Forever Kinda Love

by Clara Stone

  “Hey.” I wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her hair. “So . . . I waited, like you asked.”

  She wraps her arms around me, and I feel the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders. That feeling is the most amazing thing in the world. I pull back and place my hands on her cheeks, staring into her beautiful grays.

  She looks at me intently. All kinds of emotions war across her features—confusion and something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Fuck it. I need to tell her about Lisa. I need to tell her about my feelings. We’ll figure out the rest. I kiss the top of her forehead for what I hope is the last time. Because, from here on out, I’m kissing her on those sweet, pink lips.

  “Lisa—”

  “Carrigan.” Vincent’s voice cuts through my big moment.

  I growl. What the hell does he want now?

  “Take it easy, Cujo,” Ace says, tapping my chest teasingly.

  I turn so that I’m facing the asshat, holding Ace’s hand in mine. There’s no way I’m letting her go. Not when I’m so close to telling her my feelings.

  “Vince,” Ace says, a little curious.

  “You heading home?” he asks, keeping his eyes on her. I fight the urge to step in front of him and block his view.

  “Yeah.” I feel her eyes on me when she responds. “Do you need me to stay?”

  He grins. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him smile. And I hate it.

  “No. But you owe me a movie.”

  Movie? As in date? My hackles rise and the need to wear green is looking mighty tempting.

  She squeals, letting go of my hand, and pulls him into a hug. “You’re a genius, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I know.” He chuckles.

  I stand corrected. I hate it more when he laughs. Fucking hate it. My jaw pops as I grind my teeth. “Let’s go, Ace.” I don’t wait for her. I get in the car and start it.

  She’s still smiling and giggling with him. Jealousy claws its way up my throat like a bad odor. I rev the engine. She looks back, her eyebrows raised.

  “You coming or not?” I yell.

  She gives Vincent another hug before sliding into the Jeep. She scowls at me and asks, “Who kicked you between the legs?”

  I couldn’t have said it better if I’d tried. So I don’t respond. The tires screech against the asphalt as I speed out of the parking lot.

  I’M NOT SURE WHICH of my blunders over the past couple of weeks is worse: using Vincent to test my feelings for Heath, or letting Heath think there was something’s going on between Vincent and me. Not surprisingly, neither choice makes it onto my Proudest Moments in Life list.

  However, the worst of my non-proud moments has to be the little happy dance I did in my bedroom when I heard about Heath being single—a moment that had been interrupted by Emily bursting into my room, squealing about the news. How she’d found out about Heath and Lisa so quickly when she didn’t even go to our school, I’ll never know. And she’ll never say.

  “You know what this means, right?” she asks.

  I stare blankly at her.

  “He totally broke up with her for you, darlin’!”

  I laugh, unsure what to think of that.

  She grins. That snuffs the laughter right out of me.

  “Wait, did he say something—”

  She waves her hand and falls back on my bed, bouncing from the impact. “I’ll shave my head if he doesn’t ask you out within a month.”

  “Em!” I gasp and affect an Austen-esque accent. “How ever will I recognize you without your hair?”

  “That’s how deadly serious I am.” She props up on her elbows. “That boy’s been green with jealousy ever since you started hanging out with Vincent. I bet he dreams about him, too.”

  I snort.

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “It might involve tying Vincent up—”

  “Em!” I try to stop her before she says something completely Em-like.

  “And sawing his arms off for touching you.”

  “That’s gross, Em.” I fall next to her on the bed.

  “Darlin’, Heath’s been so full of jealousy even Satan would back the hell off. Trust me.” She grins.

  I fall back on my pillow, wanting to believe her, but unsure of my luck when it comes to getting what I want.

  “Ace!” A voice brings me out of my thoughts, and I look up. Jason is running toward me, his smile bright as the sun.

  Is it too late to pretend like I can’t hear him? I slam my locker door shut, preparing my escape plan.

  “There you are,” he says, stopping in front of me, blocking my path.

  Damn it!

  “Nice outfit,” he says, taking me in, top to bottom.

