A Kiss Like This (29 page)

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, the laughter erupts out of me in a deafening sputter. I bend over and clutch the doorframe with my right hand to keep myself from falling over, tears spilling out my eyes. “Oh my god, dude. I c-can’t… You fucking idiot… Oh, Jesus Christ, did you just admit you have a small dick?”

I’m wheezing and coughing now, and when I squint up at Miles’s angry scowl through teary eyes, I laugh even harder. “Small dick… Turner, how am I going to take you seriously? Oh jeez, this is a good one…”

“Shut the fuck up already! Stop saying small dick!” Miles implores, glancing down the hallway again. “God, you guys are assholes.”

I hold my hands up in surrender, biting my entire lower lip between my teeth as I struggle to regain my composure. “
Why
the hell would you believe anything Billings has to say? He’s a complete moron.”

Miles crosses his arms, pissed. “You know I wasn’t being serious about my dick. I knew the whole time it was a crock of shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say, man.” I chuckle. “Except the privacy crap. You guys need to stop treating this place like it’s a frat-house free-for-all. Because it’s not. You scared off my, uh… Abby. That shit is no longer acceptable.”

“Okay,
Dad
,” Miles mocks sarcastically. Then he gets a good look at my face. “Okay, okay. Yes, fine. No more barging in.”

I point a finger in his face. “And start picking up your own shit around the house.”

“Baby steps, Showtime. Baby steps…”

***

Cecelia:
You’ve been texting me a lot lately. I don’t mind, but you’re making me worried.

Abby:
There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to figure all this out without having to spill my guts to Jenna.

Cecelia:
Do you want me to drive up this weekend? It sounds like you need a hug and a dose of BFF…

Abby:
You would do that
?

Cecelia:
Are you crazy!? Of COURSE I WOULD. I heart you. Besides, it’s only little over an hour drive. I can be there in two days. By the time you get done with classes on Friday!

Cecelia
: Heads up, Matthew was reading that over my shoulder and he says he’s coming with…

CHAPTER 30

Abby

I can’t stop watching out the front window of our crappy student rental, waiting anxiously for that familiar white Tahoe to pull into the gravel driveway.

“Watching out the window on the couch like a damn cat isn’t going to get her here any faster,” Jenna points out sympathetically from the kitchen while wielding a cast-iron pan. She’s been frying up pot stickers for the past twenty minutes and is totally stinking up the joint.

My nose scrunches up as I sniff the air. “Can you light a candle or something? It’s starting to reek in here.”

Rolling her eyes, Jenna goes back to her task, unscrewing a bottle and shaking a generous helping of soy sauce into the pan. It sizzles and sears, and I can see the steam rising from my spot by the window.

A popping sound whizzes.

“Oops,” I overhear her mutter. “I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”

I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of her at the stove, waving a hand in front of her face. “What are you
doing
in there? You’re going to burn the house down.”

“Then I would be doing our landlord a huge favor. And don’t come in here!” Jenna sticks her head in the living room from around the corner. “Um, incidentally, where do we keep the fire extinguisher? A friend of a friend wants to know.”

I roll my eyes and look back out the window. “Cabinet under the sink.”

“We’re going out tonight, right?”

“Yes!” I shout, pulling back the curtain again and flying off the couch when the familiar white SUV appears around the corner.

“Was that a
yes, we’re going out tonight
—or a
yes, hooray, my friends are finally here
?” Jenna questions over the loud hissing of the pot stickers. I hear coughing and watch as she flaps a kitchen towel through the air and the smoke alarm begins blaring. “Crap!”

“Both!” I laugh. “Yes to
both
.”

***

There are no words to accurately articulate how jazzed/elated/pumped/excited I am to have my best friend in town. Granted, she’s dragged her overbearing, vulgar, live-in boyfriend along, but beggars can’t be choosers, and occasionally, Matthew Wakefield isn’t all that bad.

Except for one small fact: like his UW-Madison Alma Mater progeny, the hulky professional hockey player
loves
Lone Rangers.

So that’s where we end up.

And instead of it being a Girls’ Night Out or a reunion between two best friends, the night has inexplicably transformed into a hockey player reunion between Matthew and his buddies.

