Stolen Kisses

by Addison Moore

  Tears come, and I don’t fight them.

  My phone buzzes with texts from both Lucky and Harper wanting to know what’s going on. Good news travels fast. It always does.

  “Look, I want to head back to my dorm. I don’t think I can handle much more tonight.” I head in the opposite direction, and they follow.

  “I’m here for you, Ava.” Owen’s voice pitches as if he might cry himself—hell, maybe he’s already bawling. I don’t have the balls to look. “I know we haven’t been as close as we should, but I love you.” He steps in front of me just as we enter campus and blocks my path. “Don’t shut me out, Ava. Please.” There’s an undeniable ache in his voice. That final plea was embedded in his soul. I could feel it. Owen wraps his arms around me, and I lose it. I sob over my brother’s shoulder, right here on campus for all to see—my brother, who I actively dodged all semester just so I could find myself, and ironically here I am content to be his sister all over again.

  “It hurts so bad.” The words tremble from me in jags. My heart has splintered into shards, unable to recover. “Why of all the people on the planet did it have to be him?” I bury a sharp cry in his chest. “Why did she do it? Why did Aubree unleash her wickedness and tear all of our worlds to pieces?”

  “She’s sick,” he whispers, dotting a kiss to my cheek.

  “She’s selfish!” I counter as I pull back with rage. “Aubree is a selfish little bitch. She always was one, and now Grant’s sister is dead and nothing will ever be right again.”

  “Ava.” Piper tries to pull me off my brother, but I flinch out of her grasp.

  “What if she’s not sick—she’s just evil? You ever think of that?” I pound my fists against his chest. “What if you and I are evil, too? We’re cut from the same cloth, Owen. You and I are time bombs just waiting to go off!” That may not be the chief reason Grant wants nothing to do with me, but it sure as hell has to have crossed his mind.

  “No.” Owen thunders it so loud my eardrums pierce with pain. “Come here.” He wraps his arms around me tight once again. I can hardly breathe, hardly feel the icy air, hardly feel anything anymore, and for once I’m glad about it.

  “He hates me,” I whisper as tears stream steady down my cheeks. “I love him, and he hates me.” There. I said it. I love Grant. I do. But I’m not delusional. I’ll never get that love back in return.

  A week ebbs by slow as frozen molasses. Lucky and Harper drag me out of bed and walk me to my classes, picking me up like a kindergartner who might get lost on her way home. And I might have. The entire week stretches out in a blur. I miss two mandatory mixers for Kappa G, but Harper spoke to Jenna for me and swears it will be fine. Apparently, there is a very real broken heart clause, and both my broken heart and I fit into it neatly. But the second week of December comes bearing dreaded finals, and with it a myriad of parties that precede winter break. A part of me is dying to see Grant, even if it is from across the room. My heart aches too much not to. So when Lucky and Harper insist we head to a party at Beta house, I don’t fight it. I put on a pair of jeans and a red sweater that looks as if it were knit to my skin and head over to that overgrown mansion that houses the boy I love. I stare up at the monolithic cube as if the upper windows were menacing eyes, the door a glowing mouth ready to consume me. I wish it would. Nothing seems impossible now that the unthinkable has happened. I have never been so thoroughly loved before, and now I’ve never been so thoroughly hated.

  “Let’s do this.” Lucky wraps an arm over my shoulder and marches us inside.

  Harper leans in. “Just say the word, and we’ll take off. This isn’t about making you suffer. It’s about moving on with your life.”

  “Right.” The commons room is packed to the hilt with everyone in high spirits. A half-dead Christmas tree with defunct lights blinks in the corner. But despite the bodies, the deafening music, the spastic red and green scenery, I spot him. Grant stands in the corner talking to Lawson and Rush as if nothing at all had happened.

  I’ve missed two of his games. I wanted to go, but—

  Grant spots me from afar, and everything at the party, all of time freezes.

  He says a few words to his friends, and they both look over.

  “That was subtle.” Lucky pulls me deeper into the crowd, but my eyes stay trained on that corner of the room.

  Rush heads over and wraps his arms around the three of us. “Ladies—welcome to my humble abode. Whiskey anyone? I promise it will warm your bones and take away your troubles.”

