her in. I might be killing her, but I’m already dead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Catie

  I wake up in his bed, wearing his jersey, and he’s not there. The morning sun is peeking through the slits in the blinds, and I stretch all my limbs across the bed. I feel—hmm—I feel happy; that’s the word. Not like I’ve done something regretful. It feels right.

  Nothing happened last night—well, the big thing didn’t happen, although there was kissing and touching, and when that started I probably would have done anything until he stopped it. I get it. I get what he s
aid and why he said it, but I’m not saying it’s not annoying, either. Caleb Gray is so good, it’s like if the Pope married Mother Theresa and had a baby, and trust me, I’m Catholic, I get how wrong that is. I’m just saying they’d produce someone like Caleb, that’s all.

  But I also think I believe him—it isn’t a rejection—not like I felt with him before.

  It’s respect, and that’s fitting. Caleb has always been known to be respectful. Teachers, parents, other kids in school. I was the only one that seemed to be left out of that equation. In general, though, he’s considered a living saint. That doesn’t seem to have changed at all. I cling to that, and to the fact that today is the day of our first date. This makes me so excited that I almost start to giggle again. Let me make this clear: I am not a giggler, but last night, I could barely hold them in.

  When I pressed him for info about this date, he refused to tell me what we’re doing, and honestly I don’t care if we go somewhere and watch paint dry. Today is ours. Today, he’s mine.

  Can I say that?

  Well, I’m gonna. Today Caleb Gray is mine. It’s tomorrow that worries me. In fact, if I think about it I can feel it, like a pill stuck in my throat. When I dated Darren, I didn’t worry about anything. Not that my decision to have sex with him wasn’t a big deal. It was. But I didn’t love him. I knew that, and in the end, I figured it was just time. The thing to do. It seemed best to get it over with. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but it’s different with Caleb. It feels real. It feels like…

  Every muscle in my body freezes at once.

  The L-word just popped into my brain. I stare at the ceiling and blow that thought into the far corner of my brain like a leaf blower making big piles in the backyard. I mean, I do love Caleb, like you love an old stuffed animal you’ve always had. It’s ratty; it’s beat up; it’s always been there.

  Yeah, I know. Normal people don’t make out with their old stuffed animals.

  Never mind the fact that he’s going home in a few days to another state and starting college in that same state, where he’ll be surrounded by girls who will definitely, happily have sex with him, and whose fathers won’t be metaphorically—and possibly literally—hovering in the background with a loaded shotgun. I sit up and huff out a breath.