Kiss Now, Lie Later

by C. W. Farnsworth

  I dash back towards the passenger side door. Only one thought crosses my mind as I make the short journey through the rapidly falling drops of water.

  That I hope the possibilities between Wes and me always feel this limitless.

  chapter seventeen

  Weston

  Maeve leans over and kisses me as soon as I stop the car outside my uncle’s cabin.

  It’s not a quick, cursory, good-bye kiss. She climbs across the middle console to straddle me, and I groan as I slip my hands underneath the soft sweater she’s wearing. She shivers as my hands meet her smooth, warm skin, and begins to gyrate her body against me in a way that makes thinking clearly extremely difficult. Which is why I pull away before I can’t think at all.

  The only sound is the tapping of rain against the roof of my car and our heavy breathing.

  “Why did you stop?” Maeve whispers.

  “Did you not want me to?” I ask, smirking at her.

  Maeve huffs out a laugh. “Of course not. Especially on my birthday.”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m only after one thing.”

  Her emerald eyes soften. “I’m not sure how I could possibly come to that conclusion,” Maeve pauses. “You said we could do whatever I wanted to.”

  “I also said I was in no rush. It’s a big deal, Maeve.”

  “How many girls have you slept with?” she counters.

  I tense slightly at the question, and our bodies are still pressed together, so I’m sure she can tell.

  “Sev—uh, eight,” I admit.

  I can tell by the way she stills it’s more than she expected.

  “I’m not going to apologize for my past, Maeve. But none of them meant anything to me. It sounds shitty to say, but it’s true. I couldn’t even tell you most of their names.”

  “I don’t expect you to apologize, Wes,” Maeve replies. “But that’s—that’s a lot of girls to be compared to.”

  “There’s no comparison, Maeve. I’ve never had sex with a girl I have feelings for. I have feelings for you.” I’m tempted to tell her just how strong my feelings are, but immediately following a revelation of my sexual history doesn’t feel like the perfect moment.

  Maeve studies my face in the dim light cast by the dashboard for a long moment. “I told my parents I was spending the night at Sarah’s,” she confides.

  My heartbeat quickens. “You did?” I say, like an idiot. Because she literally just said so. But she also just said a lot more than that.

  She nods, biting her lip.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” There’s no hint of hesitation in her voice.

  “Okay, let’s go inside.” Maeve climbs out of the car as soon as the words leave my mouth. Rather than heading towards the cabin like I expect, she darts over to her car and retrieves a bag before she heads towards the porch. As soon as she does, I let out a deep breath and then grab my own gym bag from the backseat.

  I run through the rain to the porch where Maeve is already waiting. I unlock the front door, and flip on the lights that illuminate the living room and irradiate the rain streaking down the glass windowpanes.

  The cabin is just as chilly as the last time we were here, so I head over to the wood stove to get a fire going. I take my time piling the wood inside and lighting the match. I’m nervous. And I don’t get nervous. Not around other girls, not before big games.

  This moment feels weighted. Important. And I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up. The fire roars to life as soon as I drop the match, and I move the grate back into place with a loud scrape. It rattles back into the perfectly shaped opening.

  I can feel Maeve’s eyes on me as I turn around. I pick up the bag I dropped and head towards the ladder tucked in the corner. She follows.

  “Ladies first,” I tell her. Maeve raises her eyebrows at me, but slings her bag over her shoulder and starts climbing the worn wooden rungs without comment. I follow after her.

  “Romantic,” Maeve remarks as I reach the top.

  I snort as I study the loft I used to stay in when I visited Fayetteville with my parents. “My grandparents and parents stayed in the rooms downstairs. It felt weird to take you into one of those bedrooms.”

  “But bunk beds seemed like a good idea?” I look over at Maeve, and she’s grinning.

  “Shut up, Stevens,” I retort.

