Shameless Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 18)

by Addison Moore

  “I thought you were going to kill that guy. Is this a part of the entertainment? I swear, I never knew football could be so fun!” Her warm breath is sweetened with sugar, and I’m damn glad there’s not a trace of liquor on it. “Great game so far!” She lunges over me with a hug and smacks the side of my face with a kiss. “I can’t help it.” She pulls back, a laugh caught in her throat. “You looked amazing out there. I just thought I’d beat the cheerleaders to it.”

  “That you did. So, what’s the drama with Shark Boy?”

  “Please, he’s no boy. He’s all man.” She pulls up her phone, and I lean in. “Look at this.” She flashes a picture of the crowd my way.

  “Game selfie?”

  “Maybe. But he took it. He’s here tonight!” she squeals with delight. “Isn’t that exciting?”

  I pull the phone forward and expand the picture. Crap. “This is you and your friends.” I look across the stadium. “He’s watching you, Harley.” My heart thumps like dynamite going off as I scan the crowd across from us.

  He’s here, and his attention isn’t trained on the game. He is one hundred percent stalking Harley.

  I hand her phone back. “Where are you off to after the game?”

  Those larger-than-life doe eyes expand my way, her pink lips bloom, plump and delicious, just the way I remember.

  “Where do you think I should be off to after the game?” She blinks up at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was flirting.

  “I think I should walk you to your dorm and make sure you get to bed early.” A breath expires from me because I’m not sure that’s exactly what I wanted. “We’ve got a flight to catch, and the spotlight will be shining bright your way come afternoon.”

  Her cheeks pinch with color as she gives a conciliatory nod.

  “Don’t go anywhere after the game. Stay here with your friends, and I’ll be up as fast as I can.”

  I take off, listen to the coach berate the team even though we’re up, and before I know it, we’re back on the field. I channel all of the anger, the fury, the rage I feel for this shark, this intruder, this stranger whom I have a feeling isn’t a stranger at all, and we nail the opposing team into their coffin.

  After the game, I take the world’s quickest shower, jump in my jeans and flannel, and run like my ass was on fire all the way to the stands where thankfully I find Harley, Teagan, and Colby still whopping it up with the rest of the student body as if they didn’t get the memo that the game is over.

  The crowd ignites as soon as I jump into the stands. I do a quick scan for Harley’s big sister, Harper, but she’s not around. She’s probably outside of the locker room waiting for Knox.

  “You ready?” I tousle Harley’s thick glossy hair as if she were a kid, but, in truth, my fingers have been twitching to touch it all week.

  “For our date?” she shouts it out and exaggerates every word. She’s laughing, but the sorority girls within earshot are not.

  “Call it what you want, Kitten. It’s time to get to bed.”

  About a dozen catcalls break out at once, and some of those literally sound like a feline. I can’t help but grimace as I say goodnight to her friends. Teagan, in particular, seems to be giving me the stink eye as if suddenly she had reason to distrust me.

  Harley and I start in on the long trek to Prescott Hall. The crowd has all but dissolved, and the air grows increasingly damp. She takes up my hand, and oddly it feels natural as if we’ve already done just this a million times.

  She leans against my shoulder. Her sweet perfume reminds me of the lilac scent of my mother. An odd comparison, I know, but that scent always seems to bring my mother back to life like nothing else seems able to do.

  “I thought the hand-holding would be a nice touch.” She bats those lashes up at me manically. “You know, make us look official. Half the girls in those stands passed out after you bypassed them for me. I mean, I know you didn’t really, but it was still kind of nice. It made me feel—I don’t know, special.”

  “Good. You are special. Too special to be messing around with some psycho who has his camera set on you. Did he send you anything else?”

  A husky laugh strums from her as her soft chest presses into my arm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded a wee bit jealous.”

  “I’m a wee bit concerned, as in for your safety. So, did he?”

  “I don’t know. I was too busy cheering for you to notice.”

