“I just need some fresh air before they get here,” I explained, feigning a smile. “Would you order me a milkshake whenever the server comes over? I’m in a milkshake kind of mood.”
John nodded. So I slipped out of my seat. I cut through the restaurant toward the hostess stand and the front door. Outside, I walked around the building in search of a decent place to hide. It was frigid and windy, being that Chancy’s was next to the ocean and it was February, but I found sanctuary by the dumpsters. No one would bother me here.
I sat down on a crate and for the second time today cried my eyes out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Not to mention, silly. How could I believe that Ben would ever want me? My hair was dishwater blondish-brown and my eyes some ugly pea-green color. I had freckles and glasses. My best friend was my teacher, for crying out loud! My butt was about as flat as John’s pancakes and my boobs even flatter. I spent all my time watching hopeless romantic movies, living in a dream world waiting for Prince Charming to come rescue me from my mundane life. But this wasn’t Sixteen Candles and Jake Ryan wasn’t about to ditch his hot girlfriend for pathetic, naive me.
I sniffled into my sleeve. God, I was so lame…crying by the dumpsters on my birthday.
“Um, is everything okay?” a voice asked.
Yikes! And apparently I wasn’t alone.
Using the heel of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks, I quickly turned my back away from the person who’d just walked outside through a door on the side of the building. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that he wore a Chancy’s Claw employee’s t-shirt and was bringing out the trash. I knew his name too. Rhett Morgan. He graduated three or four years ago from my school. He never went to college and still frequented high school parties—or so I’d heard. That’s the thing about being invisible. I always heard everything because people often forgot I was around and talked openly in front of me. And Rhett Morgan…well, he was a constant topic of conversation at Kill Devil Hills High.
Even Ms. Whittle had spoken of the infamous Rhett once or twice. She’d mentioned something about how funny he was. I’d always kind of assumed Rhett had been her ‘Ben.’ That he’d been the popular, good-looking boy she’d worshiped from afar in high school. But Rhett wasn’t a boy. Nope, definitely a man, and definitely still standing outside with me. I hiccupped, trying to mentally shrink myself into a tiny ball. Maybe he’d go away if I ignored him.
I heard a heavy clank as he must have heaved the trash into the dumpster. Then, much to my increasing horror, he came to sit beside me. He pulled out another crate and plopped down.
“You’re seriously crying,” he stated. He had a gravely, deep voice—kind of soothing. “Was it something you ate?”
Looking up, I glared at him. “No,” I snapped. “It wasn’t something I ate.”
He smiled. “Figured. Got you to look at me though.”
I huffed.
“So,” he said, running his hands across his thick, jean-covered thighs then resting them on his knees. “I just started as a bartender one week ago. People, drunks mostly but that’s beside the point, keep telling me all their personal problems. I’m quickly becoming a certified therapist. I’m probably better than a therapist—because who wants the opinions of some stiff in a suit? So how about you tell me what’s up? I’ll try to help.”
“Are you serious?” I groaned. This guy had to be insane. “You actually want to hear my problems? Willingly?”
“Yep. Let’s test out how good of a bartender I am. If you don’t feel better talking to me then I’ll quit tomorrow. Fair plan?”
He couldn’t be serious, could he? But the thing was…he might have been Ms. Whittle’s ‘Ben,’ but he wasn’t my ‘Ben.’ Just because he was gorgeous, kind of cocky, built like an MAA fighter, and actually talking to me, that didn’t mean I was about to instantly fall in love with him. So, shrugging, I decided why not.
“I accidentally saw the boy I like having sex with his girlfriend today. I walked in on them in the school locker room. That’s not something I can unsee. It was a reality check on how lame I am, since I’ve never even been kissed before, and a reminder of how he’ll never be mine. So there. That’s the pathetic reason I’m crying. Oh, and today’s my birthday. My parents will be here soon, and I’ll have to suffer through a fun-filled, excitement overloaded weekend with them.”
I waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Serious as a heart attack, he asked, “You’ve never kissed anyone before?”
“No.” God, this was mortifying.
“Just today alone I’ve already kissed three different women.” He said this with pride. I already knew he was a manwhore from the rumors at school, and now he’d confirmed it.
“Ew,” I groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Okay.” He rubbed his hand across the stumble on his jaw like he was thinking. Did guys like Rhett even have complex thoughts? “I have a plan to make you feel better. How about you and I…how about we kiss?”
I gasped and nearly slipped off my crate.
“Don’t look so stunned,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”
Beautiful? That confirmed it, he had to be high. Or a flat out lunatic. Or maybe this was the reason he’d already kissed three girls today—he was a total player.
“How old are you?” he wanted to know next.
“Sixteen.”
“Yikes.” He jumped to his feet. Actually, he’d been kind of leaning toward me and I hadn’t even realized it until he ripped himself away from me. “You’re practically a kid. Is kissing a minor illegal?”
With a giant huff, I stood up. “You are officially the worst bartender/therapist ever!” I yelled at him.
