When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Know what he said?”

  “Good choice?”

  He laughs. “Not even close. Ryan likes you.”

  “Ryan likes girls, period. I’m not special.”

  “Beg to differ, ma’am. I happen to think you’re very special. What he said is I won’t be able to stay away. That I’ll be begging for a little more of your time. He’s right.”

  Meaning sex? Am I the fill-in until he sets things right with Ashley, too?

  Ice fills my veins.

  Shawn told me something earlier. How it slipped my mind the second I saw Whit standing on my doorstep is testament to the truth, I got waaay too lost in the game.

  This push is more shove, throwing us both off kilter when my foot lands on the abandoned mop handle. Mr. All-American Sportsman puts his extraordinary reflexes to good use, catches me by the shoulders, steadying me.

  “You alright?”

  “Is a little of your time code for something more than this dance?” For sure, that’s something Ryan would expect. “Here to ask me to go back to being your sidepiece?”

  “Come again? Shit, I got your dress wet.”

  I swat his hands away. “Forget my dress. Answer the question.”

  “I would, if I knew what the hell you were talkin’ ‘bout.”

  “Sidepiece, Cowboy. Your dirty little secret.”

  “I know—” He rubs his brows. “Where’s this comin’ from?”

  “Oh, please. We both know where it comes from. That’s who I was until your girlfriend found out, right?”

  “Still not makin’ much sense, baby, and for the last time, Ashley ain’t my girlfriend anymore.”

  “That’s not how I hear it.”

  “Then you hear wrong.”

  “Why would people lie?”

  His head falls back to his shoulders while he mutters something beneath his breath. I cross my arms, wait.

  “In case you forgot, we’re in high school. Some people are jus’ messy. They get off on stirrin’ up shit.”

  “Well, regardless, I won’t be a part of it anymore. You should go.”

  “I never asked you to be a secret, Simone. I didn’t come over to ask you to sneak around with me, either.”

  “Then, why’re you here, Whit?”

  “Because I . . . I care about you.”

  That makes me laugh. “You care? About me?”

  “Yeeeah?”

  “Same way you care about Ashley?”

  “Yes. No. It’s . . . different.”

  “Different,” I repeat, tapping a finger on my chin. “So, different means you’re here with me now after you took her to prom—the girl you say isn’t your girlfriend, but you make out with in the locker room?”

  “Ahhh.” Understanding dawns. He laughs, throws his hands in the air. “Should’ve known that asshole had somethin’ to do with this. What he saw wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “Never is.”

  He grits his teeth, much like I did when Aunt Katie said the same to me.

  “I can explain.”

  “Don’t bother, but you can tell me why you have beef with Shawn.”

  “Really? You’re askin’ that after tellin’ me he’s responsible for convincin’ you I think you’re dirty?”

  “Don’t joke right now.”

  “Williams is the joke!” Whit’s face turns a shade darker in another rare show of emotion. His entire body practically vibrates with anger. “What a—”

  “Douche,” I finish, ignoring the withering glare he sends my way. I’m not scared. I know he won’t hurt me. “I know—well, no, actually, I don’t think he is, but what did he do to make you hate him so much?”

  “I jus’. Don’t. Like. Him.”

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  Turning away, he shoves his hands in his pockets, his muscles in his back visibly drawn taut. I watch the rise of his shoulders as he sucks in a long breath, the steady fall when he releases it.

  “You like him, Simone? That what this is all about?”

  An eerie calmness blankets his accusation. And that’s exactly what that was because questions sound way less dangerous.

  I weigh my answer, trying to decide if it’s too heavy for the bubble of tension already surrounding us. I really do like Shawn—enough to want him in my life for longer than a Mr. Right Now. I don’t see that happening if we’d tried taking things to the next level. Complicated or not, his heart is with Jenny.

