When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  That right there is why we’re friends, ladies and gentlemen.

  My knees aren’t holding me the way I want, else I’d go tag in, take a few swings. On cue, my left buckles. It’s all I can do to keep from crashing to the floor, taking my girlfriend down with me.

  Of all the times for my body to punk out on me.

  Self-preservation of my manhood wraps my arms tighter around Ashley’s lithe frame for some semblance of stability. She raises on her toes, peppers my face with kisses.

  “Ohmygosh, Whit, you saved her life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “You okay?” she asks, tilting her head back to examine my face as she runs her icy hands over my arms.

  Guys scatter in droves, ridding the area of all traces of underage drinking. Sirens blare nearby. Police will be swarming this place in no time. The way Ryan’s going at it, I’ll have to empty my college savings to bail his ass out. Be worth it, though.

  “I’m good. Need to help Ry.”

  An earnest intention, though my eyes stray in the opposite direction to the lounge chair where Simone is laid out. My heart races with unnatural vigor. Think that’s Tee covering her with towels. Touching her.

  I pull away from Ashley’s ministrations, bend at the waist.

  Her fingers skim my nape. “No, you do not. You’re about to fall over and you’re bleeding. Anyway, Ryan’s fine. J.J. already has it covered.”

  I redirect my gaze, blink. Sure enough, J.J. somehow managed to pass Simone off, then worked his way between Ryan’s blind rage and the seriously bloodied idiot who started this whole mess. Don’t look like J.J’s throwing any punches of his own, but he’s probably rethinking that decision to play peacemaker when Ryan catches him with a blow to the arm. He puts his hands up, sidesteps, narrowly avoiding Ryan’s next swing. He deftly wrestles my best friend back, chin tucked, while Ryan, true to form, continues giving Porterfield shit.

  I touch my fingers to the sting on the back of my neck. Only a dot of blood. I’ll live. “Glad he snuck out tonight.”

  “I’m glad both of you got here when you did. I can’t believe Wyatt threw her in.” I work on catching my breath, let her assess me for other injuries. She skims her fingers along my shoulders and down my arms. “The way he was flirting, I thought he might be into her. I mean, all the guys were doing it, pushing girls in, but, like, so many people know Simone doesn’t swim.”

  To think, my girlfriend wonders why I wasn’t in the mood. Who came up with that shit? Throwing girls into a near death experience, then hoping for a hookup? How preschool can you get? Seriously. Last I checked, we live in the twenty-first century. Social media was created for hookups. Can we say Tinder? I mean, use fucking Facebook if you’re that desperate to get laid. Or Instagram. Hell, unearth MySpace if you have to.

  Then again, what do I know? Maybe this sort of mating ritual is acceptable in this part of the country.

  “He goes to Brookdale, not Grant,” I offer, a final attempt at defending the dumbass.

  “True, but Cara was standing right there when he did it and she heard Simone tell him herself. I guess he didn’t take her seriously.”

  So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. Not only did the idiot stand there watching Simone struggle, he had advanced warning.

  Fury puts a little starch in my wobbly knees.

  Ashley shakes her head. “Thank God you got here when you did. You sure you’re all right? Because Simone—”

  “Babe, I’m fine.” Truth is, I’m shakier than an unbalanced washing machine inside, but I can’t exactly tell my girlfriend how the memory of her best friend free falling towards the bottom of that pool has me itching to crawl across this cold, hard floor so I can drag her back into my arms. “Go.”

  “M’kay.” Ashley wipes her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, looks into my eyes. “I love you,” she murmurs softly, placing her palm over my still hammering heart.

  “Ditto.”

  Yeah, I said ditto.

  I know, I suck for not saying the words Ashley wants to hear. Words I rarely express for anyone outside of family. Until a few weeks ago, she didn’t, either—even during our more, uh, heated moments.

  Tonight marks the third time she’s said it this week.

  The hopeful glint in her eyes dims.

  When we got serious, we talked about my parents—how Dev preaches love without ever really showing it. Neither of us impressed by those couples who say the words every five minutes, we agreed why waste words when actions speak so much louder?

