He Kissed Me First (Kiss & Make Up Book 2)

by Sara H Ney

“The fuck, Kevin?” Neve punches him in the bicep to shut him up but it doesn’t work.

  “I’m just going by what McGrath told me - lay off. Fucking A Neve,” Kevin grumbles, rubbing his sore arm.

  This whole time, I notice Cecelia staring at me in a way she’s never looked at me before: something that looks like wonderment, fascination, and undisguised interest. And I won’t lie - the cock in my pants likes it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cecelia

  “Trust me. You can dance.” - Vodka

  This is definitely one of those moments that could be categorized as both horrifyingly embarrassing... and totally awesome at the same time.

  Nothing can compare to the look on Matthews face right now as his friends continue to shove their feet into their mouths. I’ve heard guys talk shit before - and trust me - this isn’t phasing me one bit.

  Okay. Maybe I was thrown off a little when the guy dressed in scrubs (with sperm hanging all over him) declared I was letting my tits fall out on purpose. As if I would do something like that.

  That’s totally something Jenna would do; not me.

  I can’t get enough of studying Matthew though half lidded eyes. He looks good enough to eat, decked out like a preppy pirate. Not the Johnny Depp, Captain Jack Sparrow kind - more like the lazy ‘I didn’t put much thought into this costume because I look hot in anything I wear’ kind of pirate.

  Like he washed up on the shore of a deserted island while he was on a business trip and had to become a pirate out of necessity.

  Matthew’s ripped up white shirt (artfully exposing most of his extremely muscular chest) is tied off at the waist by a thick red sash. His khaki’s - which are now soaking wet from the beer he spilled when I smashed into him - are cut off just below the knee and are ripped apart to the point it looks like he may have run them through a paper shredder.

  Messed up hair. Black laced up boots on his feet.

  Black eyeliner on his eyes.

  And... holy shit. I’ve never admitted this to anyone out loud (nor will I ever) but guys wearing eyeliner totally turns me on. Just looking at him right now is making me hot.

  I would totally let him plunder my treasure chest.

  Pretty sure I wouldn’t mind if he dragged me out of here by my hair. I mean: pirate and mermaid?! Kind of the perfect pair, right?

  Lost in my own thoughts, it takes me a few seconds to realize the guys are still arguing and punching each other like a bunch of middle school adolescents.

  The cute guy with the ‘Free Mammograms’ sign hanging around his neck is rubbing his arm and grumbling “I’m just going by what McGrath told me - lay off. Fucking A.”

  I can tell he has a carefree way about him, and, despite the fact that he’s offering to feel girls boobs at a party (albeit for free), he is giving off a strong ‘I’m one of the good guys’ vibe. I’m guessing he’s the guy no one takes seriously - but is probably a really good friend.

  And his earlier ogling of my breasts notwithstanding, I study him a bit longer, finally deciding he might be a good match for Jenna tonight, and chew on my lower lip. Matthew and Neve both continue glaring at the poor guy - and if looks could kill, he would be dead.

  Regardless, they obviously think well enough of him to drag him to an upscale party.

  I clear my throat, even though they couldn’t possibly hear it over the music, and indicate the place Molly and Weston & Co. are holed up on the other side of the room. “I was just going to the bathroom, but if you keep walking that way,” I point in the general direction. “Weston and a few other guys are standing in the corner.”

  Matthew steps towards me. “I’ll walk with you.”

  Neve raises his eyebrow.

  Matthew shrugs innocently. “What? It’s dark out...”

  He places his hands on the small of my back as Raging Fire by Phillip Phillips comes blasting out of the sound system. It kind of feels appropriate, and as we walk out of the giant reception tent and into the dark October night, I absorb the words of the song.

  Granted: we’re walking towards a Port-a-Potty so I can pee, but still - the girl in me can turn any moment into a romantic one.

  His hand still at the curve near my ass is turning my damn body into a Raging Fire, and I resist the urge to wiggle it. I don’t know if it’s being near Matthew, or the song, or the fact that a soft breeze is brushing the naked skin above my corset that’s making me think about getting naked... but Matthews fingers are branding my skin in a slow burn - and instincts tell me I’ll still be feeling them later. You know - when I’m all alone back in my apartment.