  And mine? Mine won’t act right. None of that means I believe the guy in front of me is a suitable candidate. “What I feel for Shawn is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me,” he grits out. “How you feel about another guy is very relevant. Anyway, Williams knows why I don’t like him. Ain’t my story to tell. Really wanna know, he’ll have to explain himself.”

  “What if I already know? I mean, I think I do, but I’m not sure since his story isn’t common knowledge around Gossip Central, or not something I expect you to know, unless you and Shawn talk more than either of you ever let on.”

  Shawn’s secret? He got his ex-girlfriend, Andrea pregnant, then denied it—at first. Andrea blindsided him with the news. He panicked. By the time he got his head together, her parents had already had things taken care of. Andrea got shipped off to live with her grandparents and her parents banned the two of them from contacting one another.

  “We don’t. Other guys do. Regardless, if by chance he did own his shit and tell you what he did, that should be plenty to understand why I don’t like him. That said, I don’t think you’re a dirty side-secret or whatever foolishness he planted in your head. Never have.”

  He faces me. “Wanna know the real reason why I’m here?”

  His languid expression says he has absolutely no intention of leaving without telling me.

  I nod.

  “I’m here ‘cause you’re here, Simone. Standin’ out there on your doorstep, I realized I can’t be anywhere else. Not anymore.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

  —Song of Solomon 4:7 KJV

  Whit

  Dev pointed out that scripture last Sunday. Don’t remember why. He’d been talking about temple building when I’d zoned out. Chirp had me against the ropes in a cutthroat battle of Tic-Tac-Toe. I’d taken a cursory glance at the monitor, stalling my defeat. Noted Coop’s grunt of amazement when he’d done the same. Most of Dev’s messages tend to veer wide around the love your wife and family more than yourself verses, so the words on the screen struck a chord.

  I dug my cell out, did a quick search in another translation.

  You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.

  I’m looking at Simone, standing barefoot, wearing that pretty green dress.

  She is beautiful.

  If she has flaws, I can’t see them.

  Someone else might point out the tiny scar that dissects the apex of her left brow, or the widow’s peak that pulls one single strand of her hair into a tight whorl, dotting her forehead by the end of the day—hair straightened, or not. That same someone might even comment on her bounteous curves, compare them to the stick figures posed on the front of all the magazines, though I can’t comprehend why anyone would see this girl’s amazing body as a negative. Everything about her is right.

  The truth comes at me hard and fast.

  Ryan is far wiser than I give him credit. Had I not left my phone out in the glove compartment, I’d text him, tell him so. But, hearing his I told you so will have to wait. I’ve got more pressing issues at hand.

  I close in, don’t stop until the scent of warm cake fills my lungs. Slide my palm over the small of her back. Reel her in until we’re flush. After a quick nuzzle to her temple, I brush the tip of my nose along trace her jawbone.

  She shivers.

  Yeah.

  I want to
thump my chest, stake my claim. Tell her to forget everything and everyone else. No one else matters.

  I want her. That’s all there is to it.

  “True, Williams saw us in the locker room,” I admit. “But Ashley kissed me, not the other way around. We’re done, Simone. Good chance we have been since before the first time I kissed you. That ain’t something I’m looking to change. You’re where I wanna be. Not at some party, not with Ashley. Just you.”

  Another shudder passes through her and I feel it in my marrow.

  “Just you,” I repeat.

  “Okay,” she breathes into my chest.

  That’s it? Okay? After months of this cat and mouse? No way can it be that simple.

  “Okay?”

  Her response could mean any number of things right now.

  Okay, now get out. Okay, you can stay, hang out for a while. Okay, I won’t believe my prom date’s lies. Okay, we can stop playing games and be together the way we both want to be.

  Have to be honest, I’m feeling greedy. I hope it’s the last three.

  I lean back, use two knuckles to lift her chin.

  “Look at me, Honey Bee.” An eternity passes before she complies, but she finally does. “I really, really wanna be with you, Simone.”

  Two reallys. No stutter.