“Oh yeah,” he yelled back, “well, you have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen!”
What?
“And you shouldn’t let one guy define you. You should never cry over someone as stupid as a guy. Because trust me, we’re all stupid when it comes to women. And you shouldn’t kiss me either. Your first kiss should be memorable and special—something that makes you smile for the rest of your life. Ask anyone, I’m not ‘first kiss’ material. I’m not ‘last kiss’ material either. And you are—”
Something inside me came to life. I’m not exactly sure where the surge of confidence, excitement, and power came from, but I flung myself at this stranger and I kissed him. He was older and sexy and completely out of my league…and I, Sydney Francesca Michaels, kissed Rhett Morgan. He wasn’t Ben, but maybe he was the next best thing.
So it happened. A quick press of my lips to his. Then I immediately pulled back—shocked and terrified by my actions.
He stared at me for a moment after, as my face burned under his scrutiny and the blood in my veins raged through my body. He was probably equally shocked and terrified. But somehow, the expression on his face didn’t show it.
“You have to go slower,” he finally said, his voice different now, thicker and heavier now. “Never rush it.”
Inching closer, he took my face in his hands. His touch was searing hot. For what felt like an eternity, he continued to stare at me. I stood there, unsure how to act. Then his hands removed my glasses. He slipped them off and tucked them into one of my hands. “Can we try that again?” he asked, softly. “You already spoiled your first kiss on me. We might as well try to make it count a little more. Good plan?”
Unable to speak, I nodded. More than anything, I wanted to try that again.
“You really do have very pretty eyes,” he whispered.
“A boy in kindergarten told me they were diarrhea-green.”
“He was an idiot. They’re the color green the ocean turns when a big storm is coming.”
And with that lingering thought, possibly the nicest compliment anyone had ever given me, he pressed his lips against mine. Aside from his hands on my neck, no other part of our bodies touched—just lips. Warm, soft, lingering lips. My brain didn’t know how to rationalize Rhett. I couldn’t decide what to make of hi
m, but his kiss was perfection.
Up until the moment it ended.
Not even a second later, Rhett’s lips were forcefully ripped from mine. And then someone subsequently punched him the jaw. That someone was by my brother. John had appeared out of nowhere, livid, aggressive, and ready to kill. “Don’t you fucking touch her, Rhett Morgan,” he screamed. “You nasty motherfucker.”
Oh dear God! Never in my life had I heard my brother swear like that. Nor had I ever seen him hit another human being. John looked like a badass—covered in tattoos with a nose ring right through the middle of his nose like a bull—but he was harmless. At least, I’d always thought he was harmless. I guess when it came to protecting me, he wasn’t. Rhett stood up, adjusting his jaw. Then he shifted on his feet, widening his stance like he was preparing to fight back. I was willing to bet money on the fact that Rhett had been in his fair share of fights in his lifetime. He had that look about him—the look like he could do some serious damage. I had to stop this.
“This is my fault,” I shrieked, tugging on John’s arm. “I kissed him. I kissed him.”
“I don’t care who kissed whom,” my brother snapped. “You’re never going near him again.”
“Fair enough. It was an impulse thing anyway. Didn’t mean anything. Can we just go?”
Rhett lowered his hands. I wasn’t sure if I was lying about the ‘impulse’ comment or not. Either way, he looked hurt by my words. But that wasn’t possible, right? I was the fourth girl he’d kissed today. Surely, he’d just find someone new to kiss later.
My brother ushered me away, toward the front of the restaurant, leaving Rhett behind. I let him because I didn’t know what else to do.
“I need to pay for your milkshake and the appetizer I ordered,” John grunted. “Then we’re gone and never coming back to this hole again. Got it? Rhett Morgan sleeps around with everyone. He probably has crabs or something even more disgusting. He’s no good and will work at this bar for the rest of his meaningless life. You’re never going near him again.”
Wow. I didn’t know my brother could be such a jerk or so judgmental.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
We went back into the restaurant, John tugging me along. A big part of me wanted to glance up, toward the bar in the back of the room, and look for Rhett. Had he come back inside? I felt horrible about my brother punching him. I hoped he knew that I was sorry. But I kept my head down and followed John.
Our untouched appetizer of fried calamari sat on the table. The server approached us, carrying my milkshake. John asked for the check and asked her to box up our food so we could take it home. It took a few minutes and then finally she returned. She handed John the takeout box and me my milkshake. She also slipped something into my hand when John wasn’t looking.
A piece of paper.
My heart started slamming even harder than it already was. My skin burned. I couldn’t look at the paper the whole way home for fear that John would see. But once we arrived home, I rushed up to my room to see if the paper was what I thought it was. It was. It was a note. A note from Rhett. The note read:
Come find me when you’re no longer jail-bait.
* * *
Pulled Under will be released on September 1, 2015.
For more information check out Sarah Darlington’s website.
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Take A Chance Page 27