Kiss Me Slow (Top Shelf Romance Book 1)

by Tijan

  “I must’ve gotten lost,” I murmured.

  Ryan and I hadn’t talked—not at the picnic earlier when our parents greeted each other, and not when Robbie and I were ushered into their home that night. Everything was hush-hush when we got there. Mrs. Jensen had whispered something to Peach, and she gasped, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.

  I looked away at that point. My chin had started to tremble, and I didn’t want to start. If I started, I didn’t know if I could stop.

  So there in the darkness was the first time Ryan and I talked, and it wasn’t really a conversation. He looked to the door like he should tell someone, but I said, “Please don’t. I couldn’t sleep until I came in here. I don’t know why, but I can now. I just want to sleep.”

  His eyebrows pinched together. His dimple disappeared, and slowly he lay back down. He didn’t say anything. A minute passed, and I realized he wasn’t going to. He was going to let me sleep, and thankfully, that was exactly what happened.

  I slept.

  “I don’t know, Mom. I woke up and she was there.”

  I could hear Ryan on the other side of the door.

  “Well, I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t either,” he grumbled.

  “I thought it was weird when she didn’t come back last night.”

  A sigh.

  I recognized Peach’s voice, but I couldn’t place where it came from. Then it didn’t matter. I was asleep again.

  The bed shifted under me, and I heard a whispered, “Mackenzie.” A hand touched my arm and shook. “Hey. Are you awake?”

  It was Robbie. I rolled over and opened one eye. “What?”

  He’d been crying. The tears were dried on his face, and I could see two fresh ones clinging to his eyelashes.

  He wiped at one, embarrassed. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

  “If I’m lucky.”

  He frowned and then glanced to the door. “I don’t want to be out there alone. I don’t know these people.”

  I scooted back until I felt the wall, flipped back the bedcover, and patted the place next to me. “Scootch in.”

  He looked to the door again, indecision on his face, and then let out a small breath. His tiny shoulders slumped as if he’d lost what little fight he had. He sank into the bed, clasping the covers tight over his shoulder, and looked at me, lying on his side. I moved closer, mirroring him so our foreheads almost touched.

  We didn’t talk, but a fresh tear welled, pooling on the bridge of his nose. I reached over and smoothed it away.

  “Mom and Dad are going to be gone all day today. I checked their phone calendar.”

  How Robbie could do that, I had no idea, but I wasn’t surprised.

  “Why aren’t you crying?” he whispered.

  “I can’t.”

  He nodded as if this made perfect sense. “I wish I were like you sometimes. You’re the strong one, Kenz.”

  Strong? Was that my role in the family?

  I tried to muster a smile, but I knew I failed. I probably looked like the Joker instead. “Can you sleep?”

  “I’ll try. Can we stay here all day?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  That seemed okay with him. He closed his eyes and a settled look came over him, one that resembled peace. But I knew it was a lie. There was no peace. Not anymore.

  “Hey, Kenz,” he whispered a minute later.

  “Yeah?”

  “Happy birthday.”

  It was dark when I woke again, and Robbie was gone. The door was open, and I could hear the sound of silverware scraping against plates. The smell of food must’ve woken me, and for a moment, I was cross.

  They could’ve closed the door. But then the fog left my brain, and I realized it was probably Robbie who’d left it open. He had a habit of doing that, and it always annoyed Willow.

  Willow . . .

  The small grin that had tugged at the corner of my mouth fell away.

  God.

  I drew in a rasping breath, and this time, I knew I couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

  It had been a weird smell. A rich, rusty smell, like wet metal. It made my stomach cramp, and I’d been biting my lip even before I opened the bathroom door. Willow’s arm had gotten scraped earlier when we were moving boxes around the house. If she’d opened her bandage and dumped it onto the counter, I was going to be pissed. She was always yelling at me for leaving my toothbrush and paste on the counter. Everything had a place in her world, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why I didn’t remember that.

  My answer was always the same: because I wasn’t an anal, obsessive control freak. That usually angered her, but this time, I was going to be the one to explode. Willow wouldn’t know what was coming her way. I was going to wave my arms in the air, stomp my feet, and yell like I just didn’t care.

  She knew how much I hated blood.

  But then I was there, pushing the door open.

  I don’t remember when I realized what I was seeing. I suppose I felt something, because they told me later that I went into shock. My body shut down, and I left it. They said this could happen when a person experienced a traumatic event, but all I knew was that I watched from the doorway as my body fell to its knees.

  My hand covered my mouth, and my shoulders jerked like I was throwing up. I learned later I’d been screaming.

  Then I was shaking her, sliding on the blood on the floor, because it was everywhere. Thinking about it, I could feel it on my hands again. Warm. Liquids were supposed to be refreshing and cool. This was heavy. It felt no different from my own body temperature. I didn’t like that. It should’ve felt different. Because it was Willow’s, it should’ve felt perfect.

  I stood in the doorway as I watched myself. And I kept screaming, until suddenly, I stopped. I choked on a sob, and like that, I was back in my body.

  My face: dark eyes, golden blonde hair, heart-shaped chin.

  My body: slender arms, long legs, and petite frame.