  My heart warms when she says it. Harley and I pause under the lights just outside of Hallowed Grounds Coffee Shop as she fishes around her purse for her phone, but she shakes her head once she sees it.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good,” I say, relieved. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup—decaf so we can get some shut-eye.” We head on in, and Harley scoffs.

  “How are you possibly going to get some shut-eye without letting all of your frustrations out on some poor sorority girl’s vagina?”

  The three people in here all turn to ogle at us.

  “Nice to see you’re keeping it classy.” I take a deep breath and we put in our orders, and as soon as I pay for our drinks, they are already waiting for us. We head back out into the chilly night, carefully sipping our lattes.

  “You never answered the question. Are you headed to the Black Bear to get your real game on?” She’s back to holding my hand and hugging my arm in the process. I’m not going to lie. The girl makes my boxers twitch.

  “I think I’m bowing out of the Black Bear for tonight.” Something I just realized myself. Once I get into my old routine—she’s right—that primal part of me just might want to unleash. “We’ve got an early flight, remember? Besides, I need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed if I want to keep up with you.”

  “Touché. You got me there, buddy.” She butts her shoulder into mine as we head over to Prescott Hall and Harley pulls me into a darkened corner close to the stairwell. “I guess this is where we part ways.” She sucks in her bottom lip, and my body heat rises about ten degrees. Harley is perfection, a smooth-skinned, doe-eyed beauty who outshines every girl on the planet without even trying. “Do you think I can get a kiss goodnight?”

  “I don’t know. Is there a shark swimming around the building?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny.” Her expression sobers up because I’m guessing she doesn’t think so. “I don’t know. I just thought that since we had a fake date, maybe we could end it with a fake kiss. You know, a quick peck for old times’ sake?”

  “Old times’ sake, as in the other night at the overlook?”

  A dull laugh percolates through her, makes her chest bounce, and my eyes drop down without meaning to. “Sorry.” I’m quick to squeeze my lids shut.

  “That’s okay. You can look at me. I like it when you do that. For some reason, when you look at me, I feel as if you really see me. With Tyler, I felt as if he was looking right through me. Like he didn’t like what he saw.”

  “Nobody is not liking what they see. Take my word for it. I’ll have to beat Tyler’s ass when we get back just to set him straight.”

  A hearty laugh expels from her. “You would do that for me?”

  “I would do a lot of things for you,” I answer without thinking, without fully comprehending why I said it, but a part of me realizes the answer.

  “I’d better get my beauty rest. I’d hate to have bags under my eyes for my close-up. Kiss, please.” She bats those lashes again, and this time it’s clear she knows what she’s doing.

  “Fine. But just a peck for old times’ sake.”

  I wrap an arm around her and bow in, our mouths colliding at the very same time. Harley’s lips feel soft as satin, sweet as cotton candy, and I take a moment to savor the flavor.

  Harley pulls me in hard by the back of the neck, and with one sweet nibble she parts my lips and enters forbidden terrain with her tongue, and as soon as she does, I return the favor.

  I’m in like sin, and there’s no going back. I take my time explori
ng every nuance of her mouth, kissing her as if it were the most important task in the world. Out of all the girls I’ve ever been with, this kiss feels as if it’s my first, my last, and everything in between. Kissing Harley feels like a home run, a touchdown, the winning shot in every sport I’ve ever played.

  Harley outshines those girls who have traipsed across my mattress by a mile, and we haven’t even made it off first base. Just the thought of taking her home, having my way with her feels as if it’s too much to handle. My God, it might just kill me.

  We wrap it up with a groan, breathless as we stare at one another in the dim light for a good long while. I walk her to her room, then take off for my new place far out in Timbuktu.

  All the way there I replay that kiss on a loop.

  THE UNCONTROLLABLE ITCH

  HARLEY

  I f there is one thing I’m truly afraid of, it’s falling in love again. Not that it was true love that Tyler and I shared, but my foolish heart didn’t seem to know the difference.

  I’m pretty sure Eleanor Roosevelt didn’t have that in mind when posing her esoteric challenge.

