Текст книги "Kiss Me"

Me:  It was one kiss and you hooked up with Audrey last night. 

Sex God:  Because you were with Aiden. Having a million dances.

Me:  It was 29. 

Sex God:  Why didn’t you meet me at the party? It was fun.

Me:  I was upset. Didn’t feel like a party. Didn’t want to go back to Aiden’s room.

Sex God:  Why?! What happened? Did he try stuff you didn’t want him to? I’ll kick his ass, seriously.

Me:  It’s a long story. And no, he was a total gentleman.

Sex God:  So who upset you?

Me:  Aiden. He confuses me. I have no idea what he thinks. One minute he’s all romantic. The next he acts like he hates me.

Sex God:  What are you doing now? Wanna go to the cafe with me and Dallas later?

Me:  I’m going off campus for dinner.

Sex God:  With the dance team?

Me:  Um, no. 

Sex God:  My brother?!

Me:  Yeah. 

Sex God:  He asked you on a DATE!?

Me:  No. It’s pizza. He hung with me and Dallas last night.

Sex God:  So you can party with Dallas and my brother, but not me?

Me:  We smoked. Chilled. I didn’t know he was gonna be there. He was upset about Whitney. Still loves her. We bonded over our fucked up love lives. Ask Dallas if you don’t believe me.

Sex God:  So if he loves Whitney, why did he kiss you?

Me:  I’m not exactly sure about that. We’re going to talk about love, true love, over pizza. And it was just a little kiss. Spur of the moment kind of thing.

Sex God:  I wanted it to be you last night.

Me:  LOL! Not enough, apparently.

Sex God:  I was drunk?

Me:  Not what I heard. And the girl talks, Riley. A lot. I heard ALL about you in bed. Well, what she remembers of it anyway . . . 

Sex God:  I hate you.

Me:  You should hate yourself.

Sex God:  True :(

Me:  I still love you though. 

Sex God:  Good :) My brother needs a nice girl. I don’t really want it to be you, but I’m tired of the Bitch screwing him around. He needs to get over it already.

Me:  He’s a nice guy, not the dick I first thought. But I’m NOT interested in him. At all! Like NOT AT ALL! And you two need to be closer.

Sex God:  We are close.

Me:  I mean talk to each other close, not tease each other close.

Sex God:  That’d be nice.

As we’re driving off campus, I remember to press the appropriate buttons on my phone so that Garrett doesn’t send the cavalry after me.

“Is this main gate the only way out?” I ask Dawson.

“You planning to sneak out?”

“Um, no, but I just wondered. The guard told us they have a senator’s son here this year. I thought, you know, if terrorists try to kidnap him or something, it might be good to know the back way out.”

Dawson grins at me. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Who didn’t tell me what?”

“You already know the senator’s son.”

“I do? Who?”

“Guess.”

“Jake?”

“No.”

“One of the freshmen?”

“Nope.”

“Just tell me.”

“It’s Dallas.”

“Seriously? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” But I plan on talking to him. I wonder if he was briefed on security protocol and escape routes.

We get to the Range Rover dealership. I find the car I want sitting on the showroom floor and tell the salesman that I’ll take it. He takes me into an office. I give him my shiny new black credit card and am slightly shocked that he takes it, charges my account, gives me a few papers to sign, and hands me the keys.

I never knew it was so easy!

As we’re walking out, Dawson says, “I’m starving. You ready for the best pizza of your life?”

“Will it really be the best of my life?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not really. The best pizza of your life is in New York. If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll take you there sometime.”

I follow him to the pizza place.

It’s adorable. Little brick building. Little striped awnings. White tablecloths with red napkins.

We sit down and I ask if that’s where he’s from.

“Yeah. My parents live in New York. We have a place there and one in the Hamptons. That’s where I spend most of my breaks.”

 “That’s cool.”

“All this shopping has made me hungry,” he says. Then he proceeds to order us two large pizzas.

“You’re that hungry?”

He laughs. He has an adorable laugh. “No, I promised Jake I'd bring some back for him.”

“So you and Jake are best friends, right? It surprises me that he's been kissing Whitney.”

“He’s been my best friend since freshman year, and we decided we're not gonna let her get in the way of our friendship.”

“That’s very mature. Except you told me last night you wanted to kill him.”

“Yeah, well today . . . ” He reaches across the table, holds my hand, and stares into my eyes with his big dreamy brown ones. “I haven't thought about her at all.”