  Alone again: story of my life...

  We reach the bathrooms and thank god, find them all empty.

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Matthews’s low timber vibrates in the dark.

  I nod and open the bright blue door to the stall, pausing momentarily before stepping in. I survey the area, checking for pee on the floor and trying to determine how much room I would have to move around in without touching the small urinal attached to the wall.

  Without pride, I turn to Matthew and ask, “Do you mind if I borrow your phone? It’s hard to see in there and I don’t want to end up in the hole...”

  He digs his phone out of his back pocket without hesitating and hands it over.

  “Thanks.” I take a breath before stepping up into the smelly, portable bathroom. “If I don’t come out within five minutes, send in a search party.”

  **Matthew**

  It takes Cecelia approximately two minutes tops to take a pee before the door to the jon flies open and she’s stepping down onto the grass in her stiletto heels. Her metallic pants shine from some nearby lanterns, which flicker in the dark, lighting a path to the toilets - and as she walks over to the makeshift hand washing station, I check out her ass as she scrubs her palms.

  Unlike a lot of chicks in high heels, Cecelia doesn’t stumble all over the grass in them like a baby deer learning to walk: she’s graceful.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she says digging into her corset top and pulling out my cell. “Thanks. It was pretty gross in there. I almost wish I couldn’t see. Ugh, I hate those Port-a-Potty’s.” Her body shutters.

  “I wouldn’t know. I usually just piss in the grass.” I give myself a mental slap.

  Why do I have to say shit like that?

  **Cecelia**

  It’s always in the back of my mind that this could be the night Matthew decides to call in the bet; use the code word and plant one on me like he keeps promising.

  Actually. All he’d need to do is ask: no code word required.

  We walk back to the party - back into the chaos - to hunt down our friends, who have surely gotten lost in the crowd by now. Matthew is right on my tail, so close I can feel the seams of his shirt brushing against my back - but unfortunately he hasn’t laid a hand on me yet.

  Entering the tent, it’s not terribly difficult navigating to the far end, because Amber has plenty of things to see and do in many places on the property - her numerous guests have dispersed. Yes, tons of them are drinking at the bars inside the tent, dancing and whooping it up - but plenty more are sitting at tables set up around the yard with glowing pumpkin centerpieces, while others are stumbling and laughing their way through make shift graveyards or the haunted mazes...

  Matthews’s breath warms the back of my neck as he leans in close. “Do you want something to drink before we try to find everyone?”

  “Um...uh...” I stammer, barely able to function with his lips so close to my neck, and it isn’t long before I’m holding a cup of Pineapple Vodka and Sprite, with Matthews hand back at my waist, lightly guiding me through the crowd.

  He leans in again. “Where were you all standing before?”

  “This way,” I can barely nod towards one of the bars - the one with the totally ridiculous ice sculpture of Dracula.

  “Okay, I’ll follow your lead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Matthew

&
nbsp; “Whatever. I’ll just date myself.” - Kevin Westerman

  The party is now officially in full swing, and everyone is having a great time. The DJ has been playing tons of great music: some old songs mixed in with the new - it essentially feels like a high school dance - and so far, no one in our group is sloppy drunk yet.

  I’m the designated driver, so that includes me.

  I’ve had one beer, which is fine. I don’t need to get drunk to have a good time... and since I’m not (not even close) it gives me a chance to study Cecelia and keep an eye on my sister at the same time - with a more acute senses.

  Best to keep my wits about me when dealing with two alpha females. Especially one that is smoking hot, and a total magnet for horny slobs.

  And this party is full of them.

  One thing I noticed about Cecelia; she’s not drunk either. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s still holding the same Pineapple Vodka and Sprite that I got her when we first left the bathroom - and that was over an hour ago.

  Standing next to Molly (who, by the way, is dressed like a damn deer or some shit) in a cluster of girls, she’s doing what they are all doing: shaking her ass and hopping up and down to the music, Good Time by Owl City and Carly Rae Jepson.

