Текст книги "Kiss Me"
Автор книги: Jillian Dodd
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
I smile sweetly and cross my arms in front of my chest. “I’m Keatyn Monroe. But you already know that.”
I’ve played this game before. Vanessa was like the Alpha of all Queen Bees, an expert at the game. And, really, so am I. I’ve just decided to play for the other team this time. I’m already sick of Whitney, and I’ve only been here two days. No way a girl like this is going to intimidate me. I knew all Vanessa’s dark and dirty secrets. And she was one messed up girl. The way Whitney was snorting cocaine, drinking and making out with Jake and Bryce—well, my guess is Whitney’s messed up too.
“In case you’re too stupid to figure it out, I’m the Alpha here. You can’t compete with me.” She glances down at my dress. “Especially wearing last season’s dress.”
“So?”
She cocks her head at me. “So. I can afford this season’s. This is straight off the runway.”
“Lucky you.” I smile sweetly again even though I’m thinking, What a raving bitch.
“Just because you hit the lottery or whatever, don’t think you can just walk in here and be popular. That’s my job.”
The lottery? What is she even talking about?
“Money is green, no matter how you earn it,” I say.
“You’re no match for me, so don’t even try.”
I laugh and shake my head at her. “You don’t have to worry. I have no desire to be like you.”
“Oh, you will. You’re just the new girl. Fresh meat. That’s the only reason any of the guys are paying attention to you.”
I nod my head, agreeing with her and pretend to suppress a smile. “Yeah, I am. And I’m okay with that. Oh, and by the way, this dress isn’t supposed to impress you.”
“Who is it supposed to impress then?”
“The kind of people that don’t care what season it is.”
She says condescendingly, “I don’t know where you came from, but everyone here cares what season it is.”
I see that Jake is just getting ready to walk by us. Here’s my chance to prove my point and piss her off in the process.
“I don’t think they do. Exhibit A.” I turn and tap Jake’s shoulder as he walks by. “Hey, Jake. Take a look at my dress.”
He seems to love the fact that I just gave him permission to ogle me. He looks me up and down, twice, grinning the entire time.
“So, Jake, do you know who designed this dress?”
He shakes his head and grins. “All I know, Monroe, is you look fucking hot in it.”
“Aww, thanks, Jake.”
As he walks away, I raise my eyebrows at Whitney in victory.
She whispers, “I’ll destroy you,” and stomps away.
I think back to how I told Vanessa to destroy Mandy. And pray it’s just an idle threat.
I check my phone and see that it’s almost ten. So much for my dances with Aiden. Guess he’s not gonna show up. I’ll find Dallas, get out of this dress, throw on some sweats, and head to the cave.
I’m looking around for Dallas when someone comes up from behind me and puts their hands over my eyes. I know I should be worried for my safety in this situation, but I can instantly tell by the dreamy smell that it is the God of all Hotties himself.
I turn to face him. And, once again, he takes my breath away. He’s wearing a black Prada suit that drapes perfectly over his lanky frame. Underneath is a soft black cotton tee and on his feet, gorgeous black and silver cowboy boots. Boots!
“You finished with your dances yet?” he asks.
“Well, all except the ones with you.”
“Awesome. Come with me.” He takes my hand and leads me out the door.
As in outside.
“I thought you wanted to dance with me?”
“Oh, I do.”
“Then where are we going?”
“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he says sweetly.
I see that he’s leading me to his dorm. So, last night, I was irritated that he didn’t do anything more than kiss me. Tonight, I’m irritated because I’m pretty sure he wants to do way more than kiss.
Why else would he take me to his dorm room?
And that kinda pisses me off.
I can’t figure this guy out.
At all.
Maybe that’s his ruse. He acts like a nice guy. Like he’s not a player. Then a girl thinks, Well, yeah, I know he’s a player, but he was so sweet to me, I must be different than all those other girls, and then she falls in love with him and then he plays her.
He’s sneaky.
I try to make conversation. Safe conversation.
“You always score so many points?”
“No. Never. Those were for you. I’m trying to impress you. Remember, I asked you to be my date and you turned me down, so I had to come up with a new way to monopolize you.”
“And you’re gonna monopolize me in your dorm room?”
“Kinda.” He flashes me another blinding, powerful grin, and I just do as he says. He may also have the power of mind control. I’m not sure yet.
Outside his dorm room, he says, “Close your eyes.”
Okay, is it just me, or is this getting a little freaky? And what the hell does he have in there?
The line, Does this rag smell like chloroform to you? flits across my brain. I have a brief, panicked stalker moment and realize I do not have my purse with the pepper spray in it. I take a deep breath, decide to trust him, and tentatively close my eyes.