 I move my hand out from under his. “Oh, no you don’t. Don't you dare drag me into that mess. I saw the daggers her eyes were shooting at me when you were trying to get the football from me. I can’t imagine what she’s going to do when she hears that you kissed me. I don't care about being popular, Dawson. In fact, I don't want to be popular. We can be friends, but that’s it.” I say it with conviction, but I can’t help but grin at him. Dawson is very easy on the eyes. “We’re supposed to be talking about true love and our broken hearts, remember?”

His eyes trail from my face down my body. “You dress different,” he says.

I’m wearing a really cute Free People fit and flare tank dress with an adorable black leather studded waistband in a cute brown print. With it: Proenza Schouler black slingback platform wedges that have a burl wood heel. Large Burberry tote in a chestnut color that matches both the dress and the interior of my new car. Accessories are a fun braided leather bracelet, handmade silver and gold cross necklace, and brown teardrop chandelier earrings.

Really, I thought I had dressed pretty conservatively.

I stick my bottom lip out and pout.

He flicks my bottom lip and laughs. “Stop pouting. It’s not bad different. You just have a different style. I like it. It fits you. You don’t look like everyone else.” His dark eyes are smoldering.

I hold my hand up in front of his face. “Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?” he asks with a smirk.

“Stopping giving me those eyes. They aren’t going to work on me.”

He chuckles. “If you have to look away, they already are.”

“Okay, so we know you are not lacking in confidence around me. Now you need to work on being confident again around Whitney.”

“We’re back to that, huh?”

“Yes, we are. Do you believe in true love?”

“I don’t know. I prefer to focus on what’s in front of me.” He reaches out and touches my cheek.

I close my eyes and shake my head at him. “You are persistent. I will give you that. So, back to love.”

He puts his hand back on the table with a little thud and sighs. “Fine. So, you think Aiden spoke to your soul?”

“That sounds really dumb, doesn't it?”

“It sounds hopelessly romantic, actually.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re right. I sound like a gooey freshman girl with a crush.”

“You know about my past. Tell me about yours.”

“Um, well, for a year and a half, I was part of the perfect high school couple.”

“Sounds like me and Whitney.”

I nod. “He’s a great guy, but our relationship wasn't as perfect as it seemed.”

“Why not?”

“Well, aside from the fact he got drunk all the time, we didn’t really have any passion.”

“Passion, huh? So he was bad in bed?”

“I don't know. I never slept with him.”

Dawson’s eyes get huge. “Really? And he stayed with you that long?”

“The no sex was what he wanted, not what I wanted. I broke up with him the day after he was named prom king. Then the Keats guy and I finally kissed. He asked me to spend the weekend camping and surfing and I hoped, you know, I'd get to sleep with him. It would have been my first time. He was my dream guy.”

“So, did you?”

“No. He left early without me and then sent me this message that made me think he was hooking up with other girls there.”

He takes a drink of his soda and shakes his head. “That must've hurt.”

“It did.” I sigh. “Then there was this other guy. Riley reminds me of him. The guy that’s with a different girl at every party.”

“Tell me you didn't sleep with him.”

“Oh, I did. He said he was in love with me. I was upset at the Keats guy at the time. But I was also just tired of waiting. And he was sexy, funny, and hot. And so I did. We went out. He was very sweet to me.”

“You sound like you loved him.”

“I wanted to, but I think I was trying to convince myself I wasn’t in love with the Keats guy.”

“So, then what happened?”

I close my eyes. See Cush’s sexy face. How he looked at my party when I said I love you. The boots he gave me. Then I hear Vincent’s voice.

I open my eyes quickly because they start to tear up.

“Um, I, um. I don’t . . .”

Dawson grabs my hand again. “You don't have to tell me. It’s written all over your face. He cheated on you, right?”

“Do you have girls here that will do anything to be popular? Is popularity a big deal here? I mean, it's obvious you're part of the It group.”

He thinks about it. “You mean girls who think if they hook up with me that I'll ask them to sit with us at lunch and invite them to our parties?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure there are.”

“I was leaving to go on vacation. He had the house we all partied at. We had a tight group. We all sat together at lunch like you do, but the parties were a lot bigger.”

“You didn't have to party in a dorm room.”

“True. So, a girl like that put Valium in his beer and when I stopped by to give him a kiss I walked in on . . .” I shake my head. I can’t even say it.

He runs his thumb across the top of my hand. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“I found out that the Keats guy wasn't hooking up. He apologized for ditching me and that’s who I was with all summer.”

“You loved him?”

“Yeah, I was crazy about him. All summer he told me loved me. Told me we'd be together forever. Then at the end of summer, he told me he was leaving me for a year to travel the world. Like, he told me and then was leaving a few days later. That’s why I'm done with love.”