  Curse this body-hugging, so-short-my-butt-cheeks-are-hanging-out cheer uniform.

  “So,” he says, as I skirt around him toward my art class. He follows. “I heard you’ll be MCing for the senior fundraiser in a few weeks.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I ask, my eyebrows rising.

  He shrugs. “Around.”

  “Well, that’s news to me.” I’d only agreed to take care of the parts that kept me away from the spotlight. Or so I’d thought.

  “It’s as good as confirmed. Mr. Thomas was going to talk to you about it.”

  I groan. Mr. Thomas. Our class sponsor, has been my favorite teacher of all time. His passion for teaching makes it very hard to feel anything but.

  “You know what else I heard?” Jason nudges my shoulder, then wraps his hand around my waist. I step to the side to get away, but he ends up trapping me against the lockers, his hands on either side of my head. I fight the urge to punch him in the gut.

  “That there’s a rotten slice of cheese in locker 2338?” I say, shoving against his unmoving hand.

  He blinks, clearly unfazed.

  “Never mind.” I sigh. No humor; such a shame. I stiffen when I feel someone’s gaze boring into the side of my cheek. I turn my head to the right, and sure enough, Heath’s glowering at the hand that traps me in place.

  Thankfully, the school bell rings, and I excuse myself, grateful to get away from Jason. I walk straight to Heath, whose questioning eyes flicker with mild concern.

  “Ready to go?” I ask, taking his hand and pulling him toward art class. We make it over the threshold just as the second bell rings.

  “Cutting it close, Ms. Casper. Mr. Lovelly,” Mrs. Keriu says.

  “Still on time, Mrs. K,” I respond with a smile. Heath has yet to say anything, and I’m thankful that Mrs. Keriu starts the lesson seconds after we’re seated.

  I pull a pencil and sketchpad from my bag, setting it on the wooden table before me. Chewing on my lower lip, I glance over my shoulder toward Heath, two rows behind and one over. He’s staring at me, his eyes gleaming in a way that has my heart racing and my breath quickening. I snap my head forward and place my hand over my chest, feeling the beat against my palm.

  My clenched hands tremble as I fight the urge to turn back around. I’ve always been attracted to Heath, but I never, in a million years, would have guessed that an innocent crush could make my heart melt and my skin tingle.

  “Ace.” I look up at the girl standing in front of me. Her eyebrows are scrunched together, like she’s annoyed. She slaps a box full of foil and shredded paper on my table before turning around, flipping her hair as she walks away.

  “Thanks,” I mumble. After taking what’s required for the assignment—a sheet of foil and a handful of newspaper—I twist around to pass the box to the person behind me.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Heath biting back a chuckle. My eyes connect with his, and I glare. He winks. I turn around swiftly, trying to take deep breaths to calm the flips in my stomach.

  What’s wrong with me? I’m acting like I’ve never had a crush on anyone before. Letting go of another sigh, I start reading through the instructions for the project of the week:

  Make a paper mache face mold and paint your emotions—sym
bolically—over it.

  What would symbolize nerves?

  “Hello, partner,” a warm voice greets me.

  I look up. Heath’s grin is so wide, I can see the back of his teeth.

  My stomach flips. Again. Make that lots and lots of nerves.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss at him, feeling trapped.

  He feigns innocence, his hand over his heart in mock horror. He pulls out the chair next to me, scraping it across the floor, and straddles it. “I need a partner I know won’t violate me when my eyes are closed. The girl that wants to be my partner . . .” He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “Looks like she’ll devour me the second my guard is down,” he says, snickering.

  I swivel in my seat to steal a glance at his previous partner. She stares openly at Heath, lust radiating from her. Jealousy hits me like hot air on a scorching day.

  “Fine,” I mumble. “Sit with your back to the chair and close your eyes.” I grit my teeth, grabbing the tinfoil that’s been provided. I stand next to him and look down; he’s waiting with his eyes closed, a smirk on his lips. Shaking my head, I place the foil over his eyes and press against his forehead, shaping it to his face.

