When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  No best friend.

  Nothing complicated about hating someone’s guts—confirmed via every one of Ashley’s social media accounts, FYI.

  Right before she blocked me.

  Royally. Screwed.

  Her newfound hatred is the reason I’m riding home in orange sweatpants she only wears on housecleaning days, with a green and white pinstriped button-down polo I gave her in the ninth grade. No surprise, Ashley filled her mom in on all the pertinent details of our new relationship status. For the most part, Ms. Amy did an admirable job of holding her tongue during our unplanned slumber party at Uni-Health, posting herself at my bedside for most of the night.

  Shawn reaches over, gives my cheek an affectionate stroke with his thumb. The simple gesture reactivates the burning sensation behind my eyes for an entirely different reason.

  “I’ve lost more than a few friends over things I regret. It hurts,” he says, summarizing this whole ordeal in two words.

  “Yeah.”

  Whether I meant for any of this to happen—the kiss, the fallout with Ashley, falling so hard for a guy who isn’t mine, and never will be—it’s done. All of it.

  I shift from his touch, causing the seatbelt to pull tight over the radial nerve in my shoulder. My whole arm quickly becomes one big, achy throb. Both of his hands need to stay on the wheel, plus I’d rather he not waste sympathy on me. I don’t deserve it. I knew where my choice could lead, knew there’d be consequences, no matter what. I chose wrong. In light of everything, physical pain is nothing.

  “Sure you don’t wanna hang at my house for the night? Mom knows the deal, she won’t mind. Guaranteed between her and my brothers popping in and out, there’s no chance of me being anything less than a gentleman.”

  “I’m not worried about that, and I appreciate the offer. Had my aunt not called, I’d say yes, but she’ll definitely be home soon. I’ll manage until then.”

  “Then I’ll chill with you for a while, make sure you don’t mess around and put yourself in a full body cast. We’ll order pizza.”

  The sad truth is, outside of Aunt Katie, Shawn is probably the only friend I have anymore. After yesterday, everyone seems to have solidly sided Team Ashley—well, except for Ryan, I think. He actually called, checked on me. But I know where his loyalty lies, which means, eventually, he’ll stop straddling the line.

  So, Shawn? He’s it.

  Any other guy would probably have left me to fend for myself after receiving the “You’re stupid cute, but I’m just not that into you” speech. Thankfully, Shawn isn’t like other guys. He answered my call, showed up at the hospital with a smile and a fluffy pillow waiting in the car so I’d have something soft to rest my arm on. Letting him stay may be pressing my luck, even if he did offer. Only thing is, I’d rather rent an RV and drive over every bridge from here to California than be alone right now.

  I decide not to risk it. “You don’t have to.”

  I’ll probably fall asleep long before a pizza man knocks, anyway. Those pain killers I swallowed for lunch aren’t touching the achy pulse electrifying my arm, but I feel like I just completed a marathon. I’m seriously beat. Falling asleep in a moving vehicle, however, is highly unacceptable. I scooch from my slouched position as much as I can, shift my head away from its cushy spot against the headrest.

  “Damn shame how you’re forcing me to impose,” he persists to my relief. “Just for that, we’re having Meat Lovers’.”

  “Fine,” I gratefully concede. “But extra cheese.”

  He nods his approval. Eyes glued to the blacktop, Shawn hums softly as he drives down the short stretch of road, maneuvering his car into the left-hand lane once he arrives at the corner of my street.

  “People thrive on drama. They talk, spread shit down the middle of someone else’s devastation. Doesn’t mean what they’re saying is true, you know that, right?”

  “Uh huh, doesn’t mean what they’re saying is false, either. I’m guilty, Shawn.”

  “We’re all guilty of something, sweetheart. Some of us more than others.” He sighs. “Lapses in judgment, they happen. Don’t let other people ruin the rest of senior year for you.”

  Sweetheart. He can still call me that, knowing what I’ve done? “Pretty sure I’ve done that all by my lonesome.”