“I don’t think you should be done with love. You just need a guy that’s not a dick.”

“If only boys came with warning labels. Like, yours would be: Do not kiss when drunk. Riley’s would be: I’m going to sleep with you and your best friend too.”

He laughs lightly with me, but mostly he’s looking at me with his adorable face. And I just figured out why he seems sweeter than Riley. It’s his eyes. They are so expressive. It’s like all his emotions are mirrored in them. Last night they looked hurt. Jealous. Today they have ranged from naughty to thoughtful.

“You haven't hardly eaten any pizza.” He holds a piece up to my mouth, so I take a bite of it.

“You’re being awful sweet to me.”

“I think that saying misery loves company is true. You're hurting as much as I am. Probably more.”

“I guess at least I don't have to see them every day like you do.”

He nods. “Is that why you came here? To run away?”

How should I say this? What did I tell Riley when I was crying and blathering on? “No. My mom and stepdad announced they were moving to France. They gave me the choice of going with them or coming here.”

He grabs both my hands, pulls them up to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles.

“I'm glad we were both at the cave last night.”

Monday, August 29th

Why can’t it be both?

Ceramics.

Today is the first day of classes and uniforms. I always feel both excited and nervous on the first day of school but, so far, my classes seem to be okay. First period, I have History with Riley. Neither of us like mornings very much and I’m pretty sure our teacher agrees. He showed up about five minutes late with a very large cup of coffee.

Second period is English with Katie, Dallas, and two guys named Jordan and Parker. Jordan is on the soccer team and has mischievous eyes. Parker plays tennis and seems very interested in Katie’s boobs.

In third period Math, we were forced to sit in alphabetical order. Which put me right behind Logan, who was throwing all those passes to Aiden in the scrimmage. He took off his navy blazer and when he leaned forward to write, I could see muscles bulging across his back and shoulders. I can already tell Math is going to suck, but at least I’ll have a nice view.

It’s like what Grandpa always says about real estate. Location, location, location.

I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on Park Place overlooking the back of Boardwalk.

I walk into fourth period Ceramics and am surprised to see Bryce and Jake sitting at a table in the back. They are the only boys in the class.

I laugh and say, “You’re taking ceramics?”

Jake laughs. “Haven’t you seen Ghost?”

“Yeah?”

Bryce chimes in. “We needed a fine arts class and thought playing around in the clay with hot girls sounded fun last year when we signed up.” He waves his hand in front of him. “But, so far, no hot girls.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” I tease.

“Well, besides you, of course,” Jake says. “But I think Whitney would kill me if she heard that.” Then he pats the empty stool next to him. “Sit here.”

“Do you like Whitney? I heard you’ve been making out with her a lot. At the dance. At the party.”

“We’ve been making out. And why not? She’s gorgeous.”

Jake is pretty much gorgeous himself, but he seems way too nice to be with someone like Whitney.

“What about her college boyfriend?”

“He’s not here. So who cares? Besides, she’s going to break up with him.”

“You know Dawson’s still in love with her, right?”

“Yeah, but we’ve talked about it. We’re not going to let it interfere with our friendship. Plus, she’s hot.”

Bryce grins. “I don’t know what Jake will do, but I know I’d step up my game for a shot at that.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a hot piece, if you know what I mean.” Bryce pushes his elbow into my arm and grins again. Like I couldn’t possible know what he means and his grin somehow clarifies it for me. “And Jake isn’t the only one she’s been kissing.”

I look at Jake. “So, do you just want her for sex, or do you actually like her?”

“Why can’t it be both?” he says simply.

I contemplate that.

And come to the same conclusion I always do.

Guys make no freaking sense.

After class, I walk with Bryce and Jake to the café and go through the lunch line with them.

Jake says, “Come sit with us.”

I follow him to the table. The table I swore I would never sit at again.

I stand in front of it and look down. It’s just like any other long wooden table in the place.

We’ve celebrated holidays all over the world. Mom once told me that it doesn’t matter where you are, what matters is who is sitting with you.

I think about who’s sitting at our table at my old school. I imagine Vanessa hitting on Cush. Running her long nails through his hair and telling him all the things she wants to do to him.

“We don’t have assigned seats,” Bryce says to me, tearing me away from my thoughts. “Just sit anywhere.”

I don’t want to be rude, so I sit down next to Bryce and across from Jake.

The boys are telling Tyrese about what a joke Ceramics class is going to be when Whitney, Peyton, and three other pretty girls sit down. The three girls all scrunch up their noses at me, like they just smelled sour milk.