  His breath fans against the aluminum, making a crinkling noise when he speaks. “What did Jason want?”

  “Stay still,” I say, pressing the foil into the sockets of his eyes and over the contours of his cheekbones. Heat courses through me as I trace my finger over his lips, lightly pressing down. A crooked half-smile imprints onto the foil.

  Heath’s words become muffled and I have to tell him to shut it. By the time I’m done molding the silver paper to his face, Mrs. Keriu tells us fifteen minutes have passed. I slowly peel off the foil and freeze as my eyes lock with Heath’s smoldering gaze.

  Is it getting really hot in here? Swallowing, I clear my throat. “Now, you do me.”

  A wicked grin appears over those delicious-looking lips. “With pleasure.” He leans forward, and I instantly step back, falling into the seat behind me. He grabs the edges of my chair and pulls me to him. He brings his head close to my face and tilts it sideways. His gaze moves from my eyes to my mouth. “But I’d prefer us alone for that event.”

  I blink, confused, and replay the last five seconds of conversation in my head. Oh. My. God. Heat smothers me as my body burns with embarrassment.

  His eyes turn darker as his pupils dilate, nearly swallowing the hazel. He runs a finger down the length of my cheek, tracing it along my lower lip. I shiver. He freezes, his eyes locked on my mouth.

  “Close your eyes.” His voice comes out gruff and heady.

  I obey. The coolness of the foil wraps around me as Heath’s fingers work their magic. I melt like ice on a summer day beneath his touch. There’s nothing intimate in the way he applies pressure, or the way his fingers seem to touch my skin teasingly through the foil, but good lord! I feel every tingle in the pit of my stomach.

  My chest rises and falls as the seconds turn into tortured minutes or possibly hours. But I don’t care. All I can think about is how his fingers could trail down my neck to my collarbone and lower . . .

  “Open your eyes, baby,” Heath says.

  When I do, his face comes into view, a fluorescent halo around his head.

  “Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,” he whispers.

  I nod before I can stop myself.

  “Good.” He brushes a stray piece of hair away from my eyes, letting his finger graze against my skin all the way to the back of my ear and down the curve of my neck.

  I whimper, then clamp my hand over my mouth, feeling full-blown embarrassment kick in.

  Oh. My. God.

  Where’s a coffin when you need one?

  Heath pushes back and his lip twitches, filled with mischief. I’ve seen that look before. It’s the one he wears before he makes a risky move in Lacrosse, the one that screams, “I have you exactly where I want you.”

  Douche!

  Abruptly, he turns away, as if the last few minutes never happened. Whistling, he takes his molded foil mask and starts to paper mache. I spend the rest of the class sneaking glances at him as he continues to work, unaffected by what transpired between us. But I’m not.

  I’m in deep, deep, deep shit.

  I PARK THE JEEP and walk up the long, pebbled driveway toward Ace’s front door. After that moment in art class yesterday, I can’t wait any longer.

  Seven days have passed since I broke up with Lisa. Then another day. Then eight hours and twenty-one minutes.

  I’ve given it as much time as I can, letting the rumors—mostly about me cheating on Lisa with one girl, two girls, a slew of girls—die down. Lisa’s told whoever will listen that she dumped me because she didn’t feel a connection between us. That I wasn’t what she was looking for. And of course, now that I’m no longer in any sort of relationship, I’ve become the center of every girl’s target.

  But it doesn’t matter. There’s only one girl I’ve got my eyes set on. It just sucks that it took me so long to realize she’s the one I wanted. And now, I’m more nervous than a dealer during a drug bust.

  Ace and Vincent have been hanging out more than they used to. I’ve tried to ask her about her dates, but she evades the topic every time. It’s starting to piss me off. She’s either with the guy, or she isn’t. Why is that so hard to answer?

  She might not care, but her response is a big fucking deal to me. I either move in for the kill, or I don’t. I can’t put moves on a girl that’s taken. I’m just not that kind of guy.

  But, then again, Ace is mine. She’s always been mine.