  She drops her bag, and strolls over to me. The thudding of my heart quickens with every step. She doesn’t stop until she’s close. Close enough it feels like we’re touching, even though we’re not. I can see every fleck of green in her eyes. Olive. Sage. Mint. Moss. Pine. Shamrock. Juniper. Each shade is there. Swirling with the heat and the amatory emotion in her gaze.

  She kisses me first, breaking the anticipation that’s been steadily building between us. We stumble our way over to the bottom bunk. It’s twice the size of the upper twin bed, but it’s still a tight fit. I’m not exactly short, and neither is Maeve. We tumble onto the faded quilt, side by side. We kiss for a while before Maeve grows impatient. Once again, she makes the first move, sliding her hands underneath the hem of my crewneck sweatshirt and pulling the material up and over my head, taking my t-shirt with it.

  Maeve’s eyes turn molten as she drags her hands across the exposed planes of my chest. She tugs at my jeans next, and I oblige her, pulling the denim off. Maeve does the same with hers, I yank the sweater over her head, and then we’re both down to our underwear.

  I pause, letting my eyes trail along her body until they stop to rest on the viridian eyes that have come to rule my world. She’s stunning, but it’s the trust teeming in her gaze that dazzles me. Maeve Stevens trusts me. And it feels more potent in this moment than any other we’ve shared. Trust is a two-way street, and for us it’s one littered with potholes and landmines. One that should have been a dead-end based on nothing but our addresses.

  For some reason I placed blind faith in those green eyes sitting in the woods two and a half years ago, and I’m thankful for whatever compelled me to do so. I don’t think we would be here if I hadn’t.

  I’m still experiencing the foreign feeling of nerves. Every other time I’ve done this it’s been a series of fumbled touches in the dark. Not the purposeful way we discarded most of our clothing. The lights I turned on when we arrived are far from a spotlight, but they cast enough of a glow I can see everything. Every speck of green in her eyes, every freckle, every line of muscle. I’m also entirely sober, which is another departure from what I’ve come to expect from sex.

  I roll away from Maeve, and grab the gym bag I brought inside, digging through the assortment of clothes, granola bars, and empty water bottles until I find my wallet. I grab the condom out of it, pull down my boxer briefs, and roll it on. I turn to find Maeve has taken the opportunity to shed her underwear as well. I walk back over to her and hover over her figure, gradually closing the distance between our bodies until we’re skin to skin.

  I stare at her, trying to memorize this moment. The feel of her warm body against mine. The ardor swirling in her eyes.

  “You have done this before, right?” Maeve teases as I continue to hesitate. I catch a glimmer of self-consciousness in her words.

  “Stevens, I’m trying to set a mood here, okay?” I respond.

  “Well, my current mood is impatient. Do you need me to do something? I thought this part was all you.” She grins, and I laugh.

  “I can handle it,” I assure her as I begin to ease inside. The amusement disappears from her face, and her startled green eyes meet mine. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

  She nods rapidly a couple of times. “Yeah, it feels good. Weird, but good.”

  “Good,” I repeat, trying to focus on anything besides how perfect she feels.

  I try to retain everything about this moment, because I can feel it’s one of those. A snippet of time I’ll look back on and want to relive. Over and over and over again. I’m not thinking about anything. My mind goes blank. I just feel,
and observe. Details imprint on my brain. The way Maeve’s hair looks like spun gold in the soft light. The sound of the rain lashing angrily against the metal roof above us. The pleasure unfurling across her freckled face.

  Afterwards, Maeve lays snuggled against me, tucked under my throwing arm like a football. Reality begins to filter back in, and with it comes the chilly air. Not much of the heat from the wood stove has diffused upstairs yet. I feel Maeve shiver, so I sit up, and lean over to grab the blue gym bag that I left on the floor. I haul it on the bed with us and start pulling clothes out.

  “I think I have a sweatshirt in here.”

  “I’ll just wear this.”