  “Nah, there was a certain hothead running laps after practice today who would probably disagree.”

  What did that boy do to earn laps?

  I bite my lip, preventing the question from tumbling out of my mouth. Nothing Whit does can be my concern. We’re done.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Shawn mutters low.

  “About wha—?”

  Oh. Whit. Parked in front of my house.

  My next fifty breaths huddle inside my throat, unable to agree on a game plan for the best means of escape

  Shawn eases into the drive, his hands visibly tightening on the wheel. “I’ll just drop you and bounce.”

  No. No, no, no. The breaths break free in a huge, gushing sigh. “You said you’d stay.”

  “Yeah, well that was before I knew he’d be here.”

  “He isn’t.”

  But, he is. I’m looking right at him, head down, chin to chest, perched on the hood of his Jeep where absolutely everyone passing by can see him.

  “I mean, I didn’t invite him. I don’t know why he’s here.”

  “Technically, I wasn’t invited, either,” Shawn argues as he navigates his car as close as he can get to the front door without driving over the grass. The engine purrs low after he puts the car in park and he notices that I notice he’s left it running.

  Dragging a hand down his face, he closes his eyes, slouches in his seat.

  “Look, you know you’re my girl. I’d do anything for you, believe that. But we both know why Devereaux’s here. I’d be lying if I said I’m in the mood to play nice.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re having pizza, remember?”

  “Nah, it’s cool. I thought you’d be here alone, that’s why I offered.”

  “I will be alone if you leave. Whit’s not staying.”

  Shawn glances at his driver’s side mirror, scowls. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

  There’s nothing I can say to refute his perception because I dare not look over my shoulder again. Do I want to see what I’m missing? Of course. Do I believe Shawn will consider unfriending me in the midst of this madness, should curiosity get the better of me?

  Posifreakingtively.

  “You have any idea how hard it is for a guy to work up the nerve to ask you out?” he asks with a sad smile, and I wonder if I didn’t just speak my thoughts aloud. “It’s not easy, trust me. Something about you is untouchable.”

  “Uh, was that a compliment?”

  “More an explanation for why I’ve hesitated on making a move—why more guys haven’t—why I didn’t push when. . .we weren’t exactly vibin’. You’re a solid dime, Simone. Beauty, brains, funny. The complete package. Every guy in our school would love to be sitting where I’m at,” he adds, pointing at his seat.

  “Okay, but you did ask me out, and like you said, we didn’t click on a romantic level. That has nothing to do with how well we do vibe as friends. As my friend, I’m asking you to stay.”

  “And, as your friend, I’m telling you that may be too hard for me because all I’m thinking right now is, what if me and that dude standing out there are here for the same reason?”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he counters, softly. When he turns sideways in his seat so we’re facing, a flicker of hope softens his eyes. “What if I told you I think we should take another shot at being more than friends? That I held back before because I got scared of losing your friendship if we didn’t work out?”

  “You were scared?”

  “Petrified.” He smiles. “Like I said, you don’t make it easy. I’ve already lost one girl by moving too fast. Wasn’t tryna’ repeat my mistake, if you know
what I mean.”

  “What about Jenny?”

  I do believe if Shawn’s complexion were a half shade lighter, I’d see a blush right now.

  He wipes a hand over his smile, rubs his chin. “Wondered if you were ever gonna ask me ‘bout that.”

  “I’m asking now.”

  He nods. “Okay, so here’s the thing—Jenny’s cool. I won’t lie, say I’m not feelin’ her, or there was nothing there, but on the real? A relationship between us will be too hard. Her parents aren’t exactly thrilled about us dating. Real talk? After everything with Andrea, I don’t know if I’m game for all that again.”

  Well, I can relate about the disapproving parent.

  “So, I’m easy? I thought you said I wasn’t?”

  “Quit twisting my words, girl. You know that’s not what I’m saying. I like you. A lot. I’ve always thought the two of us was worth serious consideration, even though I knew I wasn’t exactly your first choice when I stepped to you a few months’ ago,” he tacks on.