I hear the door open and feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me into the room. The door makes a gentle closing sound.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
I do.
And what I see is not what I expected.
At all.
OMG!
The lights are off and on the ceiling he has strung a bunch of little white twinkle lights. He has a bottle of champagne chilling in a plastic bucket of ice and there are rose petals all over the floor.
It’s gorgeous!
I want to fall madly in love with him. Fall into bed with him. Let him give me about a million more of his soft, amazing kisses.
But then I remember Vanessa’s words and my pledge: To think with my head and not my heart.
I look again. See it all differently.
And I know what it is.
A. Big. Elaborate. Seduction. Scene.
I can’t imagine a boy going to this much trouble for anything else. No wonder he got so many girls last year. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for this shit?
Well, except for me. Because I know what he’s trying to do.
All of a sudden, I feel disappointed.
Really disappointed.
“I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to dance with me? Or did you have a different kind of dancing in mind? If you want to have sex with me, at least be honest with me and tell me that’s all you want.”
He looks around, panic on his face. “That’s not all I want. Shit. It does kinda look like that. Crap. I’m sorry. Let me start over.”
He holds out his arms. “All this is not supposed to be seduction. This is supposed to be me creating a dance. I wanted to dance all twenty-nine dances with you alone. I even have a twenty-nine song playlist on my phone if you’re ready.” He grins. “They’re kinda all slow songs. I want to dance slow with you.”
And then I feel amazing again.
Like all is right in the world.
He turns on the music, pulls me into his arms, and sways with me. By song four, we’re barely moving, and my body is molded tightly up against his.
It’s amazing to me how perfectly we seem to fit together. Like I belong to him. Like I’m a part of him.
We stare at each other, not saying a word. One of his hands runs lazily up my arm, then across my shoulder, then across my jawline, under my chin. And then, finally, across the back of my neck, pulling me toward his lips.
We kiss. Soft, slow, gentle. I seriously have never felt anything so intense. How can soft, butterflies-flitting-through-the-air kisses have so much power over me?
I was right. For sure, his powers are in his mouth. And he is so using them against me.
I’m but a mere mortal. I can’t resist.
“Want some champagne?” he murmurs.
I don’t want to stop dancing, really don’t want him to let go of me.
“I really don’t want to move from this spot,” I say dreamily.
Told you. I can’t lie to him.
He gives me another soft kiss. “You don’t have to move.”
He does though, pops the bottle, pours it into plastic drinking glasses, and hands me one.
He holds his glass up in the classic I’m-about-to-make-a-toast position, so I don’t take a drink yet.
“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’ Cheers.”
He clinks my glass and takes a drink.
But I don’t. I’m frozen.
Like oh-shit-what-just-happened-here frozen.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like champagne?”
“You, uh, you just quoted Keats,” I stammer, shell-shocked.
“You know that? It’s a great quote, right? I read it today and it reminded me of you. Of our kisses. How they make me feel.”
I put my hand up to my face, to the bridge of my nose, run it across my eyebrow. My hand shakes.
I look down at my champagne. And drain the fricking glass. “Can I have some more, please?”
“Uh, sure.” He pours me some more.
I drain that glass too. I’ve never done champagne shooters before but, hey, there’s a first time for everything, right?
“More?”
“Okay,” he says, taking away my glass. “What’s going on? Why are you downing champagne like it’s a Jaeger bomb?”
He pulls me back into his warm arms as my mind is replaying all my nights with Brooklyn. How he told me that fate would decide who I am supposed to be with. How fate would let me know.
So what the fuck is fate trying to tell me?
I know this is some kind of sign. But what sign?!
Is it a he-quoted-you-Keats-and-you’re-destined-to-be-together sign?
Or is it a you-should-be-with-the-boy-who-has-always-quoted-you-Keats sign?
Before I can think any more thoughts, Aiden starts kissing me.
Really freaking kissing me.
Still no tongue, but I don’t care. These are the kind of kisses I have been dreaming about.
Oh my. Whatever the people who make the gods did, they did this one up right. But then, of course, he’s using his mouth on me.
What else would I expect?
Other than a few more, earth-stood-still, brain-shattering, meteor-showering moments.
His hands are in my hair now.
I can’t think.
Then he stops kissing me and slides off his suit jacket.
His arms are so hotly jacked. I run my hands across his muscles and think, no, I never felt this way with Brooklyn. Or Cush, for that matter.
“Tell me the quote again,” I beg.
“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’”
“It’s beautiful,” I say breathlessly.
