Kiss Now, Lie Later

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “That you’re your own person?”

  I nod.

  “Seems like a pretty easy one to me.”

  “Well, I’ve never met a guy—or anyone, really—who doesn’t care about my last name. That I’m Coach Stevens’ daughter and Liam Stevens’ sister,” I tell him. I’m slightly embarrassed by my admission, so I quickly shift topics. “What are you doing out here?”

  “My dad’s having an affair.”

  “Oh.” The syllable hangs awkwardly between us. I’m unsure of what else to say. I assumed he was going to say he needed some quiet or the party is lame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I finally add.

  “Why would you have?” Amused blue eyes meet mine.

  “Uh—people talk?” I offer awkwardly. Surely he knows about the efficiency of our towns’ gossip mills. Especially when it comes to him.

  Weston laughs once. Humorlessly. “Yeah, people do talk,” he acknowledges. “But they can’t talk about things they don’t know.”

  It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in.

  “Why did you tell me, then?” I can’t help but wonder.

  “You asked,” he replies simply, taking a sip of beer. I watch the tendons in his throat contract as he swallows.

  “I’m sure plenty of other people ask you things.”

  “If I want a beer? If I want to hook up? If I’m ready for the season? Sure.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take the final swallow of my soda and then begin playing with the metal tab on the can.

  “Do you want some?” Weston holds the beer bottle closer to me.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “You don’t drink?”

  “Nope,” I reply.

  “Bad experience?”

  “My dad’s an alcoholic.”

  I don’t know who’s more surprised by the admission: Weston or me. I’ve had the same three best friends since kindergarten, and I’ve never told any of them the reason I avoid alcohol. Blurting out the truth to one of them would be understandable. Entrusting Weston Cole with the knowledge is unconscionable.

  He looks over at me, and I’m oddly comforted by his serious expression. “People can’t talk about things they don’t know, right?” I say, half-shrugging. He nods once, acknowledging he’s not the only one spilling secrets tonight. Honesty must be contagious.

  “Are your parents getting divorced?” I finally ask.

  “Nah, everyone thinking we’re the perfect family is too important to them. And this isn’t the first time. It’s why we moved here last summer.”

  The speculation regarding why the Coles moved to Alleghany from the city has been the subject of many a conspiracy theory in Glenmont, mostly due to the timing of their arrival, but none that I’ve heard mention a past affair. I take this to mean Weston has just shared another secret with me.

  “That sucks,” I finally say, unable to think of anything else to reply with. I’m confused, and it’s muddling my thoughts. Weston Cole is nothing like I expected him to be. It’s incredibly disconcerting.

  “Yeah, it does suck.” Weston takes a swig from the bottle he’s holding.

  I look down, and find myself studying his hands. A bead of condensation rolls off the neck of the bottle and along his tanned, calloused skin before dripping silently to the dirt ground. His hands look older. Mature. Masculine. I imagine what it would feel like to touch them, and an unfamiliar heat spreads through my entire body.

  “I don’t think I could ever forgive cheating.” I blurt the words to distract myself from the unsettling direction my thoughts have taken.

  Weston studies me for a long moment. I take the opportunity to scrutinize him back, and am unnerved to realize I understand what some of the girls at school have been going on about. I judged them at the time, so I guess I’m the hypocrite now.

  “Me neither,” Weston eventually says. He takes another long drink from his bottle of beer, draining it entirely. “I’d better get going.”

  The rush of disappointment is unexpected.

  He stands, and he’s even taller than I thought. Definitely taller than me, which is more than most of the boys in Glenmont can say. “See you around, Maeve.” I’m not sure, but it seems like he uses just my first name on purpose.

  “Bye, Weston.”

  He disappears into the darkness, headed back in the direction of the carousing taking place around the cabin.

