The Candy Cane Kiss: Briarwood High Series

by Dallen, Maggie

  Hi, remember me? The girl you just kissed? Yeah, I’m still standing right here.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said quickly. Lucas’s head swung back toward me but I ignored his hard look, a look that was certainly intended to tell me something. Probably a plea to keep up the lie. Help him to hurt her the way that she’d hurt him.

  For half a second I almost faltered. That damned sympathy reared its ugly head before I ruthlessly squashed it.

  Screw it. I didn’t care if he’d hate me because I ruined his ruse or if Eleanor thought that I was some hussy who’d swooped in and stolen her ex the moment her back was turned. I didn’t care what anyone at Briarwood thought of me, least of all these two pod people.

  I snatched up the last of my belongings as the silence between this former A-list couple grew taut and thick with tension.

  Their awkwardness was only as apparent as their popularity. Even if I didn’t go to Briarwood, I would have felt it oozing from them, oozing out of their pores. It was in the way they held themselves. Even in this moment of anxiety-inducing tension, they acted like they were at the center of the universe. Albeit, Eleanor did it in a nice way. A way that said I can’t help that I’m perfect with a shrug and a wink.

  Lucas just acted like he was a god among men and the rest of humanity ought to bow down before him.

  Good riddance to them both. I edged my way out the door—I guess I half expected one of them to try and stop me. But neither of them said a word as I slipped out and shut the door closed behind me with a click.

  Once out in the sterile hallway with its flickering fluorescent light, I wished I hadn’t shut the door. I’m not proud to admit it, but I totally wanted to eavesdrop. What were they talking about right now? Were they even talking?

  Were they talking about me?

  I stared at the wooden door with pursed lips, wishing for superhero abilities that would let me see through it and hear everything.

  Standing there staring did nothing but make me aware of how freakin’ cold it was in this hospital, particularly when one was only clad in what was basically a sundress and some tights that were made to be decorative, not warm.

  Lucas had been the last stop on my volunteering rounds so I was free to change and visit my favorite patient in this place. With a sigh I turned away, chastising that part of me that nagged me to press my ear against the door to see if I could hear anything that way.

  A little while later I was back in one of my normal dresses, with warm woolen tights, and a thick cardigan that was so not at all cute and sexy like the one Eleanor had been wearing. But it kept me warm, and that was all that mattered.

  I kept on the Santa hat because it was cute, damn it. I didn’t care what losers like Lucas thought.

  Besides, it would make my grandfather smile. Sure enough, his eyes lit up when I entered his hospital room. “It’s my favorite Christmas elf!”

  I grinned. “Hi, Grandpa.”

  I whipped out the deck of cards that Lucas had so rudely declined, and got the same exact response but in an entirely different tone. “Ooh, rummy!” Grandpa clapped his hands together in eager anticipation and I wasted no time setting up the rolling table beside his bed, finding a seat of my own and pulling it over.

  “So, how was your day as a candy striper?” he asked.

  “Good,” I said thinking of the little kids whose faces lit up when I arrived with candy canes and other little goodies. But then I had a mental flash of the Grinch and my face fell. “Just one bad patient in the bunch.”

  “A little brat?” Grandpa asked.

  “A big brat.”

  A big brat who’d kissed me. My hand froze in midair, hovering over the pile of discarded cards. The fact hit me all over again. My brain was still catching up, still digesting this new, insane turn of events.

  He’d kissed me. Lucas Carlson had kissed me.

  It wasn’t just that the kiss had come from the most popular guy in our class that shocked me—it was the fact that I’d been kissed.

  Time to admit the sad truth—I was sixteen years old and had never been kissed.

  Until now.

  Now I’d been kissed…and it had been for some other girl’s benefit.

  Cool. That’s exactly how I always imagined how my first kiss would come about. With a stranger who’d been making fun of me just moments before and all for the sake of making a hot blonde jealous.

  It was every girl’s dream, really.

  My first kiss was a fake.