  “Your mom wouldn’t approve.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “She’s your mom.”

  “You’re my heart.”

  Tears brim her lids. She shakes her head. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I can.” In fact, I’m growing more confident by the second. “I do.”

  “I can’t keep fighting.” The concession drags with exhaustion from her mouth. “It’s too hard.”

  This girl.

  My hands take their fill of her lovely hips, lifting her on her toes so she feels the very definition of the word hard. Sweetest torture ever. One lone teardrop slides down her cheek.

  “So, stop,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers. Nothing too heavy. Enough to let her know I want to seal this thing. “Won’t let you win anyway.”

  Simone snakes her cast-free arm between us, spreads her fingers over my rib cage. Pauses over my heart. Watches how it happy dances underneath her palm. Smiles, which makes it dance harder.

  I lower my head again. I want to fill my lungs with her. Breathe her breaths, but she won’t let me. She meets me, parting her lips beneath mine, darts her tongue out for a taste. Twines her fingers in my hair, gives it a firm tug at my nape.

  I was willing to take things slow, give her time to concede. A second to settle into our new alliance, but damn if this girl didn’t shift us straight into overdrive.

  How I teleport us into the den, get her prone on the couch, and lose both of my shirts so quickly is something I’ll ponder some other time. Simone’s dress has slipped, her lacy green bra on full display. Priority must be given to the swells of her tits and their perfectly timed rise and fall echoing of the beginning of my cardiac arrest.

  I amend my earlier assessment. Simone in that dress? What’s more than amazing? Spectacular? Perfection? Not sure any of those do her justice. Especially with that hem bunching around her thighs, offering me the barest glimpse of what looks to be the satiny counterpart to the bra.

  “You are fucking stunning.”

  Immediately, I want to take the words back, say something a lot less crude, with way more finesse.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you. Fucking stunning.”

  Unless it sounded that damn sexy. “You just drop an F-bomb?”

  She licks her lips, sucks one corner of the lower between her teeth.

  Jesus.

  Yes, I’m praying. I am so feeling this girl.

  “We’ll stop whenever you want, Simone. Say the word, I’ll back off. But you should know I want you more than anything. Ever.”

  “C-can we go slow?”

  My heart kicks, protesting its confinement, demanding release from my chest. This girl is. Killing. Me.

  “You’re in control, baby. We’ll go however, wherever, you want.”

  “Kiss?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Breathing is a task. Realistically, I know all my skin can’t be constricting, leaving me feeling as though I’ll explode into a billion tiny pieces any second now. Still, I take air in sips, fretting that one sudden move will rip me to shreds.

  I undo my belt, pull it from the loops of my slacks, anything to ease the tension. The metal buckle hits the plush carpet in a noisy clang. Simone’s pretty brown eyes go wide.

  “Pants stay on,” I assure her, settling myself between the juncture of her thighs, mindful of her casted arm safely cradled on a nest of pillows.

  Bracing the brunt of my weight on my elbows, I waste no time mating our mouths, the flavor of sweet peanuts melding over my tongue as I plunge deep. I’ll do my best not to rush for more, but this kiss? This one has to be no holds barred.

  Much like she did in that closet, Simone gives just as good. Angles her head for ultimate access. Our tongues duel, in battle for the win. She puts her good hand to excellent use, kneading my back with her fingertips, walking them lower. Her nails graze the skin just below my waistband, spurring my hips into an instinctive surge forward.

  The sexiest moan I’ve ever heard forages a path up her throat, spilling into my mouth thick and syrupy as she arches her back off the cushions. Hot, wet silk brushes against my abdomen.

  Oh, my God.

  Jesus.

  I don’t know if he can help me. I’m too far gone, can’t stop shaking. I’m going mad. Just as incapable of controlling the indecipherable grunts pouring from my mouth as I am of shutting down the demands of my woefully constricted dick.