  Apparently, something’s changed. Not that I don’t love Ashley. I do. Really. Like I said, I’m going to marry this girl. I just don’t believe saying those words means our relationship is any stronger. I’d rather prove my emotions with my actions.

  I plant a lingering kiss on her lips, taking care to cradle her face the way she likes. “Paramedics are here. Go ‘head.”

  Placated, she smiles. I watch as she rushes to Simone’s side, phone pressed to her ear as Tee approaches, passing her on the way. Blood drips from a cut on his shoulder.

  “You okay, man?”

  “I tripped, you were like fucking Superman pulling her out of there. I should be asking you that.”

  “I’m good.” There’s an embarrassing shake in my voice, prompted by the surge of adrenaline still coursing my veins.

  “Pretty sure J.J. took your boy to the basement to cool off. Cops can’t go in without a warrant, but you might wanna be safe, take him out the back.”

  “What about Porterfield?”

  “He won’t talk, not if he wants to sleep in his own bed tonight. No one else will, either.”

  “Yeah, well Simone’s pretty shook. He’d better hope she don’t decide to press charges.”

  “Won’t blame her if she does. They’re gonna take her in, check her out, just in case she swallowed water.”

  She did. “Good idea.”

  Tee nods in her direction. “They wanna ask you some questions. She’s looking for you, too.”

  All the permission I need to go looking for her.

  She makes it easy, her eyes a beacon.

  Tremors rock her so hard, it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen right off the stretcher. Even from this distance, chlorine still wreaking havoc behind my contacts, I can see her skin has a pallor I didn’t know was possible for . . . well, someone not of the Caucasian persuasion. If they don’t hurry and pull those blankets over her, I’ll do it myself.

  Going near her while I’m feeling this way? Bad idea.

  So, of course my legs deliver me with nary a sway.

  Her glazed eyes stay locked with mine, drawing me into her vortex. Vaguely, I hear Ashley relay messages from whoever she’s talking to on the phone.

  Suffered from asthma as a child, allergic to sulfa . . .

  We stay connected while a paramedic finally tucks cover around her body.

  I answer questions fired from my right.

  Yes, she seemed to be losing consciousness.

  No, I don’t think she hit her head.

  Yes, she coughed up a lot of water.

  I don’t look away, not even when the paramedics move to leave.

  “Wait,” Simone rasps. Extends her hand.

  Towards me.

  My heart swells, inflating my chest, lifting me so high, I practically levitate the last few steps. Clasp her trembling fingers between my trembling hands, grateful for an excuse to make contact. I wanted this. Needed this. To have one more second to reconcile in my brain what the paramedics are saying—that she’ll be fine—with what I won’t soon forget: She could have died down there.

  Like an obedient puppy anticipating a treat, I wait until she sits upright under her own strength. Her tremulous smile assures me that being this close is what we both want. Her slender fingers chill the side of my neck, then slip around to my nape, the velvety pads of her fingertips coming to rest on my tenderized flesh. With the slightest pressure, she draws
us closer until her forehead rests against my temple, her soft, cool lips grazing my cheek.

  “Thank you, Whit,” she whispers, her breath warming my skin.

  The sensation surprises me. Thrills me. Just when I think I’m over it—that knocked on my ass feeling I felt while we were in that closet—this girl, who’s done nothing but prove how little our kisses should’ve meant, pulls out a fucking blowtorch, disintegrating my guts into goop.

  Words don’t stand a chance of creeping around the boulder lodged in my throat. I nod, letting her fingers slide from my grasp as she’s covered again and wheeled away, my girlfriend speed-walking at her side.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Simone

  Last week? A freak blizzard blanketed the upper Midwest, making everything look like a blank slate. This week? High 60’s.