Messages sent out. Texts exchanged. Statuses checked-in. Tweets Twittered. What do you get? A crap ton of people piled into a tiny, dilapidated dive bar, probably violating thirty different health codes and restrictions.

The elation I felt having Cece and Matthew in town has turned into reticence because I know with certainty, just like I know Caleb’s hair is black and the sky is blue, that I’m going to see him tonight.

Full disclosure: I don’t just know I’m going to see Caleb tonight, I
hope
I’m going to see him. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I would never—in a million years—have slept with him if I didn’t care about him.

And you don’t just stop caring about someone overnight. Or because they mistreat you. Emotions aren’t just a switch you turn on and off.

I stare at my reflection in the woman’s bathroom mirror at Lone Rangers from my place in the tiny room as I wait for Cece to pee, holding the stall door closed for her because it doesn’t latch.

“Stop fidgeting. I can see you through the crack. Quit playing with your hair,” Cecelia teases from inside the stall, and I hear the toilet paper dispenser rolling.

It’s incredible to have her back in town, even if she is scolding me.

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” I say, turning to peek at her through the gap. She sticks her tongue out at me as she zips up her jeans and buckles her belt. I twist my body, leaning my back against the stall door. “Did I tell you that Cubby Billings sent me a message?”

“What?” Cecelia’s surprised gasp wafts over the top of the stall. “No way!”

“Yes way. It was actually kinda funny, sort of. He texted saying he was sorry for invading my privacy and his mama raised him with better manners. But in his defense, the door to Caleb’s bedroom was unlocked.”

Cecelia snickers, chagrined. “Okayyyy.”

“He went on to say next time he needed Caleb, he would knock first. Then, of course, he ruined the apology by telling me I shouldn’t be embarrassed because I have a really nice rack.”

“Yup, that sounds like pure Cubby.”

“It was nice to get a message from him though. Totally unexpected.”

“At least he’s trying?” Cece raps on the door with her knuckle, and I release it, stepping back so she can exit the stall and head to the sink. She glances at me over her shoulder as she scrubs her hands and pulls down a piece of brown paper towel. “You know, many a relationship was solidified in this seedy establishment, and the night is young.”

“Is that… some kind of code talk?”

Cecelia laughs, her merry green eyes sparkling with mischief. Or from the beer she drank before. “No. I just meant this is the place where Matthew and I finally, you know. Had our first real kiss. It feels lucky.”

“Erm, yeah. I remember. I also remember the crowd and the jeers because you and Matthew took so long to do the deed.”

Just to clarify, when I say “do the deed,
”
I’m not even talking about sex. Cecelia and her boyfriend didn’t even
kiss
each other for the first few months they knew each other, and when they finally did, it was because Cecelia lost a bet.

It drove everyone around them crazy. The sexual tension was off-the-charts, through-the-roof ridiculous.

My best friend tips her head back, laughing, long brown hair spilling down her back in a silky cascade. “Well, I couldn’t seem
too
eager. Have you met the guy? He was so full of himself I had to keep him in check. Still do.”

She reaches for the door, hand grasping the cool metal handle.

I stop her from walking out. “Do… do you think that maybe Caleb and I… that we moved too fast? Should I have waited? To sleep with him, I mean.”

What I need right now is some reassurance, and Cecelia is ready to give it. She takes her hand off the door, resting it on my shirtsleeve. “Abby,
don’t
have regrets. This thing with you and Caleb—it isn’t over. In fact, if you want my opinion—and I think you do—it’s only the beginning for the two of you. I get that you’re freaking out, but these things have a way of working out.” She gives a short laugh. “God, listen to me, talking like I know what I’m doing. Remember how I questioned myself and my relationship with Matthew every day? I questioned my choices forever, texted you constantly. Giving up everything to move in with Matt—hardest decision ever. But I did it, and eventually I stopped worrying about it. So don’t do that to yourself. Please.”

My arms open wide, and when she steps into them, I rest my chin on her shoulder, our arms enveloped around each other as she whispers in my hair. “It’s not just going to be okay, Abs. It’s going to be
awesome
.”

A throat clears in the bathroom, and both our heads shoot up. A redhead just exiting the other stall, wearing a tight silver midriff top and an even tighter smile, grimaces at us.