“You’re beautiful. I haven’t told you that yet tonight, have I? How I didn’t even recognize you at first. I just saw this amazing body in a sinful dress and thought, Wow, who is that? Then I looked closer and realized it was you. Your hair is,” he laughs, “well, it’s looking a little messed up right now, but it looks even sexier. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
“Not really. So, last night. I thought, I mean, I really thought you didn’t like me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because we were completely alone in a room and all you did was kiss me. We didn’t even make out!”
“Is that why you cried?”
“No. I cried cuz Dawson kissed me, and it was gross. And my lips felt amazing from kissing you, and then they felt gross and it made me sad.”
“I fixed that, though. I kissed you again.”
“Yeah, you did. My lips are feeling a little gross right now.”
Oh, that sounded pathetic.
“Oh really?” he mutters, and kisses me more.
But no matter how much he kisses me, no matter how long he kisses me, it’s like he gave me a love potion, and I can’t get enough.
I will never be able to kiss him enough.
Song 18.
“I’m tired of dancing.” he says, and pulls me down on the futon with him. I look over and see the keg of beer is still in his room.
“You always keep a keg in your room?”
“We have to move it all around, so we don’t get caught. But, yeah, usually. Our dorm advisor thinks I’m a good boy, so he never checks my room. Do you want a beer?”
“Actually, yeah. That sounds good.”
He gets up and pours us each a beer.
“So why did your face go completely white when I said that quote?”
I try to think of a good story, but I can’t come up with anything, so I tell him the truth.
“The guy I dated, hung out with—my best friend calls me Keats. He also loves old literature and quoted me Keats a lot. We had some pretty intense times.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I love him. We’ve been best friends for a couple years, but I don’t know if it’s, like, true love. Like, if you even believe in that. Like, soul mates and stuff.”
“I believe in that stuff. I told you that. I also told you that’s why I didn’t stay with the girls I dated for very long. I kept thinking it could be something, but then I just couldn’t make it be something, so we broke up. I’ve never done anything like this for a girl before. I’ve never quoted her poetry. You’re different, Boots.”
There we go, the You Are Different line. Player. Player. Player.
I giggle. “In other words, I’m weird?”
“Pretty much,” he laughs, and then pulls me back in for more kissing.
I’m in heaven. Dreamland. Fantasyland. The Underworld. Mt. . . . uh, what is the mount where the Greek gods hung out? I can't remember, but I think I’m there too.
We kiss for days.
At least, it feels like it.
But even though we’ve moved on to almost making out from just plain amazing kisses, he’s still being very, very good. His hands are in my hair, down my back a little, but that’s it.
While his mouth is skillful, his hands and tongue are behaving prudishly.
And all the guys told me Aiden has great hands.
Maybe he’s saving them for soccer?
All of a sudden, the iPod blasts out a loud, booming rap song.
“Shit, I think my twenty-nine songs are over.” He runs over and turns down the music and looks at the time. “So, it’s almost curfew. I should probably walk you home.”
We walk hand in hand. “You having a party again tonight?”
“Probably. But I’m tired. I might just crash in someone else’s room.”
“Well, they’ll like the lights.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking the lights might have to stay.”
“Tonight was amazing, really.”
“So, the intense times you had with that guy. Does that mean you slept with him?”
“Um, well, yeah. He was kinda my boyfriend. My first love, really.”
“So he’s special?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He frowns and says, “Well, here we are.”
We’re standing outside my dorm.
He pats me on the back of my shoulder and says, “See ya later, Boots.”
What’s up with that?
A pat on the back?
I’m not sure what happened between kissing in his room and saying goodbye, but I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me.
Seriously, a pat on the back?
I get in my dorm and check my phone.
I have a text from Riley. One from Tyrese with the party info. One from Dallas asking if I’ll take him to the party.
I planned to lie in bed tonight and dream about Aiden’s kisses, but now I’m too confused by his actions. I need a mellow boy, one who will chill with me and not make my head hurt. So I text my mellow boy back.
Me: I did get invited to the party, but I’d rather chill. Meet me at the Cave at 1?
Dallas: Will do. And will bring party favors ;)
Me: I was hoping you would :) Just don’t bring Riley, okay?
Dallas: Why? You two were getting down on the dance floor. Although after you left he was getting down with pretty much everyone. Some chick named Audrey, in particular.
Me: I just want to relax. Who did you dance with?
Dallas: Just a bunch of people. No one special. So what happened with Aiden?
Me: We danced, kissed, sorta made out a little but, then, it all went to shit :( I’ll tell you about it when I see you.
