A Kiss Like This (23 page)

Any second-guessing fades when Caleb punches in the keypad on his bedroom door and turns to face me with a hesitant, questioning smile, bending his lips.

We enter, and he pushes the hood down off the sweatshirt he’d thrown on over his flannel, removes his hat, and tosses it onto his desk. Caleb fans his fingers through his hair and gives his head a shake. My eyes follow the action of his fingers as they tug at the hemline of his sweatshirt, pulling it up and over his head, the action lifting the flannel shirt underneath and giving me a glimpse of hard white washboard abs.

I try to look away, but I can’t.

If Miley Cyrus came crashing through the wall on a wrecking ball, I still wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from his solid athlete’s stomach. I freeze, clutching my purse, face flushing as my brain processes the sight of him and devours that dark happy trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

I’m sure my eyes have gone wide, because Lord, he is so rugged. Rough around the edges. Unrefined in the best possible way.

Handsome
.

You might think it’s too soon. and I know this behavior isn’t me. Contemplating jumping into bed with a guy after only knowing him three weeks, barely a single official date, and no history is not—nor has it ever been—my style. But… I
want
to stay.

I want to spend the night with Caleb more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. Maybe even because it goes against everything I’ve been taught: like no sex before monogamy. Or maybe because it goes against everything I believe in: like no sex before monogamy.

Because, like Cecelia said, “when you know… you know.”

And I
know
I want this.

I want Caleb in my life and
in
my body.

Crap. Did that sound sleazy?

As inappropriate as that sounds, I have to admit, it’s the truth
.

Yes, I’m scared—scared witless. But I’m done being safe. I’m done being cautious. I’m done being scared, for once in my life. So what if I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing? I want to be here anyway, and I’m determined to fumble through it.

As long as it’s with him.

This obviously isn’t a fling. I can feel it when he looks at me. When he touches me. When he’s watching me from across the room.

He wants me too.

For keeps.

~ Caleb ~

Abby is watching me from the doorway, a play of emotions etched on her pretty, flushed face. In the short time I’ve known and grown attached to her, I’ve come to recognize that look of determination, mixed with a whole lot of uncertainty.

It’s just one of the many reasons I admire her.

We’re both socially awkward, yet here we are.

I stroll into my room and pull the hoodie off my head, removing my hat in the process, and run a hand through my thick black hair. Pausing, I drum my fingers against the solid wood surface of my desk, stare out the window for a few seconds, and chew on my lower lip.

I glance down at the digital clock next to my computer: eleven o’clock.

Not an unreasonable time to call it a day. Shit. How do my friends do this every weekend—bring an endless parade of women home and bang them without a second thought? Without knowing them.

All hours of the day or night.

Sometimes in the common bathroom. Sometimes repeatedly.

Loudly.

You get the picture.

I run a hand down my face in frustration and force myself to turn toward Abby just as Cubby’s muffled shout booms up from the living room downstairs, causing Abby to softly giggle.

“Who’s Glen Coco?” I ask, confused.

She giggles again. “It’s from a movie.”

“A chick flick?” I shrug cluelessly, sitting on the edge of my bed and then reclining all the way back.

“A cult classic,” she corrects, bending to unbuckle and remove her shoes. Abby places them next to the door and sinks down into my mattress on the other side of the bed, next to my nightstand. She looks over at me with those baby blues that I swear get brighter as she watches me, and her pupils dilate.

I let my head fall back all the way to the mattress and rest my hands behind my head. I watch as she stands again, walks around the bed, and sits back down, falling back onto the comforter to lie in the spot next to me.

Our feet hang off the end of the bed, mine touching the floor, and for a while we lie, just staring at the ceiling in silence.

Mostly because I have no idea how to proceed.

Yeah. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had sex before. Not like my teammates, but enough that I shouldn’t be lying here like an awkward erotophobic, which is someone with an irrational fear of sexual acts. And yeah, that’s a real thing. Google that shit if you don’t believe me.

Not knowing how to make a move on Abby is actually somewhat emasculating, and I wonder what she’s thinking on her side of the bed.