She is so not amused. “Uhhhh, am I interrupting something?”

Cecelia laughs and releases me. “Nope. Not anymore.” She gives the girl a wink, and a blush creeps up my neck before she clasps my hand and pulls me out the bathroom door.

Music assaults us when we enter the bar, and the crowd immediately swallows us up as we walk with the flow toward our group. Toward Matthew, Jenna, Molly, and Weston. Lone Rangers is nothing but deafening music blaring from its speakers and wall-to-wall people—drunk students and students
looking
to get drunk. Guys trying to get laid, surrounded by an unlimited supply of girls who’re going to let them. Tight groups of cliques. Singles ready to mingle.

Cecelia is still firmly grasping my hand as she pulls me through the throng, her mere presence here comforting. We get jostled, bumped, and smacked in the butt a few times as we weave through, the smell of sweaty bodies and stale beer lingering in the musty air.

Or it is stale bodies and sweaty beer?

Same thing.

“This way.” Cecelia nods toward Matthew’s tall form, visible in the back corner where we’d left them twenty minutes ago. Yes. It took us twenty minutes to go pee.

It’s déjà vu over and over again—this crowd of people, in this place. Same faces. Same music. Same crappy lighting. Same sticky floors. Same, same, same.

The only difference is
he
wasn’t here when I walked away to use the bathroom, and now… he is.

Six days. One hundred forty four hours. One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes. Eight thousand, six hundred and forty seconds.

But who’s counting?

~ Caleb ~

“Dude, incoming!” Blaze announces at the top of his voice, hands cupped around his mouth to create a megaphone. “Girlfriend rapidly approaching,” he says to Matthew. “And she’s got Walk of Shame hot on her heels, bro.”

Stephan bumps me with his hip. “Showtime, your lover looks like she’s about to puke her guts out. What’d you do to her, man?”

As if he didn’t already know.

“Hey!” Matthew’s sharp voice cuts in, stopping Stephan from continuing. “Guys,
enough
. If Cecelia hears you talking shit about those two, she’s going to take it personally, and I’m the one who’s going to hear about it when we get home. And I didn’t drive all the way here to get my damn ass chewed out at the end of the night.”

Everyone looks at him, trying to determine if he’s serious.

“Did I stutter?” he asks, holding his empty cup out. “Someone top me off.”

“Man, you sure turned into an ass when you went pro,” Miles mutters, grabbing the beer pitcher off a nearby table and tipping it over Matthew’s outstretched beer cup to fill it.

Matthew Wakefield raises his eyebrows sardonically. “Since when does
not
wanting my girlfriend to be upset make me an ass? Grow up.” His arm goes around Cecelia when the girls join us, and he plants a kiss on her temple as they turn toward me, giving me my first real look at Abby’s best friend.

Wakefield’s girlfriend is really good-looking, but not at all what I expected the girlfriend of a professional athlete to look like. For one thing, she looks normal. Low maintenance in well-worn jeans, a threadbare gray Blackhawks sweatshirt, its sleeves pushed up to her elbows and neckline slouching across her shoulders. Her long hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and sparkly studs adorn her ears.

Cecelia extends a delicate hand toward me, the silver bangles on her wrist jingling. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Cece.” Her pretty green eyes assess me, but not in an overly critical way, and my shoulders sag from relief, knowing I’m not about to get the third degree. At least I hope not.

Not surprisingly, Abby stands timidly behind Matthew Wakefield’s opposing form, using him as a shield and eluding my gaze.

Alrighty, then
.

I clasp Cecelia’s fingers, pumping them up and down once before she releases my hand. She looks me in the eyes, unblinking, when I introduce myself. “Caleb.”

I’m expecting her to respond with a snarky quip like,
Yeah, I know all about who
you
are,
or
Oh, Caleb the Liar
? Or even something catty like,
Trust me, she’s told me
all
about you,
as I imagine most best friends of a slighted girl would. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she shocks the shit out of me by smiling, her bright white teeth bending into a sincere curve. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“How you been, man?” Wakefield asks. “Your stats are ri-motherfucking-diculous. Any teams trying to get you into bed yet?”