  Slush and mud mix, leaving remnants of where snow sat in defiant heaps, protesting winter’s end. Overcast skies with the promise of rain means the courtyard is near empty today, but Ashley is fighting with The Cowboy over something, so we’re soaking up the clouds. Any excuse to avoid a run-in with Whit, I’m game. True, I’ve done a decent job of dodging him in the halls these last few months, look anywhere except his way during class. Maintaining distance between myself and the boy who makes my knees weak, now more than ever, hasn’t been easy, though. Classrooms have never felt so small, hallways so narrow. Way I see it, a little breeziness is worth my sanity.

  Jason Kellogg, Grant High’s resident Tony Hawk-wannabe, nearly rolls over what remains of my PB & J with his filthy skateboard. Another inch, my lunch would be trash. School policy strictly prohibits the use of skateboards on campus, but Jason’s a rebel. Personally, I think he has a thing for Miss Watkins, the newest teacher on staff. The boy probably spends more time with her than her fiancé does since she’s saddled with the unpleasant duty of manning the Pit for after school detentions.

  “Tell me you watched Displacement last night.”

  “Work.”

  “You missed the best one!”

  “They’re all the best ones.”

  Ashley nods. “True, but last night’s was the best best one. Colin had to go before the High Counsel and—”

  Oh, heck no. This girl is not spoiling my evening.

  I slap a hand over her mouth. “Recorded. We’re watching tonight.”

  I take the gag off after I hear a muffled apology.

  “What time should I be there?”

  Ordinarily, Ashley’s presence is a given since her house is my second home. However, Aunt Katie had mentioned wanting a family meeting. She didn’t let on if I should expect this to go good or bad, or if the subject is private. Then again, she knows I tell Ashley everything. Mostly.

  I’ll shoot Aunt Katie a text. “Come around 7:30, if you want.”

  “Another chance to see Colin and those gorgeous green eyes? I’m so in.”

  “Cool. Bring something.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “No.”

  “Whatev. That guy is too freaking gorgeous.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Mila Kunis is so lucky. I’d kill for a chance to work with that guy every day and get paid for it.”

  “Your boyfriend isn’t exactly beauty deficient.”

  I hope that sounded far more neutral to her than it did me.

  I also hope introducing him into this conversation won’t come back to bite me. Avoiding him has become a full-time job. We’ve had two Whit-conversation free days, a streak I’d rather not break. Especially when I work so hard not to think about him, which hasn’t been easy, believe me. What normal, oxygen-breathing female can forget a guy who not only kissed her senseless, but swooped in and saved her life?

  “Matt sorta asked me out. I’m thinking about saying yes.”

  Okay, Teen Vogue can wait. The magazine spread over my lap gets pushed to the side so I can focus on the stranger stretched out on the cement. I thought it was my best friend, but no way is she that brainless.

  “You what?”

  “Not like out, out . . . like, be his girlfriend or start thinking of myself as the future Mrs. Cavanaugh or anything,” she explains, casual as you please, popping another carrot in her mouth. Like she didn’t just qualify for residency in the looney bin. “More like dinner, maybe a movie. Hanging out. He’s cute.”

  Hard as I try, I can’t figure out what’s really going on with Ashley lately. She’s been . . . I don’t know. Moody. Unpredictable. Flipping over the smallest things. Ask her about it, she’ll swear everything is cool.

  Lie.

  This college thing—which I still happen to think is crazy selfish—isn’t working out the way she planned, but torching a relationship over it? No matter what prompted today’s drama, she could easily put an end to it. All she has to do is walk into that cafeteria, pull out the chair next to the guy who kisses too dang good for my comfort, and tell him they’ll work it out. Guaranteed her boyfriend is sitting at our usual table with Ryan, Chelsea, Nick, Eva, and Matt, waiting for her to do just that.

  “Cute aside, slow ya roll, homechick. Have you forgotten that Matthew is friends with the guy you’ve been dating, like, forever?”

  “Not at all.” She shakes her head, a disturbing gleam twinkling in her eyes. “That’s what makes it so perfect. Once Whit sees other guys are interested, he’ll realize why it makes more sense for us to be together come fall. At Columbia.”

  Stupid. “That’s really what you think will happen? That he’ll pass on a chance at Yale so other guys won’t check out his girlfriend?”