  I ring the doorbell and wait.

  When nothing happens, I knock.

  I rock on my heels, slowly starting to lose what little patience I seem to have these days. I close my eyes and swing my leg back, ready to kick the damn door down, when I hear it swing open with a swoosh. A rush of peaches and cream fills my lungs. My eyes flutter open and everything inside me freezes.

  Holy motherfucking God.

  Ace stands with a robe wrapped around her body, a red towel around her head. Trickles of water roll down her creamy skin and disappear behind the V of her robe. Blood rushes southbound and my throat constricts, making it hard to swallow.

  Her lips shape into a perfect O as surprise settles in.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, stepping aside to let me through. She lifts her arms, removing the towel wrapped in her hair. My eyes drop to the robe as it rises above mid-thigh.

  Shit. I bite back a groan and force my eyes up to her face.

  She runs her fingers through her hair, and I ball my hands into steel fists to keep myself from helping her. Instead, I stare like I’ve lost my fucking marbles.

  “Wait, hold that thought.” She skips down the hall. “Be right back,” she yells, disappearing around the corner. Tension wraps into tight coils inside me. I’m as close to blowing a gasket as a propane tank surrounded by fire. I thrust my fingers through my hair and walk toward her room.

  Taking a deep breath, I stop outside her bedroom door. I lift my hand, pause, then knock.

  “Come in,” I hear her say.

  I open the door and jump right into my reason for being here. “I need to know if there’s anything goin—” My mouth dries as I scan the length of Ace’s glorious, almost-naked body beneath her slightly open robe.

  “Heath!” she yells, pulling both ends of the robe together, closing off the most amazing view I’ve ever seen. Awake, or in dreams. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I mentally wipe the drool dripping from the corners of my mouth and swallow, unable to erase the image of her cream-colored skin under that lucky cover-up.

  “You said ‘come in.’” I defend myself, not sorry in the least.

  “I said ‘com-ing.’ Not come in, you idiot,” she says breathlessly.

  Her cheeks turn pink, making her look even more angelic. Was that my heart fluttering? What a fucking idiot I’ve been to think anyone could ever
replace her.

  I step forward and reach for the hands tucked around her waist. I hesitate for a second when her eyes turn into big, round gray globes. If her reaction to my touch yesterday was any indication, she wants this as much as I do. Kicking chicken-shit Mr. Hesitation between the legs, I wrap my fingers around her smooth wrists, lock my eyes with hers, and wait—giving her another chance to resist.

  Her eyebrows knit together, as if she’s unsure of the next step. Her hands tremble slightly in mine, and I wonder if this is the right thing to do. I gaze down at her lips, then back up to her eyes. Uncertainty glints behind them.

  I move a step closer, like she’s some kind of frightened animal I’m trying to tame, and wait.

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, or what I’m waiting for. All I know is self-control has jumped out the window, waving a white flag.

  Don’t fucking do it.

  I inch forward.

  She doesn’t retreat.

  Last chance.

  Ignoring the last of my good sense, I move my hands up her arms, sliding them slowly along her skin until the fabric of the robe gets in the way. A small tremble passes through her as her hungry gaze collides with mine, the uncertainty completely erased. I pull her into me and swing us around, pushing her against the wall, desperate to have her.

  You’re gonna fuck this up. Don’t . . .

  “I know I shouldn’t want this,” I whisper, my voice sounding hoarse. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this. But I do, Ace.”

  Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips in that slow, uncertain way, before she traps her bottom lip between her teeth.

  I tilt my face down, inching it closer to hers. I gently cup her cheek with the palm of my hand, like caressing a newborn baby. Emotions brew inside me, wanting out. But somehow, I hold it together. “I’m going to do something I’ve been wanting to do for quite some time.”

  Her body stiffens, and her pupils dilate, like she’s frightened prey. But the heat radiating from her, paired with her slightly parted lips, tells me something different. I trail my hand up the back of her neck, twining my fingers into her still wet hair, and tip her face up to mine. I lay my other hand on the left side of her head.