  My heart: beautiful, broken, bleeding.

  All of it on the bathroom floor in a bloodied pile.

  Feeling a weird serenity, I gasped on a breath and moved next to Willow. I sat on the tile the blood hadn’t touched yet. But it would. It was seeping out of her.

  I knew she was already gone. Her eyes were vacant, but I wanted one more moment. My sister and me.

  I lay down, just like her.

  On my stomach.

  My face turned toward hers.

  My hand on the floor, palm up, mirroring her.

  I watched over my sister one last time before we were discovered.

  There was a flash of light. Someone was coming in through my bedroom—Mom. I didn’t look up at her. I couldn’t hear much. A dense cloud came over me, dulling my senses, but I heard her screaming, as if she were far away.

  She was shaking Willow.

  Time sped ahead. Time slowed to a crawl. Time was all over the place, in patches.

  When I noticed the sirens, the flash of red and white outside my bedroom window, I reached over and held Willow’s hand.

  My face. My body. My heart—it all went with her, because she was me.

  My twin sister killed herself on June twenty-ninth.

  We would’ve been eighteen the next day.

  Chapter Two

  “Uh. Hey.”

  It was nearing eleven the next night. Robbie and I had been there almost twenty-four hours. I hadn’t left Ryan’s room except to visit the bathroom, and I was currently sitting on his bed, book in hand. He edged into the room, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward.

  I should’ve felt all sorts of weirdness, but I was at the point where I’d sit on the roof and not give a flying fuck what anyone had to say. Keeping my finger between the pages, I closed the book and waited.

  “Um . . .” He paused, staring right at me.

  He had no idea what to say. I could see the floundering on his face, but he sho
ok it clear and a small smile showed. His dimple winked at me. He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it as rumpled as it was yesterday. I knew why those two girls had squealed. He was all sorts of dreaminess.

  I waited for the spark to flicker in me. I should blush? Giggle? Sigh?

  No. Nothing.

  I felt nothing, and then I remembered how it felt to lay in his bed, and I knew that wasn’t true. I felt some peace around him for some reason.

  He scooted farther inside, glancing back at the door before leaning against his closet. “The whole my-bed thing . . .” He motioned to where I was sitting. “Did you want the bed again tonight?”

  I looked down. I didn’t want to see his eyes when I asked this question. “Are my parents coming back?”

  There was silence, and it stretched past the point of not having an answer. He had one. He just didn’t want to say it.

  I shook my head, letting the book fall to the bed. Wrapping my arms around myself, I turned away. “Never mind.”

  He cleared his throat. “For the record, I’m not supposed to know about your folks.”

  I looked back. “But you do?”

  The hesitancy and fear I’d seen on his face melted away to reveal the sorrow, and he nodded. “Yeah. I eavesdropped on the call. They’re at a hotel. I guess your grandparents are coming tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, but I do have to know about the bed. I was trying to tell my mom maybe it was me—like, you could sleep when you were around me because of my teenage pheromones or something.”

  I cracked a grin. “That’s a new theory.”

  “Hey, not all of us are child Einsteins like your brother.”

  “Touché, and neither am I. I’m the only normal one in my family.”

  But I wasn’t normal anymore.

  “Yeah.”

  Maybe he thought the same thing because another silence descended over us. It felt like a sullen quiet too, as if maybe we’d both realized the true travesty of this situation. My remark-able quality had gone from being the slacker to the surviving twin.

  “Well, fuck.” I breathed.

  He’d been picking at his jeans but looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing. Yes, I’d like to sleep in your bed, if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s fine with me.” He grinned. “It was kinda nice, waking up to find a hot chick in bed with me. My friends will get a kick out of that—”

  “You aren’t going to tell them!”

  His eyes widened. “No. I know, I wouldn’t, I mean—I’m not that kind of guy, but my sister has a crush on one of my friends. She already told him. I overheard that phone call too.”

  “What are you? A male Veronica Mars?”

  He scoffed, but that dimple was flirting with me.

  “I get bored easily,” he said. “I shoot hoops to keep busy. You know, like restless leg syndrome? I have that, but it’s my entire body and brain. It doesn’t turn off sometimes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, Mom said I couldn’t play today. She was worried some of my friends would show up, and she didn’t want anything to get out.” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get blamed for it, but it’s always Peach who tells. She never gets in trouble.”

  Robbie was beloved. Willow was perfect. And I guess I was the one who got in trouble, like him.

  “It’s the same for me,” I offered faintly.

  I got blamed for the laxatives. I was the one they thought had an eating disorder. They ignored the bowl of Cheetos in front of me during the “intervention” talk.

  “Mackenzie, your father and I want you to know that we love you a great deal. Looks do not define our self-worth . . .”

  There’d been other times, like when Willow wanted me to ask for a treadmill. They didn’t see her on it during the day, only me. She ran in the park during the day and then used the treadmill at night. I did the normal thirty minutes Coach Ellerson required from us during the off-season for soccer. I should’ve done more, but Cheetos and being lazy were a lot more fun.

  “So . . .” Ryan pulled me from my thoughts.

  I almost sagged with relief. No more memories.