  Slipping my arms in the gap, I brace her for the fall as I roll us to the floor, letting my back meet the carpet as much to protect her arm as to stave off the rapid descent of blood rushing into my groin. Don’t help much. Can’t say it deters Simone much, either. The new position makes it easier for her to rain kisses along my jaw, then leave a trail of velvety licks along the side of my neck.

  Pleasure robs me of brain function. I want her with a hankering so fierce, my chest hurts. Slow is impossible. Hell, I’m not sure warp is fast enough. I feel like a five year old on Christmas morning with too many presents to count. I want to open everything. Touch her everywhere. Study every dip and curve on her body.

  But I can’t. Not yet.

  Why?

  Because this altogether beautiful girl in my arms deserves better from me. My morally better. I want to do right by Simone in a way I’ve never done right by any other girl.

  Ever.

  Be that as it may, the not-quite-so-moral, masochistic side of me wants confirmation on whether or not those panties match.

  Sweat from my palms saturate the hem of her dress as I ease the material higher up her thighs, agonizingly slow, slow, slow. Taunting myself because I’m a colossal nutcase who’s begging to be committed.

  With only three millimeters to go before I can see the Promise Land Simone pushes away.

  She does a single arm pushup over my body—which is sexy as fuck. Climbs to her feet.

  Unzips.

  The superb green material pools between my legs.

  My heart stops. It does. I swear.

  We have a match, people!

  Comprised of the most gorgeous scraps of satin I’ve ever seen, held together by these thin pieces of string I could easily snap with my pinkie. I figure the Lord himself must’ve dispatched every angel in Heaven because that’s the only way I’m able to tear my eyes away from that glorious piece of art up to the base of her throat. Looks like the thrum of her pulse is in sync with mine.

  Forget what I said. “What’re we doing here, baby?”

  Last time I sounded like this I was going through puberty. Under other circumstances, I’d be majorly embarrassed. This circumstance falls more along the lines of extraordinary, though. I need clarifica
tion on what’s happening, have to hear her make this call because my wallet is out in the Jeep along with my phone. If we need anything out of it, I have to go now while my legs still work.

  “You said you wa-wanted to see my panties.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. Her cheeks flush red. Chin tucked to chest, she allows her hair—loosed in the fray, it appears—to create a halo around her face.

  I’m way past simple caring for this girl. I really am.

  “Honey, fire. It’s all you.”

  “What?”

  The emotion rolls over me in an unexpected wave, I sit up to keep from drowning, overwhelmed by the force. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, hold her scent deep inside my lungs. Damn near cry when they scream for me to let go.

  “Thank you. For showing me.” I reach out, palm her ass with one hand, using the other to skim the low riding band at her waist. One good turn deserves another, right? I up the ante, sacrificing my sanity in the process by pulling her forward, pressing my lips to her navel.

  Her knees buckle.

  I slow her descent, the lace trim of her bra hooking on the end of my nose, God bless it. I use the opportunity to nudge it higher, placing an open mouth kiss on her sternum. Her gasp lifts the corners of my lips.

  Manipulating our positions goes much smoother without either of us in a state of panic. I shift her legs, fix them so she’s straddling my lap. A dangerous game to be playing when my brakes are faulty, I know, but give me credit for slowing this runaway train before it chugged too far down the track.

  She tenses, like she’s unsure if I can handle her weight. Silly girl.

  Can’t wait until she realizes she was made for this, sitting on my lap, being wrapped inside my arms. I settle her closer, circling my thumbs over her hipbones, not letting them travel any further.

  I deserve a medal really.

  “Obviously, we lack chemistry. Aside from that, though, I’ll confess a tremendous appreciation for your taste in underwear, so that makes you at least a little likeable.”

  The offhanded compliment has the desired effect. She laughs, relaxes. “Thank you.”

  “Were you, uh, hoping someone else might see this?” I ask, tracing a string.

  “Not tonight.” Not ever, if I have anything to say about it. “Am I the first?”