Whitney gives me that you-don’t-belong-here look.

It’s a look I know well, having worn it on numerous occasions myself.

What the heck am I doing here?

I’m trying to come up with a graceful exit strategy when Dawson sits down on the other side of me and whispers in my ear, “You look adorable today.”

And I can’t help it. It makes me happy.

Mostly because I was a bit worried about how I look today. I’m wearing the little plaid pleated skort, a fitted blue and white pinstriped oxford, and the navy blazer. Then I have on white lace over-the-knee socks and navy suede Rag & Bone platform Mary Janes. My accessories are a combination of long gold and pearl necklaces, gold bangles, and a red leather Proenza Schouler bag. I adore the lace socks and the platforms, but no one else is wearing them. Whitney has on pantyhose—seriously, do people still wear pantyhose?—and a pair of navy square-heeled pumps. The leather looks buttery and expensive, but they still look like the kind of sensible shoes your grandma might wear to the country club.

Make that great-grandma.

But I don’t care. I’m not trying to fit in. I want to be me. And this version of their uniform is totally my style.

Whitney glares at me.

Dawson is oblivious to Whitney’s glares. He puts his hand on my knee, touching the top of my socks, and says in his you’re-so-going-to-fall-into-bed-with-me voice, “These are especially sexy.”

I am about ready to tell him to stop flirting with me when Whitney speaks to Jake in a loud voice. “Oh, Jakey, I just love the tie you have on today. Is it Fendi?” Then she rubs her hand down the front of his shirt and looks at the back of his tie.

She fawns over him and even gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Her fawning is aimed directly at Dawson. She’s talking and flirting with Jake, but her eyes are on Dawson, who hasn’t looked at her once because his attention has been focused on me and Bryce. He tells us all about his morning classes, then starts talking about the kind of wheels I should buy for my new Range Rover. That conversation morphs into an animated one about all the hottest cars they have ever seen.

The lunch-is-over bell rings.

I haven’t seen the Hottie today, but as I’m heading off to my next class, I spy him.

He’s dumping his trash into a trash barrel.

And looking way too sexy doing it.

But, still.

I’ll be damned if I am going to speak to him. He hasn’t spoken to me or texted me since the dances. He turns in my direction and I quickly look away. I certainly don’t want to look like I’m creeping on him.

That becomes an easy task when Dallas comes wandering over, throws his arm around my shoulder, and says, “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

As we’re walking, he goes on and on about how he was able to see up some girl’s skirt in his last class. And how her panties were bright neon blue, and how She just didn’t look like the kind of girl to wear neon blue.

Then he starts trying to guess the underwear color of every girl we pass.

We get to my class and he says, “So what color are yours today?”

“I thought the whole point of your little game was to guess.”

“Hmm, do they match your socks, white and lacy?”

“Damn, you’re good,” I lie.

He grins big and walks off to class feeling all good about himself.

I’m wearing red lace, really, but, shh . . . don’t tell.

Mom always says red lace panties make you feel confident and sexy, even if no one ever sees them.

The back of my hair.

French.

I walk into French class and don’t see anyone I know, so I sit in a mid-row seat.

I feel my phone buzzing in my bag and take a peek at it. We aren’t supposed to use our phones during class, but I have a couple minutes before the last bell rings.

I see that Brooklyn has sent me a photo of himself. He’s in my favorite pair of Billabong board shorts and the only other thing he’s wearing is his leather cord necklace with the chaos symbol charm. I reach down and touch the tattoo on my hip, close my eyes, click my platforms together three times, and wish myself back home.

I open my eyes, see that I’m still here, sigh, and read his text.

B<3:  It’s hard being here in Zarautz. Everywhere I look reminds me of you. Of our summer of waves.

Me:  We did have fun there. Remember that night? When it was cold and we were the only two people on the beach?

B<3:  One of the best nights of my life. Do you have plans for this weekend? I’ll be in Long Beach, NY. Can you come?

Me:  I’d love to come.

B <3:  Can’t wait to see you. Love you.

I look up. Aiden is standing over me reading my texts. He makes a hmphhh sound and sits down in the seat right behind me.

I sure hope the back of my hair looks okay.

And I know I went on to Science, Drama, and Soccer after that, but all I have been able to think about are four things.

1.)  The back of my head is going to have to look sexy every day.

2.)  Why didn’t Aiden talk to me?

3.)  Is he done playing me? And, if so, why didn’t I get played with?

4.)  I’m seeing Brooklyn in six days.

I think about how Garrett thinks Vincent will go to great lengths to find me.

I text Brooklyn again.