  I’m tempted to go over and drag her out of here - doesn’t she realize how much her boobs are jiggling? I sure as hell do, and I’m standing about twenty feet away trying not to stare.

  Trying... but not really.

  Molly catches me watching and rolls her eyes, but not before elbowing Cecelia in the ribcage. I see Cecelia wince and smack Molly in the stomach.

  Good for you, I mouth, grinning when she looks over at me, eyes bright and gleaming. The glance is enough to make me swallow hard, and I can feel the Adams apple bobbing in my dry throat.

  As a professional athlete, I have women and girls throwing themselves at me almost on a daily basis. Sorry - as shitty as that sounds, it’s true. Some of the chicks are classy... while others are total sluts, giving it up for anyone with a Pro title in front of their name - something I’ve always taken advantage of in the past.

  One thing most people might not think about or give much credence to: professional athletes are full of pent up aggression and adrenaline. Sex for the most part, is vital to an athlete’s performance, especially before a big game.

  I know you’re probably sitting there asking yourself why, so I’ll do you a solid and explain why sex is vital (to me anyway):

  1. Regular sex helps get my lead out. If you catch my drift.

  2. It can boost my athletic performance.

  3. It reduces my anxiety before a game (see: completely sated)

  4. It helps me not pound the piss out of my opponents.

  5. Sex is fucking awesome.

  Wait. Stop me if I’m wrong, but was number five a bit redundant? Do you see how I used ‘sex’ and ‘fucking’ in the same sentence, and they’re like... the same thing?

  Dammit, why do I have to be so clever and good-looking...?

  As I stare at Cecelia, I wonder if she’s ever heard the rumor that hockey players bang better than anybody, which could work in my favor. See, it’s all in the hips - and we get a lot of practice swiveling and gyrating on the ice - a lot. If you don’t believe me, I’m sure Kevin would show you...

  Someone knocks me on the arm and I’m bumped out of my contemplations and back into reality.

  “Jesus Christ, Wakefield. Why don’t you just go over there?” Weston asks casually, taking a short sip from his beer bottle.

  Erik grins stupidly. “No shit. Watching you eye fuck her is kind of tragic, dude. Even Kevin had the balls to approach the friend what’s-her-face.”

  Jenna. Kevin was over dancing with Jenna... Correction: Kevin was in a corner dry humping my sister’s best friend, his tongue so far down her throat he’s probably hit China by now.

  “And we all know Kevin has no game.”

  That wasn’t true - Kevin actually has more game than all four of us combined and I’m positive he’s getting more action than I am these days. For some reason, chicks love his goofy demeanor; it draws them to him like months to a flame. So I’m not about to go knocking him, especially since I personally haven’t had sex - or someone’s mouth sucking my dick - in months.

  I know for a fact Kevin got laid last weekend.

  Twice.

  How do I know this? Well for one - he wouldn’t shut up about it. Secondly, the moron SnapChatted a picture of himself and added it to his Story with some chick’s dirty-ass thong in his mouth - he captioned the picture “Tapping that ass,” and circled her backside, which was sticking high up in the air, with a bright red arrow.

  I mean, he was piss ass drunk, but still...

  “Know what your problem is, Wakefield? Deep down inside, you’re a giant pussy.” Weston takes another small sip of beer, watching Molly from the corner of his eye.

  “He isn’t a giant pussy,” Neve jokes. “He has a giant pussy.”

  “Real funny, assholes.”

  “Seriously though dude, why aren’t you over there getting all up in that? Guys have been on her all night. Eventually she’s going to hook up with someone else.”

  I shake my head and make a scoffing sound, like ‘yeah right.’ “She’s not going to hook up with anyone else, trust me.”

  Erik snorts and fiddles with his surgical mask. “How the hell would you know? Aren’t all chicks the same: needy and desperate for attention.”

  Weston shoots my friend a look. “Geez, bitter much? What cat shit in your litter box?”

  “Meow.” This from Bernie.

  “She is not going to hook up with anyone because she already has the hots for me.” I say confidently, arching my eyebrows in an authoritative manner and puffing out my chest.