  I replay our bizarre conversation in my head, lingering on Weston’s admissions about his parents. I remember them from the game last fall. Cheering loudly opposite a sea of shocked, silent Glenmont fans. His father was wearing a suit, and his mother’s appearance was carefully put together. Like Weston said, they’re clearly the type of people who care what others think of them. Who wouldn’t want rumors of adultery swirling around. They moved from the city to escape speculation, and in our two towns? One whisper would ensure the conjecture never ended.

  Weston Cole just handed me the means to eradicate him. And I’m not the least bit tempted to do so. Not because I’m a moral, upstanding person, although I’d like to think I am. Because I don’t want to ensure I’ll never see him again.

  And that right there should have been my first clue.

  Weston fucking Cole still applies, just for a different reason.

  Summer

  Before

  Senior

  Year

  chapter two

  Maeve

  “This is too weird, Maggie. They’re not even going to let me past the front door.”

  “Of course they are. You look hot.” Maggie surveys the short green dress I’m wearing—her short green dress—with a satisfied smile. I caved after ten minutes of her complaining about the worn jean shorts I showed up at her house in. A new record for her; a new low for me.

  “That’s not what I meant. This is not like the Fayetteville ones we’ve gone to. We are literally in enemy territory!” I whisper the last sentence to her, since we’re rapidly approaching the brick path of the stately house that’s our destination. Or at least Maggie’s destination. I’m still considering fleeing.

  “Are you forgetting I live here now?” Maggie asks. Her parents’ divorce was finalized three weeks ago, and Maggie's mother opted to erect the iron wall known as the Alleghany Glenmont rivalry between herself and her ex-husband in celebration. Meaning one of my best friends is now a resident of the town I was raised to hate. Not the way I envisioned starting the summer before senior year.

  “I’m trying to,” I reply honestly.

  “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter, Maeve,” she responds, and I feel a fresh twinge of guilt. Cheering Maggie up is the only reason I agreed to go out with her tonight in the first place, since Brooke and Sarah have already left on their annual trip to Maine, and I know she’s having trouble adjusting to living in Alleghany. She just neglected to mention our destination happened to be located in her new hometown.

  “I’m a Stevens, Mags,” I plead. “If anyone here realizes that, it’s not going to make your life any easier, and I’ll probably be run out of town with pitchforks close behind.”

  Maggie rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Maeve.” It’s an ironic statement, coming from her. “You’ve never even talked to anyone from Alleghany. And everyone’s probably drunk by now, anyway. It started two hours ago.”

  “Well, that’s comforting,” I tell her. “Because drunk people never do impulsive, stupid things.” I know that better than most. “And I’ve played against their soccer team. We had to talk during that.”

  There’s one other person I’ve spoken to from Alleghany, but I’ve never told anyone about that encounter.

  Maggie snorts. “I doubt saying ‘Good game’ a few times once a year has created such a lasting impression you can’t show your face.”

  “Ugh, fine,” I acquiesce.

  “Plus, I doubt anyone from the girls soccer team will be here. Emily said the guest list is super exclusive.”

 
“Well, if Emily said so . . . ”

  “Maeve, I’m serious. Be nice.”

  “You’re the one who’s spent the last two weeks complaining about her.”

  “Because she’s been far from welcoming. But she also has the power to make my senior year a living hell. Being on the Alleghany cheer team is my only prayer of resuscitating my currently dismal life. You, Sarah, and Brooke are the only people from Glenmont even still talking to me!”

  We reach the front door. The thick wood does nothing to muffle the pounding bass reverberating inside the enormous house.

  “Okay, your guilt trip worked,” I inform her. “But if anyone recognizes me we’re leaving immediately, okay?”

  “Fine,” Maggie agrees, smiling widely. “Honestly, I didn’t even think you would get out of the car.”

  I groan.

  We walk inside the house and veer left into the living room. It’s loud and hot and exactly like every other high school party I’ve attended. But there aren’t any glares or insults being hurled my way, so I temper my expectations. No one gives me a second glance, and I’m relieved.