Shit.

Say something, Caleb.
Anything
.

“Thanks for coming today and meeting my parents. They liked you.”

Abby turns her head toward me and warmly grins, the gesture lighting up her entire face. “Yeah?”

Unable to resist the smile tugging at my mouth, I grin back, and her clear blue eyes immediately flicker down to my mouth. “Yeah.”

She stares at my mouth, her gaze narrowing in on my gap for a few torturous heartbeats before she rolls onto her stomach—closer—and timidly reaches her hand over. I suck in a deep breath and hold it in as her fingertip lightly traces my lips and she whispers, “I’ve been wanting to do this
forever
.”

My lips involuntarily part, and the tip of my tongue flicks the delicate finger now skimming the gap between my front teeth.

“Yeah?” My voice, barely audible, comes out low and husky.

“Yeah,” she whispers again.

“Forever? That sounds serious.”

My teeth nip her fingertip, and she pulls her hand back, surprised. Grinning, I tighten my abs and lift myself off the bed, tucking my large hands under her armpits and drawing her closer still, until she’s leaning over me.

With her blue eyes shining, Abby leans down until our noses touch, and she brushes the tip of her nose feather light, back and forth, across mine. Her chin dips, and she pauses before placing a small kiss in the crevasse of my lips, first in one corner then the other.

“It seems I’ve acquired a taste for gaps in teeth. And other… things.”

My eyebrows shoot up, interested. “Things? What other… things?”

“You, mostly.”

As a shiver runs up the length of my torso, starting with the twitch in my groin, my palms find their way to Abby’s back, running themselves leisurely up and down her spine of their own volition.

My back muscles flex as I raise my head, pressing my lips against her neck. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” I speak into that smooth space behind her ear, giving it a nuzzle.

She emits a breathy sigh before pulling away and spreading out beside me, grasping for my hand. I capture it and thread my fingers through, giving it a tender squeeze.

Confession: if you would have told me two weeks ago that I’d be lying here, holding the hand of a girl I’d caught climbing out a second story window, on the day I let her meet my
parents
… well, I would have laughed my ass off in your face then shoved you the hell out of my way.

“This is crazy,” Abby says faintly, as if reading my mind.

“What is?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“This. Us. It’s nuts. What is happening to my life?” She gives a small laugh and I give her hand another squeeze. “I hardly recognize myself.”

“I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe,” I tease, turning my head to face her. “I don’t even like girls, and now I have one in my room.”

“You seduced me with your awkwardness,” she laughs.

Can’t argue with that.

I nod. “Yeah, that sounds accurate.”

Abby looks at me expectantly.

I oblige. “You seduced me by falling out of a window?”

She narrows her eyes.

“By spilling beer all over your shirt at that party and pretending to need my bathroom?”

“Stop it!”

Yeah, no. This is too much fun. “You seduced me by crawling around my yard on your hands and knees?”

She sputters indignantly before shrugging my hand off, sitting up and giving me a playful shove. “You…” She takes a deep breath, her cheeks tinged in the most adorable bright pink.

“You… what? Say it.”

“Smart-ass.” Abby’s face turns bright red when I laugh—a loud, booming laugh that has me rolling over on the bed and her attempting to give my solid body another shove. Too bad I’m built like a fortress of steel.

I resist the urge to flex.

“I’m sorry. Swearing like that must have killed you.” Over the past weeks, I’ve noticed she has a deep affinity for avoiding any kind of profanity. Not including the pissed-off ranting after she dropped out of the Kappa Omega Chi Fraternity house window, and reeled at me for being a cocksucker. Which was totally understandable, given the circumstances.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find her pure mind refreshing—and disarming. Most likely because I’m surrounded by lewd assholes on a daily basis.

Abby looks down at me, and I reach up to rub a strand of her rich mahogany hair in between my thumb and forefinger. It’s silky and smooth, just as I imagine her skin is under her white cotton shirt.

“It’s, uh, getting late. Do you want me to walk you home, or…” I won’t push her to stay; I would
never
. And yet…

“I mean, unless…” I hesitate.