  Falling in love is ambitious, exhilarating, and sometimes it’s downright dangerous.

  The shark in my life didn’t text me a sweet goodnight like he usually does. Instead, he sent a single photograph—Eli and I locked in one another’s arms, our lips leashed to one another as if we meant business, and we did.

  I stare at the image, stunned for an undeclared amount of time.

  Holy crap.

  Could Eli be right?

  Is this Shark person certifiable?

  Eli and I were alone out there outside of Prescott, or at least I thought we were.

  What else did this idiot see? Is he trying to pry into my dorm? Should I get campus security involved?

  If word of this nutcase gets back to my father, he’ll have the CIA on my tail, and I’ll be fitted with an ankle bracelet designed for parolees. If Harper finds out about it, she’ll buy a gun and kill anyone who just so happens to give me a crooked look. I know for a fact my big sis wouldn’t have a problem doing ten to life just to keep me safe. That’s the exact reason I asked Eli to come to New York with me.

  Quite frankly, I’m surprised Harper allowed the playboy of WB to escort me anywhere. But, in her defense, she has zero clue that we’re sharing a room, or about our newly minted endeavor, swapping some spit.

  After Eli and I drop our stuff off at the hotel, he volunteers to come out to watch me film my next commercial. Little does Eli know, he’s not exactly going to watch. But I definitely want him in the vicinity in the event that seemingly harmless Shark has sprouted wings and is looking to have a run-in right here in the city.

  “So, what’s this new commercial about?” Eli’s left eye comes shy of winking at me as we take the cab across town.

  We have expertly dodged the fact that we spent the greater part of an hour shoving our tongues down one another’s throats last night. I’m not sure why, but Eli has been extra sweet to me, opening doors in an exaggerated sense, taking my bag as if I might break. All things he’s done before, might I add, but there is an air of caution that makes me queasy.

  It’s as if he thinks he broke me and now feels as if he needs to treat me with kid gloves. Believe me, it’s the furthest thing from the truth. That kiss saved me. It showed me that I never felt anything at all for Tyler Swanson. That, in fact, I feel very deeply, very emotionally and, dare I say, very sexually toward Eli Gates.

  I know. I know.

  “It’s another sundry product,” I say, cleverly skirting the issue and praying to God he doesn’t probe deeper into the subject.

  “Is sundry the new code for laxative?”

  I make a face. “No. It’s the new code for vaginal itch cream and don’t make fun of it.” I swat him on the arm anyway because I know for a fact he’s going to.

  Eli belts out a riotous laugh, a deep belly laugh as if he hasn’t had a good one in a while.

  “Shut up, would you? This is good solid work. Besides, Ashley Grayson is probably just testing me or something.”

  He settles down long enough to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Testing, huh? She sounds like a real battle-axe.”

  “Well, she’s not. She’s young-ish actually, and she’s pretty. I mean, I can see my dad trying to date her. She’s funny, too.”

  “I’ll say. According to these bookings, she’s got one hell of a sense of humor.”

  We pull up next to the Mercury Building, where the commercial is set to film, and Eli and I file out. We take the elevator up, and I head to hair and makeup. The glam squad does their best to make me look like a soccer mom with a real sting in my panties as I gloss over the script and cringe.

  I trot over to Eli instead of complaining to the director like I really want to do.

  “God!” I gasp as I hold out the script his way. “I can’t believe I have to say these lines. This is social suicide. I’ll have to wear a paper bag over my head for the rest of my life!”

  He takes a look at the lines and closes his eyes a good long time.

  “You do realize I can’t unsee those.”

  I snatch the script back. “Imagine having to say them.” Now it’s me closing my eyes in shame. “Hey, Eli? Would you mind waiting by the door? I don’t think I have the nerve to belt these words out in front of you.”

  “What happened to doing one thing every day that scares you?” Those glowing eyes of his ride over my face softly, and it’s as if I can feel them touching me. In a strange way, they bring me comfort. Eli Gates is turning out to be the walking, talking security blanket I didn’t know I needed.

