It Was Always You (Gaming the System) (3 page)

Then I felt hands curl around my hips and a head dip down to smell my hair—and I didn’t even have to ask. I knew who it was. My heart thundered madly to feel him so near, to smell him—that clean scent of soap and sweat, of snow, of the vodka on his breath. I could fool myself that this was Lucas. But no.

I knew, I
knew
it was Jeremy. Tiff’s boyfriend. The one my roommate was dating. But
my
Jeremy. He’d been mine long before he’d been hers. So when his mouth landed on mine in a fiery kiss, I didn’t resist. I opened my mouth to his taste, his heat, and I melted like snow against him.

His lips glided across mine, tasting, then pushing my lips open, his tongue slid in. And thoughts raced through my mind in a weird sort of biopic of my childhood—that time I’d crashed my bike against the dead-end barrier at the end of the street and badly bloodied my knees. Jeremy had walked me home, had consoled me, wiping my dusty tears with his hands. I hadn’t seen my bike for days until he’d proudly presented it to me, good as new. His mom had told me months later that he’d spent his own allowance money to get the parts to fix it.

Jeremy’s hands cinched around my waist, pulling me against his firm chest. My hands splayed against his shirt, wishing I could reach underneath. Jeremy didn’t belong to me. He was Tiff’s, such as that relationship was. I had no right to kiss him, but how could I not when it felt so damn right?

My tongue slid in after him, as he pulled his back in retreat. I invaded his mouth, tasting him, the tingle of hot desire washing down my back like a tropical shower. My hands slid to his shoulders, his to the bottom of my shirt, a thumb slipping tentatively underneath, flicking across my skin.

I gasped against his mouth. His name was on my lips but I wouldn’t say it—I couldn’t. Because if I did, it would make this real instead of a phantom encounter in the dark that should not ever have happened. My fingers dug into his shoulders and I was drunk with something besides just vodka. His taste, his smell, his touch. His mouth left mine and trailed a slow, hot path over the edge of my jaw, my throat. Every place that it landed sizzled like electricity zinging from the point of contact all through me.

I shivered uncontrollably, even less in control of myself than I was back when we were trading shoves in the snow over the snow Dalek. But God, I wanted him. Jeremy. My brother’s friend. The kid who lived down the block from me for ten years. The kid who used to ignore me while we were on the high school campus but was nice as could be during the summer and on vacations. The guy who was dating my roommate.

And it felt so damn good.

Shit.

Why
now
, of all times?

His hot breath was bathing my face, his fingers twining through my hair. Each touch was like a shock through my system, starting off a chain reaction that settled at my center. It was getting extremely hot in this closet and I didn’t care. Because I wanted Jeremy to reach under my clothes and touch me.

My head fell back and his mouth was everywhere, sliding across the tender, sensitive skin of my neck. My fingers curled into his shirt, ready to pull it off of him and—

The doorknob rattled again.

We froze.

The door cracked open and we flew from each other as if someone had doused us in ice water. And by the shivering I felt with the loss of his warmth, the feel of his mouth and his hands, it almost felt as if I was threatening hypothermia.

A quiet whisper—that of a woman—asked, “Are you the Sardine?”

“Yes,” I said quickly and she slipped inside. I immediately smelled Tiffani’s shampoo and was bathed with sick guilt. She was inside with us and I had just been making out with her boyfriend.

Damn it!

I felt fingers brush against mine. Strong fingers. He took my hand in his and squeezed it, a plea for silence? As if I would say anything! Perhaps he was afraid my guilt would get the better of me and I’d confess to Tiffani straight away.

Nope. It would be best to forget this ever happened. I quickly pulled my hand out of his grip and quietly coughed into the darkness. Tiffani shushed me, of course. But the sooner more people joined us in here, the less awkward and awful this would be.

Thankfully someone outside must have heard because seconds later, the door opened and again, “Are you the Sardine?”

“Yes,” answered Tiffani. Another form joined us in the darkness—this time it was Lucas—because this whole encounter
really
needed to be even more awkward than it already was! It was getting cramped and hot with the four of us in here. And I could have sworn that at least one of them was a mouth-breather. Probably Tiffani.