  It had also been hot. But then again—what did I know? Maybe all kisses were like that. Maybe every kiss I ever got would make my mind go blank and my toes go numb and my whole body flood with heat and sensation.

  “How’s school?” Grandpa asked. I blinked a few times as I came back to reality. Grandpa focused on his cards, the seemingly innocuous question hanging there between us.

  It might have sounded like a typical question but this particular topic was weighted with meaning.

  I shrugged. “Fine.”

  And by that I meant awful, which I was sure he very well knew. There was nothing worse than starting over at a new school. Trust me, I knew that better than anyone. But in a weird way, I’d grown used to it.

  “How are the students?” he asked.

  I looked up at him and arched one brow. “The same.”

  He knew what I meant. They were always the same. New town, new state, new school—didn’t matter. The students were the same. The students were always the same.

  “Briarwood has a good reputation,” my grandfather said mildly.

  I held back a sigh. Oh man, he was really not going to let this drop.

  “Mmm,” I murmured. Two could play at this game.

  He set down his cards with a sigh. “Lola, my love…”

  I smiled up at him with feigned innocence. “Yes, my darling Grandpa?”

  He gave a grudging chuckle as I matched him ingratiating endearment for ingratiating endearment. He cut right to the chase. “Have you at least tried to make friends, Lola?”

  I pursed my lips as I thought that over, my mind automatically returning to my bizarre interaction with the most popular guy at school, and the way his equally popular ex must now hate my guts. “That depends on your definition of friends.”

  He arched a brow, but his eyes glimmered with laughter. Grandpa was always on my side. Always. This was why we’d always been so close.

  When my mother brought up the topic of my lack of friends, it was to nag or criticize. Since the divorce I hadn’t talked to my father much. He’d been too busy for chats about anything other than grades and my future even when we lived with him but now our Skype calls were quick and efficient. Sort of like a military drill. That was just the way my father rolled.

  But Grandpa? He wasn’t nagging—well, not in a negative way—and he knew that I was well on top of my schoolwork. He just cared about my happiness.

  This time I couldn’t hold back the sigh. I’d stupidly gone and gotten all mushy over here.

  Then he had to go and make it even worse by pulling the elderly card. “I’m not going to be around forever, pumpkin, and—”

  “Grandpa,” I interrupted. “Don’t say things like that.”

  He eyed the room meaningfully. “I’m just saying—”

  “And I don’t want to hear it.” I wasn’t an idiot. I knew my grandfather wasn’t getting any younger. But that didn’t mean I had to sit here and listen to him be all morbid.

  “I’m just saying you need to find other friends,” he said, refusing to be silenced. “Friends who are your own age.”

  I blinked down at the cards in my hands. “I don’t have anything in common with them.”

  His laugh was raspy and familiar. It softened the churning sensation that always made me feel sick when Grandpa brought up his eventual death…or the topic of friends.

  What was the big deal about having friends anyway? Why was the world so focused on fitting in? I’d never fit in. Anywhere. And we’d
been everywhere.

  “I don’t want you to stop trying,” my grandfather said.

  My gaze flicked up. Sometimes I was positive he could read my mind. Right now was one of those times. It was like he just knew that I’d already given up.

  Before I could protest, he held a hand up to keep me quiet. “Listen up, Lola. I’m not saying you need to try and be somebody you’re not.” He reached out and patted my knee. “You know I love you just as you are.”

  That was his nice way of saying I was an odd duck and he was cool with it.

  I sniffed a bit, mollified but still not sold. “To make friends I’d need to fit in, and that would mean trying to be somebody I’m not.” I shrugged. “One day I’ll meet people who like me as I am.”

  But it wouldn’t be in some elitist private high school. “In college,” I said decisively. Because I knew without a doubt that I’d be going to college in New York City, and there were bound to be people who liked me there.

  I mean, it was a city of eight million people. The odds were in my favor that at least one would think my love of all things retro was rad.