  I shake my head up at him. “This doesn’t scare me. I’m saving what scares me for you.”

  His mouth falls open, and he expels a breath as if he were disappointed on some level.

  “Do I want to ask what that might be?”

  I shake my head. “I want to show you—later tonight.”

  The director calls for me, and I head on over as Eli takes off. Lucky or unlucky for me, I’m the only actor on the vaginal playground today.

  The director—Rob as he’s calling himself today, looks suspiciously like the last hippie that had me grunting over a toilet for the better part of three hours. I swear on all that is holy, if this sucker tries to do things with my pink parts that I do not deem as kosher, I’m pulling the ripcord and making a beeline for Eli.

  Would you look at that? Eli really is my safe space.

  The director nods my way “Run your line and then we’ll work on blocking.”

  “Fine.” I clear my throat as I glare down at the script as if it were the spooky Shark himself. And I do have a whole new level of disdain for him for suddenly having me afraid of my own shadow. “I wish I wasn’t so dry down there.” I swallow hard before continuing with the verbal trauma. “Lately my vagina has been so parched, I want nothing to do with my husband or his advances. I just wish there was some way to perk up that dehydrated, itchy well.”

  “Perfect!” he belts it out with pride as if my performance warranted an Oscar. “Enter the vagina fairy—we’ll CGI her in, of course.”

  “Of course.” Because what vaginal funeral would be complete without a vagina fairy? And who am I kidding? I know full well this little not-so wet and wild stunt will end my vagina’s chances of getting some real action for a good long while. Hell, this little foray into less than hygienic waters—or in keeping with a theme, desert, will most certainly land my vagina on the naughty list and not in any good way.

  “Okay, then after the fairy enters, you’ll say your last lines.” He motions for me to recite, and I do.

  I growl over at him without meaning to. “Oh, thank you, Vaga-Fluid, for turning my sandpaper pit into a virtual water world of fun once again! My vag isn’t thirsty anymore. I am.” Big wink into the camera as per my instructions.

  There are some things that go on to haunt you forever—a bad haircut for instance. The time Harper gave me
crooked bangs when I was in the third grade, right before picture day. The time I had my heart handed back to me by the moron I tried to persuade to love me last summer. But this? This will forever be a time stamp of my desperation to please the most powerful talent manager in New York.

  And who knows? There might actually be a bright side. Some up-and-coming casting director in charge of the next Friends might see me and say I have to have that Vaga-Fluid chick!

  I glance back down at my lines and shake my head in frustration. More like I’ll forever be typecast as Vagina Girl—worse yet, Constipation Girl.

  And who the hell knows what body part I’m due to exploit next. I did sign on for three of these sundry-based nightmares.

  We do a mere thirteen takes. I’ll hear my own voice touting the needs of my dry vagina until I’m old and gray. I change back into my clothes and check my phone before heading back into the hall. If there’s anything to be alarmed about, I’d much rather discover it without Eli by my side. He would go ape if he knew this Shark person took a picture of us making out last night.

  I turn my phone over and—holy crap.

  A picture of the Howard Hotel stares back at me. There’s no sign of Eli and me. Just the hotel, but still, he could have followed us here. A rush of heat hits me as I try to remember if I told anyone what hotel I was staying at. I’m not even sure I told Harper. I stuff the phone back into my purse and meet up with Eli out in the hall.

  “Hey, good looking.” Eli waggles his brows, and I laugh, feeling instantly relieved. “I hear you’re having a dry spell.” He nods for us to get the hell out of here, and we do.

  Eli and I hit a street vendor for dinner—single sliced pizza, thick crust, sauce like nobody’s business, and a two-inch layer of mozzarella at least. It tastes like an Italian paradise. We walk toward Central Park, and the leaves blow down from the tress, already ruby red and dry as paper. We stroll hand in hand until the sun sets and then head back to our room. Eli puts on a game, and I sit next to him, wrapping my arms around his body without asking permission, sulking as if the world were ending.