It wasn’t awful.
1am
I get to the cave. I figured other people would be here, but I find Dawson sitting on a stump alone, looking sad. He looks up at me and, I swear, I might have seen tears in his eyes.
I feel bad for him because I know it too. Love sucks.
“Tough day, huh?” I say quietly.
He runs his hand back through his hair and then rubs his hands down his face. “Yeah. Shitty day. Are there a bunch of people coming here tonight?”
“I don’t think so. Only me and Dallas that I know of.”
“I can’t handle being friends with her.”
“With Whitney?”
“Yeah. I was watching her dance with Jake tonight. I wanted to alternately kill him, kill her, and kill myself.”
“Peyton asked me about our kiss.”
“She was gathering information for Whitney. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. And it’s okay. I told her you were really drunk and that I stopped it. I mean everyone saw that I stopped it. Although I didn’t tell her how horrible it was. Maybe I should have?”
“You’re not exactly cheering me up here.”
“I let her know it meant nothing. That’s all that really matters. And Peyton told me what happened with you and Whitney. I’m sorry. It would suck to get dumped like that, but at least it had nothing to do with you.”
“What do you mean it had nothing to do with me?”
“It was a status thing. Peyton got a college boyfriend. Whitney wanted one too.”
“That’s why she dumped me?”
“Yes.”
“We dated for almost three years. We were in love.”
Could he really not know how manipulative she is? If he doesn’t, then she’s an even better Alpha than I thought. I should be more careful.
“You were like last year’s Prada bag. She wanted the new bag.”
“I don’t get it.”
Hmmm, let’s use terms he can understand. “Let’s put it this way. You were a Porsche Carrera. Whitney loved driving you. You looked sexy. But then one day, Peyton pulls up in a Ferrari. The Ferrari was better, so even though she loved you, she had to trade you in on a Bugatti Veyron.
“Oh. What a bitch.” He is quiet for a minute. “The breakup hurt.”
“I can tell it hurt. I’m sorry. I also know how you feel. I had someone do the same thing to me recently.”
“You got traded in too?”
“Different reason, but same hurt.”
He looks at me with the most adorably sweet eyes.
“I’m sorry you got hurt too. What you said about my brother earlier, that really true?”
I laugh. “No. I was teasing. Besides, I’ve know him for three freaking days.”
“Yeah, but you’re hurt, and this is all new and exciting. Trust me, it will get old and boring pretty fast.”
“So have you tried to get her back?”
“Ye-ah. All the time. She won’t listen to me. Says we can be friends. I can’t be her friend.”
“So you’ve apologized?”
“Apologized for what? You said I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure you did. You suddenly weren’t good enough. It pissed her off and forced her hand. She hated that she had to break up with you. You were the golden couple. Then, to top it off, when she dumped you, you started hooking up with everyone, anyone. Now she couldn’t get back with you even if she wanted to. Unless . . .”
“What the fuck? What do you mean unless?”
“Unless you earn back your golden status. What Aiden said last night when you were touching my top. You been acting like that a lot lately?”
“We just got back to school!”
“This summer maybe? Last spring?”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, maybe. So what am I supposed to do? Go without girls to try and prove something to her?”
“I think maybe that’s exactly what you need to do.”
“No. I can’t freaking win.”
“What if you could?”
“What do you mean?”
“I think your image needs a makeover.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Dallas creeps up and whispers, “Hey, y’all.” He sits down next to me and wraps me in a big hug. “I love you already, you know that?”
“Hey, I need love too,” Dawson says, so Dallas and I jump on him, knock him to the ground, and hug him exaggeratedly.
Dallas says, “So tonight was good, then went to shit. What happened with Aiden?”
“Yeah, what happened with Aiden?” Dawson asks.
“Well, he took me to his dorm room, opened the door, and he had put lights up on the ceiling and had rose petals on the floor, and seriously, I was pissed. Here he had been telling me he wanted to dance with me, made it sound all romantic, and I walk into this huge seduction scene.”
“So you don’t want to do it with Aiden?” Dallas asks.
“Well, not yet! Not until I know if he likes me, and we go out, and fall in love or something. Like it’d be a while, for sure! Especially since I’m not falling in love with anyone here. I am so done with love. And, after last night, I thought we were done, but then he scored the points for me. So we danced, and he kissed his amazing kisses. But still, no making out. No tongues. No hands. Nothing. Then he decides to pop the champagne, and then he does this really sweet toast. By fucking Keats.”
“What’s wrong with Keats? I thought girls love that poetry shit,” Dawson says.