  How’s that for holding up the mirror?

  “With how everything’s playing out, I’m thinking we should see where our relationship could go. My family already likes you, so no issue there. We’ll both be in-state for college. Think about it, it makes perfect sense.”

  What do I say to that? On one hand, I’ve settled into this comfortable acceptance, that we’re in agreement about finding one another attractive, but work better as friends. On the other, I have to admit he’s right. I’m equally guilty of not giving us a much of a shot since my main focus was on finding a distraction from the guy sitting in front of my mailbox. But does that mean we should attempt a do-over? Fact remains, a girl could do way worse than Shawn Williams.

  A better question is, can I picture a whole summer of hanging out with Shawn, knowing that for one brief week with someone else, I experienced enough magic to fill three lifetimes? More importantly, haven’t I went well past the time for letting that magic fade?

  “You and me?” I close my eyes. “Can I have a day or two to clear my head?”

  “Sounds fair.”

  Without another word, Shawn slides out of the car. Whether his intention is to take a breather, or confront Whit, I don’t know. I twist as far in the seat as pain will allow, catching a blur of his shirt out of the corner of my eye. An eternity later, he opens the door, offering his assistance.

  “Go ‘head, deal with yo’ boy.”

  I hesitate, unsure. “Shawn—”

  “Don’t worry, beautiful. No matter what, we’re good.”

  My tongue twists into a million useless knots. I want to say the right words, something—anything so he knows how much I value his friendship. Think what you want, but having everyone in my life suddenly disappear? Well, it’s getting old.

  I nod, studying his earnest expression, wishing like nobody’s business Ashley didn’t hate me so much right now. She’d know exactly what to say at a time like this.

  “I’ll call in our order.”

  Weak with relief, I nod, take his hand. Shawn’s Mustang sits so low to the ground, I’m at his mercy as he pulls me out of the seat. Naturally, because I’m officially a certified klutz, I stumble, face-planting into his chest, the woodsy scent of his cologne making me sneeze. The fragrance however, is far less harm to my senses than a pair of piercing hazel eyes.

  Watching me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Simone

  Is it safe for my heart to pound like this? Like I’m in the throes of a bad case of—what’s it called? Arrhythmia? A stroke? Do either of those mess with your stomach? Because that would explain a whole lot. Butterflies are too delicate to cause the sudden burst of chaos churning in my belly.

  Dressed in yet another t-shirt, this one, a beige complement to his eyes, and loose camouflage pants, Whit looks like a guy with a serious ax to grind. A guy ready for battle. Like he anticipated Shawn being the one to bring me home instead of Ms. Amy. Stupid boy. Did the possibility of her being the one to deliver me safely on my doorstep cross his mind? Had he considered how damning his presence might’ve been to his boo thang’s mama when she’s already condemning us both to the dark side for betraying her baby?

  Based on that defiant stance? Not at all. More like he charged full steam, then stalled out right around the spot where we slow danced to Ed Sheeran. A good twenty feet separate us, yet I still feel an unexpected jolt in my system as I meet his pensive stare.

  He’s challenging me. For what, I can’t decide. Probably waiting to see if I’ll turn my back, head inside, or make my way over. Maybe he’s here for answers about what I told his girlfriend. Maybe he wants answers about Shawn.

  He won’t get any.

  Even if he’s not fully responsible for ratting us out. No matter what Ryan told me—had Whit not opened his big mouth, none of this would be happening. Not yet, at least.

  So I deleted a text or two instead of responding? Last we spoke, we agreed that we play a little too well together.

  Newsflash: not responding isn’t the same as not reading.

  Regardless, Ashley knows we spent time together. He told her something. Whatever the reasons, he threw me under the bus without so much as a “Look out, Stupid Girl!” Seriously, how lacking is your humanity when you can’t give a girl a heads-up about her possible impending death?

  Told Ashley I helped you fold towels last week.

  Ignoring you at lunch tomorrow!

  See? Easy.