That thought got me giggling. I mean
really
giggling. Uncontrollable chortles rose up in my throat and despite their shushing, I couldn’t stop. In fact,
because
of their shushing, I only laughed louder. It was the kind of laugh that made your gut ache the more you tried to clamp down on it and stop it. That made your eyes tear up. It was the kind of laugh that should be let out to spend itself. But I couldn’t, so the more I tried to cork it, the more it built up pressure inside of me like a bottle of soda pop when you shook it as hard as you could without twisting the cap. Because once you twisted the cap, that soda went
everywhere
.

And so it was with me, the human version of a soda bottle. With nowhere for that internal pressure to release, between the spaghetti dinner, the roughhousing in the snow, the spiked hot chocolate and shots of vodka, and now this stuffy closet and this impossible guilty feeling knotting in my chest, I was like a volcano ready to blow.

So yep, it happened. I barfed everywhere.
Everywhere.
All over the closet. All over myself. All over Tiff’s hair. No sardine in that tin escaped unscathed.

We piled out of there in short order. Tiffani raced for the bathroom covered in my puke, looking green around the gills herself.

It took about an hour for the collateral damage from my bottled-up giggle fest to be cleared away. As I felt bad and there were only two bathrooms in the place, I volunteered to shower last. Tiff had showered first downstairs and Lucas was waiting to use that one after her. I let Jeremy use the bathroom next to my bedroom and as soon as I heard him open the door, my heart raced and I hesitated. I almost turned around and bolted back for my room.

Jeremy was fully clothed, his hair still wet. He met me in the hallway and with a slight nudge, pushed me back toward my room.

“Mic,” he said, coming inside and shutting the door.

“Don’t come any closer, I’m vomit-covered.”

“I just thought we should talk about what happened in there.”

I cleared my throat, fidgeted, clutching my balled-up packet of clean clothes and towel to me. “There’s nothing to discuss. It shouldn’t have happened and as far as I am concerned it didn’t happen.”

He raised his eyebrow. “For real?”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t see any relief in his face. He was probably not convinced that I wouldn’t tell Tiffani about it. “I don’t see why it would be necessary to hurt her like that.”

Realization appeared to dawn. He ran a hand through his damp hair, frowning. “I see…I don’t want to hurt her either, but—”

“So you see? We agree. There’s—there’s nothing to talk about.” And I most certainly was not going to talk about how his kisses had steamed me up inside—how I’d never, ever been kissed like that before. And, if I were never to be kissed like that again, it would be a very sad and barren future for me.

Because in the grand scheme of things, that kiss rated a thirteen on a scale of one to five. And thirteen was not a lucky number. So while I was at the whole business of attributing unlucky numbers to my “kiss of a lifetime,” I might as well have gone and broken a few mirrors or walked under a ladder while I was at it.

I heaved a big sigh and looked away from the enigmatic expression in his green eyes. “Please, Jeremy. Let’s not belabor this. It happened. It’s over. You have a girlfriend.”

He clenched his jaw and then nodded, reaching for the doorknob. “I’m—I’m sorry, Mic. It was…at that moment, I couldn’t help myself.”

More guilt gripped at me. Wasn’t that what all cheaters said? And here I was, the
other woman
. “Maybe we should, uh…just avoid each other for a while.”

But even as I said it, a twinge of pain at the thought pinched me. Even as Tiffani’s boyfriend, it had been great to have him around the past year, hanging out, drinking beers, geeking out to
Doctor Who
and playing video games when he could tear himself away from work.

He frowned and nodded, leaving without a word.

Chapter Four
Jeremy

I couldn’t get her or that kiss out of my mind. In fact, ever since the entire crazy proposal that she “go for” Lucas, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I did
not
want that to happen. I didn’t dig as deep down as I should have, though, to find out just
why
I felt that way. But I suspected that it was about old feelings resurfacing.

Old feelings that I hadn’t even been aware of back when I was in tenth grade and wanted to kiss her like I’d just kissed her in that closet.

And that kiss. Wow.