  Grandpa looked like he was musing over his cards, but I knew better. “You know, those mythical college friends you’re talking about? They all come from somewhere. They go to high school too, you know. They don’t just miraculously appear in college.”

  He threw a card onto the discard pile and I sighed. “I know that, Grandpa.”

  “You might just meet them here in Atwater.”

  I let out a little snort of disbelief. In this rinky-dink town? Maybe.

  But probably not.

  “What about dancing?” he asked.

  My gaze flew up to his. “What about it?”

  He shrugged. “You used to love it.”

  I hated the little fluttering in my chest. I wanted to deny it, or say that I no longer cared about it. But Grandpa always knew when I was lying.

  Besides, I’d never been very good at lying to myself. “Dancing requires a partner.”

  Not all dancing, obviously. But not surprisingly I’d never been like other little girls with a dream of being a ballerina, or anything like that. Nope. I’d gone and fallen for the one area of dance where one absolutely needed a partner.

  Ballroom dance. It started with a love of Fred and Ginger. Grandpa turned me onto them when he came to live with us after Grandma died. But then as I got older and actually started dancing, I got more specific about what I liked.

  Swing dance.

  The Lindy Hop, the East Coast Swing, Modern Jive—I loved them all. I still wasn’t sure whether my love of retro fashion made me lean toward that style of dance or if watching endless YouTube clips of that style of dance helped shape my style.

  All that mattered was that a love was born.

  It was a love that would not die.

  Which really sucked because while it was all fine and good to go to dance classes with my grandfather as a little girl, that stopped being cute and started being weird a long time ago. And then there was the fact that he physically couldn’t dance anymore. Not for long, at least, and not with any kind of agility.

  Stupid aging. It sucked more than high school.

  Grandpa cleared his throat and I realized that I’d been silent for too long. He didn’t push the topic any longer, probably because he knew that if he did, I’d cry. Back in our last town I’d finally found a good dance studio with the rarest of rarities—a free male dance partner who was somewhat close to my age. Well, he wasn’t a hundred. He was a gay guy in his thirties and while our age difference might have been weird anywhere else, we got on just great on the dancefloor.

  But that was in our last town. Before we’d moved.

  The thought of trying all over again—of going out there and hoping against hope that I could find a good class or even just a workshop or a club that played the right music…

  Quite frankly, it was exhausting.

  “You going to take a new card or not, Dolly?” Grandpa teased, clearly trying to pull me out of my funk.

  I glared at him. He knew I hated it when he called me that. My full name was Dolores and only those who wanted to torment me called me Dolly.

  “Dolly?” The mocking voice in the doorway had me freezing all over again. My stomach sank. Oh no. I so could not deal with this guy anymore.

  “I’m off duty,” I said, not bothering to turn around, and ignoring my grandfather’s questioning look.

  They were both silent as I did, in fact, take another card, not that I could concentrate on cards at the moment. I was too busy willing the jerk who’d ruined my first kiss experience to burst spontaneously into flames.

  It didn’t work.

  “Well come on in, son,” my grandfather said. Trust Grandpa to be polite to everyone, even smug egotistical jocks who hadn’t known I’d existed until they decided to kiss me.

  I heard him move into the room behind me, and while I knew I should be kind, I should be the bigger person, and turn the other cheek, and blah blah blah—I just couldn’t do it. This guy, this self-involved, self-pitying jerk, had ruined my first kiss.

  “He’s not welcome,” I said.

  My grandfather’s brows hitched up in surprise. To be fair, I wasn’t normally rude to anyone, least of all patients under my care. But for Lucas-the-first-kiss-spoiler? I’d make an exception.

  “Care to join us for some cards?” Grandpa said.

  “Thank you, sir, but I was actually hoping to speak privately with…Dolly.”

  I glared at my grandfather as he tried and failed to stifle a laugh.

  I spun around and saw that Lucas was also struggling to contain his amusement. I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Call me that again and I’ll string Christmas lights all over your room.”