  Surprisingly, my steps are measured, like my legs are filling with superhero steely confidence. My heart? Not so much. It’s slamming around inside my chest, untethered and reckless. Surely, he can hear it. People in China can probably hear it.

  Our eyes connect, neither of us blink.

  My bravado slips a notch. For safety’s sake, I take an insurance step back, shift my focus to the hollow of his throat.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Knew he’d ask.

  Score one for me.

  I peer over my shoulder, follow the line of Whit’s hot glare, not that I really have to. Shawn’s where I left him, leaning against the trunk of his car, phone pressed to his ear.

  I turn, lift a brow. Shrug with false cool. “He was invited, not that it’s any of your business.”

  His shoulders tense, chest rises with an impossibly long inhalation. Seems I’ve hit a nerve. Score two? Maybe. I’m still not brave enough to raise my eyes to see. I watch his Adam’s apple bob, drawing my attention to the bit of scruff covering the underside of his chin. It adds a little color over his already tanned skin.

  “Needed to make sure you’re okay,” he murmurs. “You alright?”

  “Fine. Go back to your girlfriend.”

  “She ain’t my girlfriend.”

  Liar. “Neither am I.”

  “Everybody’s sayin’ Beckham’s responsible,” he changes subjects, ignoring my point. “That true?”

  “I tripped.”

  “So, he didn’t grab you by the arm?”

  “What difference does that make? It’s not like you care about me, or anything.”

  His head snaps back with a force that makes my neck hurt. Eyes narrowing into tiny slits, he gives me the do-I-know-you look. I counter his look with one of my own.

  Do you?

  If I could only choose one word to define his answering sigh, I’d go with turbulent. His warm, minty breath ruffles my unintentional bangs.

  “Did he touch you, Simone?”

  “Much as Beckham gets on my nerves, he didn’t do anything wrong. I was running. His backpack was on the floor. I saw it, but he didn’t know. When he caught my arm, tried to slow me down, I pulled away. Tripped over it, fell on my wrist. End of story,” I answer evenly, finally rallying enough courage to hold his gaze for more than five seconds.

  Whit nods, jaw clenched. “He’s done.”

  “Whit Devereaux, you so much as roll your eyes at that boy, I promise I will never, ever, speak to you again.”

&
nbsp; “Ain’t been speakin’ to me anyway, Simone.”

  “Brilliant observation! Go home, Cowboy.”

  “Baby, wait.”

  Baby. Wish I hated that.

  “Need help understanding she wants you to leave?”

  The color in Whit’s face climbs from an already unnatural tinge of red into the blue spectrum of the color chart, mottling his cheeks to a shade of frightening. Jaw rigid, forearms bulge as he clenches his fists. I glance over my shoulder, gauge the change in Shawn’s mood (ominous), back out of harm’s way.

  “Sell woof tickets, better be able to back that shit up, Williams.”

  Shawn doesn’t flinch. The right corner of his mouth does lift a bit, though. “No worries, Country. I can do that all day long. Care to find out?”

  “Yep.”

  “No!”

  My unencumbered hand is flat against Whit’s rock hard chest before I mentally register the movement. Heat radiates from the point of contact, coursing through my palm. It’s like touching a furnace. “No one is fighting, here or anywhere else. Leave Beckham alone. Leave Shawn alone. I mean it, Whit. Go. Home.”

  His dark brows cinch until they become a single confused frown. “He gets to stay and I have to leave?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this entire nightmare to end.

  “Face it, we’re not friends, Whit. We don’t know how. Even if we did, haven’t we ruined enough? Surely, life isn’t hunky-dory between you and Ashley. She hates my guts. Your mother is probably house hunting just to get you as far from me as she can. Hell will freeze over twice before she’ll accept any sort of relationship between us, and you know it.”

  “She just needs—”

  “No! All the time in the world won’t change that, Whit. Can you honestly see her inviting me along for a day of shopping, or dinner, or, a seat alongside your family on the front row at church, unless I’m sitting on the other side of your pretty blond betrothed?”