  One of the girls in a group huddled in the far corner of the expansive living room waves at Maggie, and she pulls me over to them. I take the opportunity to study the modern, expensively decorated room we’ve just entered as she yanks me along. The interior is just as nice as the exterior was, which is hardly a surprise. Alleghany has always been the more affluent of the two towns.

  I’m distracted from studying the framed oil paintings that adorn the stretch of wall next to the fireplace when Maggie stops walking.

  “Hey, girls,” she greets.

  The girl who waved at her smiles, but the rest merely appraise us silently.

  “Maggie. You made it,” one finally says unenthusiastically.

  “I did!” Maggie responds, keeping her tone upbeat. “And my cousin Mae is visiting, so I brought her along too. I hope that’s okay.”

  “The more the merrier,” the same girl replies, in a tone that suggests the opposite.

  I’m tempted to roll my eyes.

  “Okay, well, we’re going to grab some drinks! We’ll see you all later,” Maggie tells the group, before turning and pulling me away.

  “Warm reception,” I note.

  Maggie sighs. “I know.”

  “Was that Emily?”

  “God, no. Emily’s way worse. That was Madeline. Her second in command. Hopefully she’ll have found some football player to hook up with by the time we get back out there. Everyone else is way nicer when she’s not around, I promise.”

  We enter the kitchen, and it’s not as crowded as I thought it would be. Maggie was right about the guest list being exclusive, apparently. She strides confidently towards the assortment of alcohol spread out on the kitchen island, and I trail after her. She grabs a cup and begins splashing the contents from various bottles inside. I open the fridge, only to discover it’s filled with nothing to drink besides beer.

  Sighing, I take a plastic cup and fill it half-way with water from the tap. I was hoping for something with caffeine. I’ve been up for—I check the clock on the stove—sixteen hours, and I’m supposed to be up in another seven. I contemplate the odds of getting more than five hours of sleep as I watch Maggie chug a generous portion of the liquid in her cup. She swallows and meets my gaze.

  “Come on, Mae,” she teases, linking our arms to pull me back towards the living room. “Lighten up. It’s a party!”

  “Yeah, thank you very much for the adorable nickname,” I grumble. “I thought you said—” I stop talking when I realize Maggie’s not listening to me anymore. I follow her gaze, and promptly lose my own train of thought when I see who has just entered the kitchen.

  Weston fucking Cole.

  I knew—hoped—he would be here. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the primary reason I walked through the doorway once I realized we were in Alleghany. Glimpses of him on the field during his sophomore and junior victories over Glenmont are all I’ve seen of him since the brief, revelatory conversation we had at the very end of our freshman year.

  The past two years have been kind to him. One could say overly generous. All traces of boyhood have left his face.

  He was attractive before.

  He’s devastating now.

  His cheekbones are prominent and pronounced; his cerulean eyes sharp and assessing. Light brown hair falls in a careless disarray across his forehead, and he’s sporting a light layer of stubble. I think back to the sight of his hands clutching that beer bottle, how mature they seemed for a boy his age. The rest of him has caught up. A faded navy t-shirt does nothing to hide his powerful, lean physique and broad shoulders.

  But more than anything, it’s the condescending expression that’s different from the last time I saw him up close. He looks colder now. Aloof. Detached.

  A conquering hero. Although villain would be more accurate, since his victory means my defeat. My family’s defeat. Liam didn’t talk for two days after we lost to Alleghany for the third time in a row last fall.

  Weston’s face is lofty, but his eyes are piercing. I hold his probing gaze as I wait to see what he’ll do.

  “Cole!”

  Weston looks away, at someone behind me. Then, he simply walks past me. I’m shocked by how much his indifference bothers me. Annoyed I can’t tell whether it is feigned or genuine. I’ve spent an ignominious amount of time wondering what he would say or do if I ever ran into him again. Blatant disregard was not a scenario I hoped for.

  Maggie giggles beside me. “Holy shit, that was Weston Cole. He’s so hot.”