  I look over to see Maeve is pulling the silky material that comprises my football jersey over her head. A sight I never thought I would see. Maeve Stevens wearing a blue Alleghany Football jersey. She looks like a goddamn fantasy—my goddamn fantasy—as she gives me a coy smile in response to the lustful expression I’m sure is prominently displayed on my face.

  “Fuck,” I breathe.

  “You like?” Maeve asks, grinning deviously as she stands on the side of the bed not constrained by the smaller one above to give me the full effect. The blue fabric falls to her mid-thigh, and she twists so I can see my name and number displayed on her back.

  I grab Maeve’s bare legs, forcing her to tumble down on top of me.

  “I love,” I correct. I pause, teetering on the edge of a declaration that will upend our relationship for the second time tonight. I tip. “I love you, Maeve.”

  She just stares at me for a protracted moment. Her face is blank with shock, giving me absolutely no indication of how she feels about my statement. I doubt it’s been more than a few seconds, but it seems like hours. I’m starting to panic when she finally speaks. “You know, you were supposed to tell me you love me before we had sex. Or during. So I could second guess everything and wonder if you only said it to get laid or in the throes of passion.”

  I laugh. Only Maeve would use the phrase ‘throes of passion.’ “Well, it’s the first time I’ve said it,” I admit to her. “So figures I would do it wrong. I’m only good at one thing, remember?”

  I watch as some of the moisture that’s collected in Maeve’s green eyes spills over.

  “I love you, Weston Cole.”

  chapter eighteen

  Maeve

  A week after my birthday, I enter my room and drop my backpack and soccer bag on the ground. I turn, and Sarah’s sitting in my bed.

  I jump.

  “Shit, Sarah, you scared me. What are you doing in here?”

  “I stopped by to see you. Your mom let me in before she left for a showing. She seemed surprised to see me . . . since apparently you spent several hours at my house last night?”

  Crap.

  “I must have said your house instead of Brooke’s by mistake,” I lie, pulling off my jacket and draping it on my chair.

  “I was at Brooke’s last night working on our English project.” Sarah says flatly. “And you weren’t at her house either. What the hell is going on with you lately, Maeve? You’re hardly ever around anymore, and you’re acting strange when you are.”

  I sigh. “Nothing’s going on. I’m good, I promise. Just busy.”

  “Then where were you last night? Hell, where have you been the past few months? And don’t say school, or soccer, or student council. Because you’ve always managed to juggle all that before and still hang out with us.”

  I drop the gaze of one of my best friends, trying to come up with an excuse. Any excuse. I can’t summon one. “There’s a guy,” I confess.

  Sarah’s expression immediately shifts from concerned to delighted.

  “Oh my god! Seriously?!”

  I nod.

  “Who? Is it Matt?”

  “What? No! Why would you say that?”

  “Maeve, he’s had a thing for you forever. Didn’t you hear what Sam said at lunch last week?”

  “Yeah, I did,” I admit.

  “So? Who is it, then?!”

  I take a seat on my bed next to her. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  As expected, Sarah looks even more intrigued. “Maeve! Tell me!”

  “You have to swear you won’t say anything to anyone else. Not even Maggie and Brooke.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Sarah!”

  “Okay, okay, I promise. Tell me!”

  I pick at a stray thread on my navy comforter. “Weston Cole.”

  “Maeve, I promised, okay! Be serious. Who is it?”

  I look her straight in the eye. “I already told you.”

  Both Brooke and Maggie cheer, so Sarah is my only close friend who doesn’t play sports. Who’s never faced Alleghany and the barrage of bad blood head on. She also tends to be amenable. Pragmatic. There’s no trace of either trait right now.

  Sarah looks absolutely floored. “Weston fucking Cole? WESTON FUCKING COLE, Maeve?! Please tell me you’re joking. WESTON COLE?!”

  “Stop yelling his name,” I hiss. “My dad is home. Probably Liam, too.”

  “I seriously can’t believe this is happening. Is this even happening?”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

  “You’re just saying his name to make whoever you’re really secretly seeing seem totally fine, right?”

