Every Kiss (6 page)

“Get lost, bitch,” he spits out, still sprawled out on the ground,
holding his eye. But his focus quickly changes when I gently nudge him in the
balls with my foot. Okay, I straight up kicked him with the toe of my shoe, and
he’s damn lucky it wasn’t with my heel. He’s coughing, groaning, and gagging,
and you can call me sadistic if you want, but I can’t help but feel a little
satisfaction in that.

“As I was saying, you might want to think twice about
forcing yourself on a woman again. Drunk or not, you never know when she might
kick your ass.”

I walk—or stumble—back inside, kick my heels off at the
door, and head to the stairs. I’m pretty sure this party is over for me. I
barely manage to get over the doggie gate without falling on my face, but I
climb up the stairs fairly uneventfully. Since I’ve failed to be a good
watchdog, I peek under the bed in the master bedroom to make sure our bowl of
keys hasn’t been discovered, and while I’m already in the floor, I decide to
crawl the rest of the way to my room.

I slide my hands and knees across the plush carpet of the
dim hallway, freezing when I hear a door open. I flounder for an explanation of
why I’m on the floor, and I watch a pair of familiar shoes leave Wes’ room.

“I, uh, lost a contact.” I follow the shoes up to a
hideously short skirt. One that only a slut would wear. Allison.

She sneers down at me, but then smiles sweetly when she
dangles some thin fabric from her hand. “Almost forgot.” Stretching it out in
front of her, she bends down and steps into the purple lace and slides it up
her thighs and under her skirt. “Hate when that happens. Good luck with the
contact.” Her ugly shoes scuff along the carpet as she walks away, something I
find terribly annoying.

I grumble to myself the rest of the way to my room. I know
she wanted to throw it in my face, but why should I care that she just had sex
with Wes? He’s not anything to me, so she’s more than welcome to him. I can’t
help but feeling like she’d make a much better girlfriend for Jake, though.
Something about her nauseates me. Well, her or the overage of alcohol coursing
through my bloodstream. Maybe both.

I need to get out of these tight clothes and cool down.
Fast.
Lying in the floor, I shimmy my jeans down my thighs and kick my feet until I
fling them over by the bed. I dig through my bag in search of the black running
shorts I stuffed in there this morning, and I pull out a black bikini instead.

Hmm. As long as I can sneak through the gate unnoticed, I
could go for a private swim back up at the main house. A heated pool and the
chilled night air sound oddly invigorating and refreshing. I slip into my
bikini and reluctantly pour myself back into my jeans, noticing the
yellow-green stains from rolling in the grass earlier. Just a reminder of the
jerks I’ve had to put up with the last couple of days.

After cramming my feet in the running shoes I brought to
wear tomorrow and tugging on a t-shirt, I grab a towel from the bathroom and
step out onto the balcony to take the stairwell off the back side, which
requires me to walk past Wes’ room.

Damn it.

I slide my back against the outside wall, all out
ninja-style, which probably looks more like newborn-calf-style to the untrained
eye. I peek into his window as I approach it, only to be met with complete
darkness. He’s either asleep or not in there, obviously. Thank God. I reach for
the railing and actually connect with it, making me thankful that I’m sobering
up a little bit, and the cool air on my exposed skin is cooling me enough to
quell my nausea some.

The plan to get out of the house is probably the best one
I’ve had all day long.

Taking each step carefully, I finally make it to the safety
of the firm ground, and I stop for a moment to listen for any signs of life in
the direction of the main house. The only voices I hear are coming from inside,
so I skirt around the edge of the yard, just under the cover of the bordering
trees to maintain my ninja stealth. Hey, you don’t sneak around in the woods in
the middle of the night without feeling like you didn’t earn some nun chucks or
something cool like that.

After surveying the front of the guest house one more time,
I open the gate latch quietly and listen for the soft rasp of the metal
connecting when I push it closed. As I suspected, no one has thought to come
out to the pool on such a cool night. It’s tranquilly quiet; the only sound is
the quiet hum of the pump and the water gently lapping at the sides. A calm,
blue aura glows from beneath the water, lending a little mood lighting to my
otherwise atrocious evening. I’m hoping a little perfect serenity will cancel
out the shitty day I’ve had.