  He tugged at one of his sleeves. “Do you, uh, want me to stay with you? Or, I mean, do you want to sleep alone?” He rushed out, “I can do either, that’s cool. You just let me know.”

  “What?” Someone knocked on the door. One quick, hard tap.

  He groaned. “My mom said it’s fine, but she’s going to put the nanny cam on us. So, you know, no messing around.” His head shot up. “Not that that’s what I have in mind. I mean, you’re hot, but you’re grieving. You lost your sister, so . . . you know . . .” He flinched, cursing under his breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that last part. I—sorry. I’m shutting up before I say any more shit.”

  “What?” I asked, hoping the upward curl of my lips resembled a grin, or better yet, something cool and maybe even seductive. “You mean you’ve never been asked to pretend you’re a grief counselor?”

  He barked out a laugh. Then his eyes darkened. “I lost a friend almost two years ago, so I kinda know what you’re going through. Kinda. Not really. I mean, he wasn’t my brother or my twin or anything, so it isn’t the same. But . . .” He stopped himself, closing his eyes for a moment.

  Loss was loss, as far as I was concerned. Yeah, there could be different degrees of it, but it was the same emotion. The only thing that differentiated was whether it came suddenly or slowly. But I kept that to myself because honestly, who the hell wanted to talk about that?

  I pointed to his television and video console. “You have Warcraft?”

  “Yeah.” He brightened up. “You play?”

  “Got a sudden urge to learn.”

  “All right.” He grabbed a controller from his desk, found the other next to the bed, then climbed up next to me. Leaning back against the wall, his leg next to mine, he taught me how to play. His arm and hand brushed against mine randomly, and every time they did, I felt a small but warm tingle.

  We played Warcraft most of the night. Robbie played with us too, until I convinced him to go to bed. Ryan and I only turned out the light when his mom stuck her head around the door.

  “It’s after two,” she told us. “Time to sleep.” She gave me a soft smile. “I hope you can sleep okay, Mackenzie.”

  Me too.

  She gave Ryan a pointed look, jerking her eyes to a stuffed rhino on his desk. A red light blinked in its nose.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, Mom.”

  “Good night, both of you.”

  The next morning, I ventured to the kitchen for the first time and found it filled with an uncomfortable tension. They could have been sitting in silence before I showed up, but I doubted it. I didn’t need Robbie to decipher who’d been the subject of conversation two seconds before my arrival. It was one of those scenes where you walk in and know they were talking about you.

  Mrs. Jensen was at the counter, making coffee. Peach sat at the table, and a middle-aged lady—I assumed their maid or something—placed Cheerios in front of her. I had to stop and take that in. A maid. And she was wearing a blue dress with a white apron over the top of it.

  These people didn’t just have house staff; they had house staff in uniform. That was, like, a whole other level. Wealthy rich. That was what Willow would’ve said, and she was right. She was always right.

  “Mackenzie.” Mrs. Jensen sounded breathless. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she smoothed a hand down her hair. “How are you? You slept well?”

  I had, and I glanced over at Ryan, who was coming in from outside. A warm breeze came with him. Seeing me, he paused with his hand still on the door’s handle. His mouth formed an O, and he gripped a basketball in his other hand.

  “Hey!”

  Peach made a sound. I registered it in the back of my mind, but I ignore
d it. I could hear the disapproval in her voice, and I already knew who Peach’s friends would be at school. She’d run with the snooty girls—mean, catty, and looking down their noses at peeps beneath them. Those types of girls. And in other words, most definitely not my type.

  “Hey.” I gave a brief wave, glancing to the side.

  Robbie sat next to Peach, and he lifted his hand to wave before it dropped back to his lap. I noticed the toast in front of him, how it was untouched. My gaze skirted away. I didn’t want to see the sadness or bags under my little brother’s eyes. I didn’t want to remember why.

  “Uh, how about a seat, Mackenzie?” Mrs. Jensen extended an arm to a chair across from Peach.

  I took the chair next to that, across from my brother instead.

  She cleared her throat, holding a cup of coffee tightly right in front of her chest as if it were protecting her. “Toast, Mackenzie? Rose could get you some.”

  In the next moment, I had a piece of buttered toast in front of me, but I couldn’t touch it. Peach circled her spoon in her bowl of Cheerios. She was glaring at me with a hint of confusion.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  She dropped her gaze but still circled her spoon around her bowl.

  Ryan dropped into the chair at the end of the table between my brother and me so he was facing the kitchen.

  Both Mrs. Jensen and Rose fussed over him. What kind of cereal did he want? Oh, he didn’t want cereal. Toast? Bacon? Wait, Rose could whip up some pancakes. Not pancakes? French toast, then? After the fifth question, Ryan got up and poured his own bowl of cereal, rolling his eyes as he started back to his chair.

  “Mil—” His mom started to suggest, but he’d already grabbed it and poured a hefty glug into his bowl.

  “Knock it off, Mom,” he grumbled, hunching over his bowl. “Fuss over Peach. She actually likes it.”

  “I do not.”

  He shot her a look, his spoon poised in front of him. “You do too. The whole spoiled thing works for you. You love it.”