  That had my grandfather laughing for real now but Lucas widened his eyes with feigned innocence. “Sorry…Lola, was it?”

  I glared at him some more. He only knew my name because his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, whatever—had used it. “You know what my name is.”

  “I take it you two know each other,” Grandpa said, clearly prodding for information.

  “I decorated his room,” I said.

  At the same time, Lucas said, “We go to school together.”

  That had me whipping around to face him. All six-feet-whatever with that short dark hair and those cold blue eyes. If he were mute—or just, you know, nice—it would have been understandable why every girl in our class was obsessed with him.

  But as he was so obviously not nice? I personally didn’t see the appeal. I knew I wouldn’t like him when I’d entered his hospital room, but I’d given him the benefit of the doubt. And then he’d opened his mouth.

  I’d still managed to be pleasant—for the most part, at least—because that was my job. But now? Now?

  Well, now I was off duty. Like I’d said.

  “You didn’t know we went to the same school until your girlfriend told you,” I reminded him. I didn’t know why I felt the need to point that out, but it felt relevant. Don’t you try and play it like we’re chummy classmates for Grandpa’s sake.

  Lucas wisely decided not to argue that point. Instead, he opted to rephrase. He looked to my grandfather as he said, “I’m one of Lola’s patients.”

  I let out a huff that was part laugh, part exasperation. “I’m not a doctor.”

  He waved a hand at my general appearance. “Wasn’t that, like, a nurse’s uniform or something?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I told you, it’s a candy striper outfit. Am I really the only one who knows that?” I looked to Grandpa for help but he just beamed at me.

  “My little Dolly would make a great nurse.” He wagged a finger in my direction. “And an even better doctor.”

  I rolled my eyes, but it was impossible not to smile for Grandpa’s sake. My smile dropped the moment I faced Lucas again. “I’m not your nurse. You’re not my patient. We’re just classmates, and you didn’t even know that.”

&
nbsp; He arched his brows, looking far more amused than chastened. “Well, you had a better bedside manner than any other nurse in this place.”

  I stared at him aghast. He was…sweet-talking me. He was being nice, but it was such a flip from the way he’d acted before I saw right through it.

  He wanted something.

  I narrowed my eyes, my stomach churning with uncharacteristic anger. I didn’t do angry. I was nice. I laughed things off or I walked away. I didn’t do…this.

  But here I was, glaring like it was my job. “You’d better hope I’m never really your nurse. You’d be begging to switch places with James Caan in Misery.”

  My grandfather let out an appreciative laugh but I could see Lucas’s confusion as my Misery reference fell flat. Seriously? The guy didn’t even appreciate Stephen King? Or the amazingness that was Kathy Bates?

  I already knew he was a vapid waste of space but this just confirmed it.

  “Look,” Lucas said. “I just need to have a word with you.” His glance shifted to Grandpa meaningfully before he met my eyes again. “I’d like to apologize.”

  For the kiss. He wanted to apologize for the kiss and didn’t want to talk about it in front of my grandfather.

  Ugh. Now I would be the jerk if I didn’t comply. I let out a heavy sigh that let Lucas and the rest of the world know just how reluctant I was to do this.

  Grandpa was still laughing behind me as I stood up from my seat. “Be easy on him, Nurse Ratched!”

  I turned to give my grandfather a smile. “This guy didn’t get a Misery reference, do you really think he’ll get One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

  Grandpa winked at me. He and I lived for movie references. “That’s why the poor kid needs a tutor like you.”

  I sighed again as I turned around to face the poor schmuck who desperately needed a class in Epic Films 101.

  And manners. We should probably start with manners.

  His gaze met mine and his expression was absurdly benign. He didn’t look anything like the smug jerk who’d been so rude to me in his hospital room.

  Clearly we could cross acting classes off his list of studies. He had that covered.

  He nodded toward the hallway. Standing there looking all pathetic in his hospital gown and robe, I could hardly try to send him away again. At least, not without some major explaining to Grandpa. You see, Grandpa, he kissed me…