I walk around and check out the hot tub, as well, but I’d
really like to start with the pool. Kicking off my shoes, I dip one foot in to
test the temperature. I can tell it’s losing its heat now that the sun is long
gone, but it’s still fairly warm. Almost like a bath after you’ve soaked in it
for a while. I peel myself out of my jeans once again and lay them out across a
lounge chair. After whipping my t-shirt over my head, I wish that I’d thought
to put my hair up, but I’m definitely not going back to the house now. Besides,
I’m freezing, just standing here in March in a bikini like an idiot.

But once I’m submerged up to my neck in the soothing warmth,
I’m wishing I could give the person who invented solar energy a big kiss. After
taking a deep breath, I sink below the surface, allowing the weightlessness to
take the strain from every muscle. It’s as close to anti-gravity as I’ll ever
get, and life is definitely full of gravity. Everything drags you down, piling
on top of you until you can hardly pick up your feet anymore. For only a brief
moment, that’s all gone.

I break the surface and languidly skim the top of the water,
only moving just enough to keep myself afloat. Back and forth, I swim the
length in a lazy backstroke until my arms and legs quiver with exhaustion. Even
then, it’s still exhilarating. Finally deciding I’m too tired to go across
again, I quickly change over to the hot tub. The water is much hotter than the
pool, so it stings slightly as I sink slowly onto the seat.

“Ahhh.” It feels that good.

“You’re a kidnapper’s dream come true. You know that?”

I slosh water everywhere as I turn toward the voice. “And
you’re my worst nightmare. Why do you keep popping up and scaring the life out
of me?” My eyes finally focus on the figure in the chair just across from the
hot tub. Wes sits in total darkness but the glow from the water reflects onto
the bottle in his hand.

“Sorry,” he offers a sincere apology, sitting forward so
that the light illuminates his face. “I saw you walk past my room, so I
followed you to see what you were up to.”

I sink to my neck in the water, not wanting him to see me in
my revealing bikini. Again. “You mean you’ve been out here all this time?”

“Yep. Which brings me back to my point. You really should be
more aware of your surroundings. You don’t ever know who’s watching you. You
can’t be too careful, you know.”

I scowl at him. “Babysitting me again, huh?”

“No. Just a friendly observation.” He stands and places his
nearly empty bottle on the table next to him, reaching behind him to pull his
shirt over his head and opening the front of his jeans. “You don’t mind if I
join you, do you?”

“It’s
your
house.” Don’t look at him. Don’t look at
him.

“My parents’ house,” he corrects. He shoves his jeans down
his legs and steps out of the pile of denim, leaving only his boxer briefs
behind.

Oops, I looked. I freaking looked. And now I can’t stop
looking. I didn’t think he could possibly be hotter than in those clothes he
had on today. I never thought I’d have the opportunity to see what’s
underneath. I had it right earlier today when I compared him to a Greek statue,
but this time I’m seeing it all. Well, except I never saw boxer briefs on any
of the statues, they usually didn’t have . . . oh damn, I just looked at his package.
Close your eyes, Callie. Abort. Abort!

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He snickers, mocking
me with the same statement he made to me this afternoon.

I need a subject change before I completely embarrass
myself. “How would your girlfriend feel about finding you in the hot tub with
me?”

“Allison isn’t my girlfriend, per se.” He reaches over to
some controls and bubbles erupt from the jets around the sides. It feels
amazing.

“I caught her leaving your room a while ago, and she stopped
in the hall to put her panties on. Define ‘per se’ because it sure looked like
the physical aspect of your relationship was still going strong less than an
hour ago.”

“It’s an on-again, mostly off-again kind of thing with her.
Right now, though—forgive me if I offend you—it’s purely sexual. Nothing more.
I asked her to be here tonight, just for that reason. I don’t know why she
wasn’t wearing panties because we never got that far, but I suspect she won’t
be coming back around for a while.”

“Why not?” As much as I should probably be offended by his
admission, I can admire his honesty about the situation. I can’t really fault
him for it if it’s all they both want out of the relationship. Unlike Tanner,
who failed to mention it to me.