Me:  Do you think it’s safe for me to see you?

B<3:  I’ll have security. My dad will be there. I really don’t think he’s gonna fly all the way to NY on the off chance you might be there. 

A lotta rage.

5:45pm

Dance team practice is over. Normally, we’re supposed to be done at 4:30, but today was super long. Peyton marches up to me, grabs my arm, and says, “You went out on a date with Dawson? After all I did for you?”

“All you did for me?”

“I got you to try out for dance. I put in a good word for you in soccer. And you go after Whitney’s ex?”

“From what I understand, a panel of judges decided who made the dance team, not you. And if you put in a good word for me about varsity soccer then I appreciate it, but I’m assuming a coach would not play me if I didn’t earn it, and I fully expect to earn a starting position.”

“Fine. What about Dawson?”

“What about him? We went out for pizza. Big deal.”

“He kissed you. Everyone saw.”

“So? Why does Whitney care? She’s made out with both Bryce and Jake. Which I find interesting since she has a college boyfriend.”

“She’s done with the college boy. She’s just moving on.”

“Well, maybe she should let Dawson move on too.”

“Oh, trust me, he’s moved on plenty.”

“No, he hasn’t. He’s hooked up, yes. But he hasn’t moved on. He hasn’t dated anyone even close to seriously.”

“You think he’ll be serious with you?”

“Absolutely not. We’re sorta becoming friends. We have a lot in common.”

“And what about my brother?”

“What about your brother?”

“He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He did all that dances for points stuff and we had a great time, but it’s been two days and I haven’t seen or heard from him. Well, he is in my French class, but he just sat behind me and didn’t say a word to me. He hasn’t texted me, talked to me, nothing! And it’s not my fault he frickin quoted Keats, and I froze. It caught me off guard! He can be super romantic one minute and a stupid dick the next. He knows where to find me and, so far, he has not found me!”

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re making out with Dawson!”

“I have not made out with Dawson. I don’t know why you think that. We kissed. Once. I told you, we talk. And mostly, sadly, we talk about Whitney and your stupid brother. So back off!”

I spin on my heel, walk out the practice room door, and let it slam loudly behind me.

Shit!

I march into our dressing room, stuff my stupid pompoms in my locker, and leave.

I feel the need to kill something. Or hit something.

As I’m marching down the hall in the field house, I spy a large boxing bag in the fitness center.

I make a beeline for it.

No one is really in here, so I take my frustrations out on the bag.

I do all my kickboxing moves. I don’t even care that I’m still in my stupid practice dance skirt and probably look ridiculous.

Punching this bag feels really, really good.

I kick the bag first.

Then I grab a pair of gloves and start punching it over and over.

I hate stupid boys and stupid, bitchy, bossy girls.

I throw an uppercut to the bag’s chin, like if the bag had a chin. And, in my mind, the bag’s chin looks just like Peyton’s.

Then I throw one, two, three fast jabs straight into Whitney’s perfect nose. I picture it shattering and her crying out in pain as blood shoots out of her nostrils and her eyes begin to blacken.

I hate my life. Boom.

I hate stalkers. Boom.

Big swooping hook to the cheekbone or, better yet, the temple.

I hate getting chewed out for something I didn’t do.

Knockout punch. Bam, baby.

I love punching this bag.

I may have to come and do this daily.

I now know why Tommy started doing kickboxing. It’s probably a necessary stress relief when you live with six women, four of whom are under the age of five. Really, it’s a wonder he isn’t completely bonkers.

I shut my eyes and continue to punch my stress away. I hit the same spot over and over again.

I hear a voice go, “Damn, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

I open my eyes and see Tyrese and Ace.

“Hey, guys.”

“Who pissed you off? You gotta lot of rage in there, girl. And it’s only the first day,” Tyrese says.

I back up and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Where’d you learn to punch like that?”

“I used to take kickboxing lessons.”

Tyrese says, “Let me guess. Whitney freaking about Dawes? I heard her bitching about you in Government today.”

I roll my eyes. “It was Peyton but, yeah, pretty much.”

“Dawson said you had fun at dinner.” Ace smiles. He’s much cuter when he smiles.

“We did. We’re freaks. He moaned about Whitney, and I complained about Peyton’s stupid brother.” I give the bag a solid right hook and then laugh. “I’ve been pretending this bag is his head.”

Ace coughs, and Tyrese rolls his eyes over his shoulder. Like someone is there. Like, behind me.

Tyrese says, “Hey, have fun. We gotta go.”

Someone taps me on my shoulder.

I turn around and am face to face with the stupid brother.

“You been standing there long?”