  “Oh, like he’ll really have time to make all these special weekend trips. Is it really too much to ask for him to choose the school I wanna go to so we can at least see one another on a regular basis? I mean, it’s not like Columbia sucks, you know?”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Ash. But hooking up with one of his friends? Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

  “I think Whit seeing me with someone else will show him what might happen if he keeps shoving our relationship on the back burner. I’m always waiting. After whatever practice he has, or studying, or helping his dad. His availability is a joke. I’d never see him if I didn’t spend so much time at his house. Do you have any idea how often I’ve listened to him go on and on about his future and what he wants?”

  Okay, I admit some validity here. Ashley does tend to accommodate Whit’s demanding schedule without complaint while he plays every sport there is, but he’s no dumb jock. He earns his stellar grade point average. He’s earned Yale, though she’s right—I can’t imagine him any less focused in college.

  “You don’t think I’m worth it?”

  “No.” The reckless reply hurtled off my tongue before I had a chance to bridle it.

  “Gee, thanks a lot, Simone.”

  “Let me finish, Ashley.”

  “No, I get it. I’m not worth staying together for,” she huffs, her nostrils flaring, ready for battle.

  “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “All right then, explain it to me, because I’m having a hard time understanding why the people who so called care about me don’t care enough to keep us together.”

  “Who says you two can’t still be together? It’s not like Whit said anything about dating other people, right? He got accepted into one of the best schools in the country, a school where most people can’t even dream of getting in. That’s not saying he doesn’t wanna be with you. That means he’s looking out for his future.”

  “So he drags you out of a pool, and now you’re on his side? Now you’re ready to like him?” She brushes her palms over the back of her jeans.

  If she only knew.

  This is so not a conversation I want to have. Talking about Ashley’s boyfriend is something I’ve generally avoid. More so now I know how it feels to have his lips against mine. I can firmly attest to the potency of Whit Devereaux’s kisses. With the slightest brush of his lips, he made me feel like I was the center o
f his universe. Ashley was not on his mind when we kissed. Mine, either. And for that, I’m the worst friend in the whole world. So I need to forget. Even if he did save my life. Whit belongs with Ashley. Doesn’t matter if I saw him first. I hesitated. Ashley made her move.

  “I’ve never said I don’t like him.”

  Tears well in her eyes. “Whatever, Simone. I’m over it.”

  “Chill out, Ashley. You know I’m on your side. Always. And because I’m on your side, I think you should consider what Whit may be feeling. You two love each other. There’s no reason a long distance relationship can’t work for you guys.”

  Her chin quivers. “You really believe that? That he loves me?”

  “What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, he loves you. The two of you’ve been joined at the hip, like, forever. People already have you guys pegged for Most Likely to Get Married and Conquer the World. Why mess up your future over less than two hour’s drive? Think of it this way,” I add with a shrug, “Matt will get to keep all his teeth.”

  Instantly, the tears stop. The cogs in her brain are gaining speed, redirecting her emotions over to the darker side. Ashley taps her chin, a conspiratorial grin pulling at her lips. “Hmm . . . yeah, Whit probably would lose it. I’ll think about it.”

  I bite my tongue instead of commenting on that renewed sparkle in her eye. Her bag narrowly misses my head as she shrugs it off her shoulder, lowering it to the ground. If she notices how close she was to sending me to the nurse’s office, it doesn’t show as she plops back down beside me, sniffs.

  “Sure you can’t go with us for Spring Break? I bet Katie could pull some strings and get you on a flight. You can room with us. It’ll be fun.”

  “Hanging out near endless water on hot sand overrun with drunk people, relying on strangers to drive me around—think every one of those are on my list of least favorite things.”

  “So, we rent a car, I’ll drive. Set up our beach chairs way back in the sand. Get one of those big umbrellas.”

  “I’m already on the schedule for more shifts.” I shove the book back inside my bag. “Besides, you have to be at least twenty-one to rent and I already have a permanent tan. Anyway, I scheduled that thing with Leann, remember?”