  I glare at her unthinkingly.

  She rolls her eyes. “I live in Alleghany now, okay? One of the few perks—actually the only one so far—is that I’m allowed to appreciate an Eagle. The Eagle.” It’s unsettling to realize the petty rivalry wasn’t why I was glaring. “Plus, you know most of the girls in Glenmont think the same. They just won’t say so in front of you anymore.”

  “What? Why?” I ask.

  “Because Liam’s your twin,” Maggie replies. “And whenever Weston Cole comes up around him he looks like he wants to punch something.”

  “Oh, right,” I respond, taking a sip of my water as we walk back into the living room. I have to resist the temptation to look behind me as we do.

  Maggie gives me a strange glance, but doesn’t say anything else as we head over to the same group of cheerleaders. The one who spoke before, Madeline, is missing, and just as Maggie predicted we receive a much friendlier greeting this time around. I mostly tune out their conversation as I continue to take sips from my cup, bored by their conversation about people I’ve never met and never will.

  I only tune back into their gossiping when Maggie responds to a query about where a girl named Abby is. “I don’t know, I stopped paying attention to anyone else in the kitchen when Weston arrived.”

  “He’s here?!” the girl who asked about Abby squeals.

  “We definitely saw him,” Maggie replies. “Right, Mae?”

  “Uh-huh,” I confirm, taking another drink of water in the hopes it will preclude me from having to contribute anything else to a conversation about Weston Cole.

  “Forget it, Jess,” the girl who waved at Maggie when we arrived says. “I’m sure Emily already has her claws in him.”

  “But they’re not exclusive,” Jess argues. “Weston doesn’t date anyone for real. You know that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You remember what she did to Amanda after she hooked up with him last year.”

  I shift awkwardly, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken, and annoyed with myself for feeling that way. Weston Cole’s sex life shouldn’t be of any interest to me aside from hoping he contracts chlamydia. I can’t force my ears to tune out their continuing commentary, though, so I set my now empty cup down on a nearby side table and whisper to Maggie that I’m going to the bathroom.

  She nods, but doesn’t even glance at me, too ab
sorbed in the ongoing speculation.

  I wander out of the living room and through the massive house, finally finding the bathroom. Along with the line of eleven girls waiting to use it.

  Since it was more an excuse than a necessity, I pass them and head outside through the first exit I come across. It’s a sliding door that opens onto a stone patio. I close the door and walk over to the perimeter of the stones, next to a wrought iron couch with a thick cushion. The weatherworn fabric is still saturated with rain from the downpour earlier, so I continue further into the backyard. Several plastic Adirondack chairs sit around an empty fire pit. They’ve all dried, but I remain standing as I stare at the black hole where the fire would be.

  A voice startles me, and I experience a flash of déjà vu.

  “Good night for some stargazing.”

  I still at the sound. It’s been two years since I heard the deep timbre, and yet I immediately know who it belongs to. Even more concerning? I’m thrilled to hear it. Elated he’s not upstairs with a girl the way the cheer team suggested.

  I glance up at the swirling remnants of vapor still dancing angrily overhead.

  “Yup. Hardly a cloud in the sky.”

  I feel rather than see him come stand next to me.

  “Never seen you at an Alleghany party before,” Weston says. His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. I’m tempted to look over to see if I can discern it in his expression, but choose to keep my gaze on the overcast sky above us instead.

  “One of my best friends moved here a few weeks ago. She forced me to show up.” I wince internally as soon as the words are out. I don’t owe him an explanation. Worse, I sound lame. Boring.

  Should I care what Weston Cole thinks of me? Absolutely not. Do I? Apparently.

  “Huh,” Weston replies, and I stand there, completely stupefied. What the hell does one respond to that with? I desperately grope for something funny or clever to say. I come up with nothing. My wit has entirely abandoned me when I need it the most.

  “So, what’s your name?” he asks after a long pause.