  “There’s not enough whiskey in the world,” I whisper so low not even I can hear it. But my gaze is still glued to Grant, and I watch as he makes his way across the room, out the door, and out of my life.

  I wanted a last glance, and I got it. I’ve morphed into a furnace far too hot and dangerous for Grant to ever be around, and now it’s me who’s pissed.

  Rush and Lucky share a laugh about something. I spot Harper across the way talking to a trio of guys in dress shirts and khakis. Her weakness for preppies knows no bounds. I make a face and turn to Rush.

  “I think I’m ready for that whiskey.”

  It takes less than two minutes for Rush to reappear with a red Solo with my proverbial name on it. A few girls from Kappa G come over, and Lucky starts in on a lively conversation with them. But I’m in no mood to fake happy. Instead, I slowly step back against the wall, dipping my tongue in and out of the liquor that strongly smells of vanilla. It tastes like shit—correction, it tastes like nail polish remover. It’s hard to believe people actually drink for pleasure. I basically hate all forms of liquor. It’s probably a good thing Grant and I didn’t have sex, since I tend to go against the grain when it comes to popular opinion. Although, in truth, even if sex with Grant would have panned out to be the equivalent of drinking nail polish remover, I would have loved it, appreciated the fact Grant was gracing my body with his.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” a warm voice asks from behind, and I turn to find Rush with a sad smile on his face.

  “They’re stupid. I’m pretty sure you’d want your penny back.”

  “Try me.” Rush swoops in front of me, blocking out the chaos around us, and for a moment, I appreciate the shelter.

  “Okay, I was thanking God I didn’t sleep with Grant because I probably would have hated it. And then about a second later, I decided that was a lie, and I would have loved it—appreciated it even.” My face heats as my gaze drops to the brown liquid dancing in my cup, the same color as Grant’s eyes.

  Rush belts out a laugh before composing himself again, that perennial smile of his still plastered to his lips. “Grant’s a good guy.” He shrugs as if it were somewhat painful to admit. “He’s my brother from another mother. I care about him. And I like that you do, too.”

  My lips press tight because there are a few ways I can take this.

  “Don’t worry.” He raises his hands in the air. “I’m not here to report back. He’s sort of a mess right now anyway. How are you doing?” Rush sobers up as he asks the question, and it’s refreshing for once. I’ve only ever known Rush to be all hands and lips, and here he is reaching out as a friend and I like that.

  “I’m not doing so hot, but Lucky and Harper dragged me out here to try to shake me out of my funk.” To reduce the hell I’ve been through to something as simple as a funk leaves me cringing as I say it. “Sorry. It’s a bit more serious than that.”

  His chest expands with his next breath, and he lets out a sigh that drags him down to a severe slouch. “I figured it was.” He motions for me to follow him out front, and we sit on the porch and talk for hours about how life can turn into a shit parade on a dime. He tells me all about losing his mother in a car accident when he was nine. How painful it is for him to this very day, and how that very incident bonded him and Grant after he lost Stephanie.

  Stephanie. Even hearing her name spoken out loud stings me. Of course, Grant hates me. He hates my entire family, and I can’t even say I blame him.
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  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Rush reaches up and wipes a stray tear from my eye. “You don’t need to say anything. Just know that sometimes when people are hurting, they do things they don’t necessarily mean. Grant is a good guy. His heart is in the right place. He just needs to get his bearings. The truth about who you are just threw him off-balance. That’s one thing guys aren’t too good at—keeping their emotional balance.”

  “You sound like you’re ready to open up shop.” I butt my shoulder into his, and we share a light laugh.

  “They don’t call me Dr. Knight for nothing.”

  “All right, Dr. Knight. I think I’ll take off now.” I offer him a brief hug before glancing back at the rager inside.

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I shoot a quick text to both Harper and Lucky and head down the street sullen with Grant Jones’s best friend by my side. Sure wish I were walking home with Rush Knight’s best friend instead.

  Just act natural!

  I smirk at Daisy’s text. She’s fully in support of Lucky and Harper’s newest scheme to pick my heart up off the floor—by way of taking me to a basketball game.