“Well, without sharing too many of the gory details, before
anything really got started, I just went numb. I was bored with it. With her. I
wasn’t, uh . . .” He motions to his lap. “You know.” He stutters after
realizing what he’s admitted. “Uh, umm, not that it’s ever
not
worked
before, but she was pissed when I told her I wasn’t into it.”

I have a sudden urge to spout something off about testing
his equipment to ensure proper working order, but I somehow refrain. “You’ve
had a bad day and a lot to drink. Surely, any normal human being could be
understanding of that.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. Far too much to drink.” He
leans back and appears to contemplate. “Speaking of drunk assholes, I saw Jake
on my way over here as he was walking to his car. It looked like his eye was
swollen and he was walking funny. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to
him, would you?”

“I would.”

He scoots around and bumps his shoulder into mine. “You
okay? I tried to warn you about him. I would ask if I need to kick his ass, but
it looks like someone beat me to it. Shane?”

“Me.”

His laughter echoes off the back of the house. “Haha! That’s
freakin’ awesome.” A frown quickly replaces the smile, though, as soon as a
thought crosses his mind. “What did he do to you?”

I shrug like it’s no big deal. “He kept kissing me after I
wanted him to stop, and then he stuck his hand down the front of my pants. So I
punched him. And then kicked him . . . you know . . . in his junk.”

Wes stands up unsteadily with his fists bunched. “No wonder
he got in the car without speaking to me. I think I need to go pay him a
visit.”

I grab his sinewy arm and pull, urging him to sit back down.
“Yeah, like you can drive anywhere. I can take care of myself, you know. And I
did. I don’t need you to be my big, bad protector. I’ve taken self-defense
classes for years. I know how to handle myself.”

He sits down and wraps his arms around me, pressing me into
the wet warmth of his chest. “Sorry. You’re right.”

“And you’re drunk. Obviously an affectionate drunk, seeing
how you couldn’t wait to get away from me when you were still half sober.”

“Not true.”

“Umm . . . I have to disagree with you on that.” I try to
fight it, but I relax into him. “But we might as well try to tolerate each
other and get along. As long as Makenna and Shane are together, it looks like
we’ll be seeing each other on occasion.”

“Tolerate
each other
? If you can tolerate me after
today, you deserve a medal. I swear I’m not normally such a jerk. You, on the
other hand, haven’t done anything wrong.”

Well, I’m glad we agree on that. “Like I said, you’ve had a
bad day. I don’t know all of the details, but it’s forgivable.”

“And, Callie . . .” His tone is more serious now. “I
am
sorry about intervening earlier with Jake when I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t
want you to get hurt.”

I look up at him. The blue glow makes his eyes seem
brighter. “Why? You barely know me. Why worry about
me
?”

“I have no freaking clue,” he says, pushing the wet hair
from my face.

With that single touch, the mood shifts, electricity buzzes
in the air between us. I try to keep him from noticing, but I labor for every
breath and my heart races in my chest. He was simply getting the hair out of my
eyes, nothing more. But why does it feel like every nerve in my body has come
alive, begging for him to do it again? I don’t even know him.

Okay, so I know I’ve done a lot more with a couple of guys I
didn’t really know. One night stands aren’t about knowing the other person.
Only the end result of it is what really matters. Sex is the driving force.
Literally. So why the hell am I suddenly concerned with how well I know him,
when nothing has even happened? An even better question would be why I’m
thinking about a one night stand with Wes.

Must be the alcohol. This is why I don’t like drinking. It
screws with my head—and hormones—too much.

His eyes bore into mine, and I feel warmth creeping up my
neck and into my cheeks. I hate that being around him makes me blush. He
finally lets out a long sigh and releases me to stand, reaching out as far as
he can to pick up the whiskey bottle he left on the table. He rejoins me,
though, and puts the bottle to his lips, taking a deep pull.

“I thought you were cut off,” I joke, a poor attempt at
lightening the mood.

He shrugs. “Probably need to be. I can’t think straight.”
His eyes meet mine again, telling me that something hidden in that statement
was aimed at me.