And Dallas is like, “Does that have something to do with the surfer?”
“Yeah. He used to call me his Keats, and he always quoted Keats poetry to me. And he did one about nothing becoming real until you experience it and that was right before we first had sex. Not that long ago.”
Dawson lowers his voice. “Oh, dude, bad move, huh? Like, mood killer?”
“Ya think? I froze. Then I slammed two glasses of champagne. He didn’t know. And his quote was sweet, like about bliss and kisses.”
Dallas laughs and nudges me with his elbow. “So, then did he try to get down and dirty?”
“No! We kissed. But his hands stayed put.”
“You can kiss me. I promise my hands won’t stay put,” Dallas shoots back.
“That goes for me too.” Dawson grins.
“You,” I say, pointing to Dawson, “are done with the random hookups. No kissing. No sex. You are a good boy from now on.”
Dallas rolls out a blanket for us. “So, that sounded okay. Why don’t you think he likes you?”
“Because then he asked why my face went white when he said the quote and I told him. He asked me if I had sex with the guy and if I loved him. I told him he was my first love, and he’d always be special. Then he looked pissed at me. Then he patted my shoulder and said, See ya later, Boots. What does that mean? Does he like me or hate me?”
“I vote for hate you.” Dallas grins.
“Yeah, me too,” Dawson adds.
“You guys suck.”
Dallas says with a naughty voice, “Well, we don’t, but, hey, you feel like sucking something, we certainly won’t stop you.”
I punch him.
“Okay, here, we need this.”
Dallas lights up his party favor, and we get a little baked.
The night air gets cold and pretty soon we’re all wrapped up in the blanket.
And I’ve smoked enough that I start gabbing philosophically.
“So back to making over your image, Dawson. I mean, think about it. You know how, like, in Hollywood if someone gets caught cheating on their wife, or gets a DUI, or goes to rehab, they look bad? People think they are doing bad things, their movies maybe don’t sell, they can’t get corporate sponsors, advertising dollars, that kind of thing. There are publicists who specialize in making over your image. Maybe hook you up with a charity event, get you photographed doing good, raising money, happy pics of your happy family. I can help you with that, but you have to do what I say.”
“I don’t wanna look lame,” Dawson says.
“What do you think your reputation is at school? How do people view you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty popular. A good athlete. A nice guy.”
“Maybe that’s what you used to be. I mean, I know I’ve only been here a few days, but I see you as a guy who is a dick to his brother, is a player, a partier, and a quarterback who doesn’t give a shit.”
“Dallas, what do you think?”
“I’d have to agree with her. Sorry.”
“Well, shit.”
“Are you a good quarterback?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Okay, so here’s what you’ve got going for you. You’re hot. Like, besides the God of all Hotties, you’re the most gorgeous guy here. Amazing body. That’s the first thing I noticed about you. Course, you had your shirt off. Maybe you should walk around school with no shirt on. Then no one would care about your reputation.”
“But if I can’t be with other girls, what good will it do me?”
“Dude, I don’t think she said you couldn’t be with any girls. You just can’t be with every girl. He could have a girlfriend, right? Just not a bunch of hookups?”
“Right, Dallas! Oh, that would make her so jealous. Hookups. Kissing fresh meat. Ogling bras. That just makes her know she was right.”
“And you need to be nicer to Riley.”
“Damn, Dallas, you’re good. He’s right. You’re a jerk to your brother.”
“Yeah, I suppose I have been kind of a douche to him.”
“What about that Social Committee that Peyton is on? Are you on it? Is Whitney on it?”
“Of course, she’s on it. She thinks she runs it. Although I’m pretty sure this guy, Brad, and Peyton do all the work. I could get on it if I wanted to.”
“Do it. You need to get back to your confident self. I see you moping around her. Embrace your new friendship.”
“I want to go homecoming with her.”
“Then that’s your goal. You’ll be a good brother, a good quarterback, a nice guy, and a leader. New and improved and, most importantly, desirable. If every girl here wants you, she’ll want you back. I like this new you already,” I tell Dawson. “You seem much nicer than the dick I first met.”
“Maybe you should help me make her jealous.”
“I think I have enough complications as it is. I could flirt with you, but I couldn’t kiss you. My experience was awful. Sorry, but it was.”
“Maybe I need to fix that.”
“Fix what?”
He leans in and kisses me. A slow, sweet kiss.
And I can’t help it. I kiss him back a little.
Just, like, to verify my opinion of his kissing.
“So what do you think? I can’t have you going around telling everyone how awful I am. That will not be good for my image.”
“True.” I giggle. “And it wasn’t awful.”