  Bernie laughs. “Whatevah dude. If you’re so sure, you would have been all ovah that. How long you been chasing that tail anyways?” Since it’s so loud in here, he’s practically shouting.

  “Would you keep your damn voice down?”

  “Why? If I lowah my voice you wouldn’t be able to hear me tell you how douchie you’re being.” Bernie takes a swig of his cocktail. “You’re twenty-three years old. Quit acting like you’re in middle school.”

  I think about this for a minute. “Well. It’s not like I’m just going to just bust over there. She’s in a group full of girls, for fuck’s sake. It would look too obvious.”

  Weston grins and says, handing me his half empty beer bottle. “That, my friend, is where I come in.” He sets off in the direction of Molly and Co. and I falter, hesitant to follow him.

  Then suddenly I realize: they might be right.

  Maybe I am a pussy.

  Shit.

  I swallow the last of my drink, then down the rest of Weston’s, leaving me no choice but to follow him.

  **Cecelia**

  I know he’s approaching.

  Not because I can see him, but because his friends are so damn loud. Four grown men dressed like lady doctors, hooting, hollering, and whistling like a bunch of fraternity boys as Weston and Matthew lead their way through the crowd towards us.

  I’m pretty sure I just heard one of them yell “Tap that ass!”

  Matthew tails several feet behind Weston, almost hesitantly - as if this wasn’t his choice. I covertly watch him from above the rim of my glass (yes... the same drink I’ve been holding onto the entire time we’ve been here), taking teeny tiny sips just so I can watch him walking without being obvious.

  I cannot take my eyes off his face. The fact that he’s wearing eye liner is getting me so hot-and-bothered I accidentally take a giant gulp of my warm Pineapple Vodka and Sprite, choking a little and turning beet red.

  Molly elbows me (for the fifth time tonight) and leans in. “Brace yourself. Shit is about to get real.” Her deer antlers poke me in the side of the head and I swat her away.

  “Oh my god, get away with those damn things. Would you stop?” I hiss.

  “Seriously thou
gh, look at Matthew. It looks like he’s about to wet his pants.” Molly twitches her black painted nose, the little white fawn freckles she’s painted on her cheeks catching the light.

  She looks pretty darn adorable.

  “I should get a picture of this moment for Instagram.”

  Okay. Not so adorable...

  Molly smacks the drink away from my mouth as I go to take another gulp. “Stop chugging your drink Cece. Yuck. That thing must be piss warm by now. Here. Take mine and I’ll get myself a new one while you and my brother awkwardly make doe eyes at each other.” She grabs my cocktail glass and hands me hers. “Get it? Doe eyes?” Then Molly turns on her heels, making a beeline towards the bar, the little white tail pinned to her butt wagging.

  Weston changes course and goes after her.

  As a country song about a girl in a red sundress, pickup trucks, creeks and cornfields plays overhead (yes, for real), I paste a smile on my face hoping it doesn’t make me look constipated, and then he’s there, standing in front of me.

  And... is it just me, or does he look nervous? Molly was right. He does look like he’s about to wet his pants.

  Surely this cannot be.

  “Hi!” I yell over the noise. “Having fun?”

  “Totally. Thanks for the invitation.”

  I cock an eyebrow at him because we both know he invited himself to the party.

  He laughs and bumps me with his shoulder. “I’m just teasing. We both know I forced my sister to bring me along.”

  “Well I think it worked out well for everyone. Molly seems glad you’re here. You two don’t hang out very often at the same places, do you?”

  “No. I mean... I’m only in town for half the year. The other half I’m in California, working.”

  Well, if that isn’t a healthy dose of reality. I look him up and down appraisingly and change the subject. “I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but... I really like your costume. Very... rouge-ish.”

  Matthew plants a hand on his hip and cocks his head at me, grinning. “Rogue-ish? Did you just make that up?”

  “Mmmm. I’m pretty sure it’s a word. And if it’s not, it should be.” I smile up at him. Even in these heels he’s taller than I am. “Digging the eyeliner in a big way.”