But could I be honest with myself? Did she even feel the same way? The way she’d responded to me was exhilarating, consuming…but her words after that had confused me. Just forget about it. Pretend it didn’t happen. She was feeling guilty, sure. But it had been my fault.
I
was the asshole for kissing someone else while I was dating Tiff.

Mic was right. She had a point. I had no right to feel annoyed that she was spending time with Lucas when I had a perfectly fine—okay maybe not particularly perfect for
me
—girlfriend. But Tiff was pretty in the way that was out of my league and all my friends thought I was lucky to have her.

But now that I had her…did I want to keep her? Or had I just ended up with her because I couldn’t have what I’d
really
wanted?

This was just me having relationship jitters. Tiff and I fought a lot but we could make it work if we tried harder…if I spent less time away from her and less time working. If I made a better effort to go along with what she wanted…

So Mic and I managed to avoid each other for the rest of the night. There was the unwrapping of the shower gifts, the oohing and ahhing and thanking. The funny, drunken speeches. The quiet, hungover morning after. The long silent early walk in the snow that had fallen overnight.

That last one was just me. I’d made excuses to Tiff, who had been pretty grumpy about it. She’d pretty much insisted I stay and make cookies with her. But I had to get out, clear my head and try not to think about Mic.

Just before I’d woken up that morning, I’d dreamt about Michaela. We were kids again, in high school. And that one night at that one stupid cheesy dance that I couldn’t even remember the name of anymore, I’d almost asked her to dance a slow dance with me. Her brother had even told me he’d be cool with it.

But I’d chickened out.

Missed opportunities. Sometimes they had to stay missed, because timing was clearly not on our side.

But after that kiss, and the realization of what we’d
really
missed out on after these past six years since that night at the dance, I was feeling depressed.

Despite the good of being with Tiff—and all the cred I’d gotten with my socially awkward geeky friends for having a hot girlfriend—it had never been with her like that kiss I’d shared with Mic.

That kiss had been electric, intoxicating.

When I got back to the house, I cut a path through the neighboring yard and hill. Michaela and Lucas were sledding down on “borrowed” cafeteria trays from the college dorm. They were laughing, yelling, having a wonderful time.

And I just felt miserable and cold inside.

So I sucked it up and went inside. I needed to have a talk with Tiff.

***

“We need to talk,” Tiff began the minute I stepped foot into the kitchen. I took a deep breath. She was scowling over a mixing bowl, shifting recipe cards in her hands.

“Okay,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“Why are you acting so distant all of a sudden? You don’t want to do
any
of the things I want to do.”

I frowned. “Tiff, we
always
do the things you want to do. We go to the movies you want to see—”

“
When
you’re around to take me out—”

“We watch the TV shows
you
want to watch—”

“Not that silly English spaceman show you and Michaela always watch together!”

“It’s my favorite show, Tiff…I don’t have anyone else to watch it with but Mic.”

She huffed. “I feel like you’ve been ignoring me since we got here.”

I swallowed. How on earth could she possibly allow me to ignore her? She’d never tolerate it. “We spent the whole afternoon yesterday wrapping gifts and doing party decorations because that’s what
you
wanted to do.”

She glared at me. “You went out and spent
hours
out there with Michaela building a snowman.”

“One hour, before we froze our asses off.”

She tossed down a wooden spoon and folded her arms across her chest. “There is
definitely
something wrong here. Usually when we are five minutes into an argument, you are apologizing by now.”

My fists tightened inside my pockets. I did have things to apologize for, but I wasn’t going to apologize for
this
. I put up with a lot from Tiff because I was so convinced that she was out of my league. Yeah, she was beautiful, but was she really out of my league in every way?

Or was she just playing in
another
league?

Because, really, we had next to nothing in common. Except Michaela. We had her in common.

And if I broke things off with Tiff now…would I even have a chance with Michaela? Or would she have already moved on to Lucas or someone else that hadn’t dated her roommate?

I glanced out the window, watched them up on the hill, almost forgot about my fuming girlfriend across the room from me as I saw Lucas put an arm around Mic’s shoulders and say something to her to make her laugh. She threw her head back, blonde hair whipping behind her.