Abby sucks in a breath and bites down on her lower lip. “Unless what?” she blurts out loudly.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Big shocker, I know.

Fucking. Awkward
.

Instead, I shrug uncomfortably, raising my torso to a sitting position and resting my sweaty palms on my spread knees, rubbing them up and down nervously.

We remain side by side, both of us too chicken shit to actually make a move one way or another. Abby hasn’t made the move to leave, yet she hasn’t exactly gotten comfortable as she sits ramrod straight at the edge of my bed, one of her hands fisting my comforter.

Suddenly I’m envious of my teammates and their balls-to-the-walls attitude with women. Cubby would have his dirty paws all over Abby by now and his tongue down her throat. He wouldn’t be pussy-footing around like I am.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair and let out a loud groan.

~ Abby ~

This is pitiful.

I’ve never wanted to be one of those girls—but I wish I were one right now. Because then maybe I’d know what to do, and how to act, and what to say, and… a hundred other things.

What would Cecelia say?

Then I think: What would Jenna do?

Oh my god, I’m delirious. I must be. Because why the heck else would I be thinking about what
Jenna
would do? Could someone come slap me, please? I swallow a nervous giggle, for I know
exactly
what Jenna would do: she’d be all over Caleb by now.

Obviously.

She’d most definitely have her tongue down his beautiful, thick column of a throat, hand fondling his tight, corded thigh and maybe even his… his…

Ugh
.

He lets out a deep groan next to me and runs one of his large hands through his hair, glancing at me sideways before staring straight ahead out his bedroom window.

That nervous laugh finally escapes my lips. “We’re ridiculous. How are we allowed out of the house?”

A chuckle rumbles from his broad, um, chest. “Now you know why I keep to myself.” He continues rubbing his palms over the top of his pants, but he gives me a sideways glance with his dark smolder. “I don’t know how I live like a monk when I’m surrounded by manwhores.”

My eyes go wide.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. They’re not all manwhores. Mostly just the single guys.” Again, he rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends.

“If you don’t stop pulling at your hair, you’re going to give yourself male pattern baldness by the time you’re twenty-two.”

Wait. Back up. Did he just say he lived like a monk?

Cautiously, I ask. “What do you mean by ‘live like a monk’?”

“I would think that was obvious,” he mumbles. “I’m not exactly Chanandler Tatum.”

I stare at him, confused. “Uh. You mean
Channing
Tatum?”

“Was that a bad example?”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Horrible example. Pretty much the worst.”

“What’s wrong with Chanandler Tatum?” This earns me a bashful grin, and Caleb’s ruddy, five o’clock shadow gets a little pinkish.

“First off,
Channing
Tatum is a stripper—or he
was
. You can’t compare yourself to him—he’s way too pretty. Plus, he isn’t getting any younger.”

No offense, Channing Tatum.

“You don’t think I’m pretty? That hurts my feelings, kind of.” Caleb wipes away a fake tear then huffs a sigh. “Fine. James Franco’s brother, Dave.”

“Where are you coming up with this?” I throw my hands up, charmed by his playful banter. “We are
not
having this conversation…”

“Oh, but we
are
.”

“Stop it.” I chop my hands in a time-out motion and shake my head from side to side in laughter. “First I can’t get you to talk, now I can’t get you to stop.”

“I know, right?” He buries his face in his hands then lifts his head. “What’s my problem?” Running his tongue back and forth over his front teeth, Caleb bites down on his lower lip out of habit as his pointed gaze sparkles at me.

“Caleb?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m a virgin.” I say it matter-of-factly, like I’ve just told him it’s raining outside, or there’s a new movie playing this weekend. I don’t know why I announced it this way or what I’m expecting him to say.

He says nothing; the silence in the room is deafening.

“I’m only telling you b-because…”

He waits patiently for me to finish my sentence, but it’s caught in my throat. I can’t say the words; I don’t even know what the words
are
.

So intead I brave through it. “Does
my
being a virgin make you feel more comfortable?”