  “Why would I lie to you about this?”

  “Maeve, I was certain you hate Weston Cole as much as every other person in this town. More than most people. After the last three years . . . everything that he represents. Not to mention your dad. Liam! And I could maybe, maybe see Brooke or Maggie telling me something like this. Especially Brooke! She always talks about him, and she never thinks things through. But you think things through. You’re loyal. And you’re telling me you’ve been—what? Seeing Weston Cole? That you like Weston fucking Cole?”

  I gnaw on my bottom lip. “I more than like him,” I admit.

  Sarah gasps. “Oh my god! Have you kissed him?”

  One of my favorite things about Sarah is how unassuming she is. I know Maggie or Brooke would be much more blunt. I embrace the boldness Wes seems to pull out of me, and tease my reserved friend a bit. “Yes. And a lot more.”

  Maggie looks at me, wide-eyed. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening,” she chants, leaning back against the wall my bed is pushed against.

  “Calm down, Sarah. You’re the one who begged me to tell you.”

  “Maeve, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and I seriously can’t think of anything you could tell me that would surprise me more than you telling me you’ve hooked up with Alleghany’s quarterback. Is this some sort of prank you, Brooke, and Maggie came up with? Are you filming this?”

  I climb off the bed and grab my jacket, pulling my phone out of the pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah asks.

  “Proving it to you.”

  I tap good at one thing and my phone begins ringing. The video connects after only a couple of seconds.

  “Hey, Stevens.” Wes sends me a dimpled smile. His hair is damp and he’s shirtless. My mouth goes dry at the sight.

  “Can you put a shirt on, Wes?”

  “You’re asking me to put clothes on? This is a change.” My cheeks burn.

  “Sarah came over and my mom mentioned how I was at her house last night . . . ” I let my voice trail off. Wes is well aware I didn’t spend any time last night with Sarah.

  “So you told her,” Wes supplements.

  “She didn’t believe me,” I roll my eyes.

  “Is she still there?”

  “Yes, this is my way of proving it to her,” I inform him.

  “How will she know you didn’t hire a body double to pre-record this fake call?”

  Sarah’s mouth is literally agape as she listens to our conversation.

  “You’re not helping, Wes.”

  Wes sets his phone down and I watch him pull on a white undershirt and ruffle a towel through hi
s short hair.

  “I’m decent,” he winks at me.

  Sarah’s still sitting on my bed, so I walk over and hold out the screen so she can see Wes.

  “Hi, Sarah,” he greets.

  “Um, hi—hi,” she stutters. “Weston,” she adds, sounding a little out of breath.

  I laugh, and she shoots me a glare.

  I turn the phone back to myself. “Thanks for showing your face,” I tell Wes.

  “No problem,” his grin grows devilish. “It’s actually nice to be asked to show something on here other than my—”

  I know Wes well enough to know where he’s going with this. Or at least threatening to go.

  “Bye, Wes!” I call, and hang up on him up mid-sentence.

  I look over at Sarah. She still looks shell-shocked.

  “Believe me now?” I ask.

  My phone buzzes, so I glance down at it. I unlock my phone again to see I have two new texts from Wes. By the way, I love you, the first one reads. Wasn’t sure if I should say it with an audience, the second one adds.

  I love you, too, I reply. I’ll see you after my shift.

  “Yeah, I do,” Sarah replies. The shock hasn’t faded from her face.

  We sit in silence on my bed.

  “You guys seem . . . serious.” Sarah finally says.

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “And he’s Weston Cole.”

  I sigh. “I’m well aware. He’s a lot more than a guy who happens to live in Alleghany, though. At least to me.”

  “He doesn’t just live there, Maeve. He’s their quarterback. The Eagle. Any guy from Alleghany would be bad, but him?”

  “I know all that too,” I assure her.

  “And no one knows?”

  “Except for you, now.”

  “I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t,” Sarah says. “But Maeve, this isn’t going to end well.”