  Lucky leans over and glances down. “Hate to say it, but she’s right.” Lucky has warmed up to Daisy ever since she’s shown extra care with me these last couple of weeks. Heck, I’ve even let Piper tag along on our coffee klatches at Hollowed Grounds. In a weird way, Daisy and Piper really are feeling a lot like a couple of big sisters—a couple of big sisters that we actually don’t mind having around.

  Harper slings her arm over my shoulder as we head into the Mustang Dome for the game. “Just remember, you’re a badass and no one has the power to steal your joy.”

  “Wow,” I muse. “You should seriously consider penning a self-help book.” As lackluster as that might sound, I actually meant it. Harper has been a radical cheerleader in the face of my latest, perhaps greatest adversity.

  And give me some details once in a while! Suspense isn’t my strong suit.

  Will do, I shoot right back.

  I’m not sure I’m really going to give Daisy a play-by-play of my evening. Watching Grant run up and down the court will be hard enough without having to document it on a quasi-public level.

  Piper says hi, and she’s rooting for you, too! Go Ava!

  “Great,” I mutter as we snake our way through the crowd. “It’s like they think I’m on the opposing team.”

  “He’s on the opposing team.” Harper looks good and pissed like she could get on board if I wanted to go ape on him. “He’s the one shutting you out.”

  “Not really true. He did break things off. There’s nothing to shut out once it’s over.”

  Lucky points to our usual seats about five rows back, and I stop short once I spot a familiar blonde seated a few rows down.

  “Is that what’s-her-face?” Lucky’s mouth contorts as if she’s about to be sick. I may have colored Lucky and Harper’s perception of Grant’s ex. I wouldn’t say I have a disdain for Darcy, just that—I have a disdain for her.

  We make our way over, and I land in the seat closest to the girl. No point in fighting it. I really have nothing against her.

  A brief visual of Grant rushing over and planting a wet one on her bounces through my mind, and my blood boils at the thought. Just the thought of him with someone else makes my stomach churn, but the thought of him with Darcy makes my blood turn to lava. I’ve never been one to hate anybody, but for a brief second that’s a very real emotion for me.

  Her blonde hair is perfectly slicked back into a perky little ponytail, coiled in one stingy curl. Her perfect French manicure forces me to glance at my own chipped nail polish, and suddenly I feel motivated to sit on my hands.

  The team jogs out onto the court, and the crowd lights up with howls while stomping their feet until the entire dome thunders. Lawson and Rush jog side by side, and it’s not until they part ways do I see him.

  Grant Jones nods over to Darcy with a grin. His gaze rides up a notch and hooks to mine, and I watch as that grin melts right off his face. Those serious eyes widen a notch before he heads over to the huddle with the rest of the team.

  Darcy turns around and sweeps her gaze right past me before backtracking.

  “Oh, hey! You’re Grant’s little sister, right?” Her warm, friendly smile looks infectious. No wonder Grant came out grinning at her. Who could help but be happy around that level of perky?

  “That’s me.” I shrug, trying to muster even a smidgen of her enthusiasm. “But that whole big-brother-little-sister thing is kind of over now.”

  The crowd lights up again, drowning out the last of my words.

  Darcy places her hand over her ear and leans in. “What was that?”

  “I said it’s over!” I shout with a vengeance just as the crowd dies down, and every head in the gym turns to get a look at me.

  I glance up and spot both Rush and Grant slack-jawed at my strange profession—to his ex-girlfriend no less.

  Crap. I slump in my seat as the coach calls the team to attention.

  “Smooth.” Harper nods in approval. If Harper had her way, I would have shouted those last words in a bullhorn straight into Grant’s ear. She’s not above me stealing his hearing in an effort to show off the fact I’m strong without him. I wish it were true. That’s what tonight is about—making it true. By the time I leave this glorified sports arena, I’m going to be Ava Vincent, heart of steel.

  The team breaks up again, and players scurry in every direction. Rush waves and heads on up. He’s tall and stately on a normal day, but in his basketball uniform, with him standing over the three of us, Rush looks like a giant—a slightly perverted and vexingly hot giant with a dirty grin on his face. But I’m not interested in his dirty grin or his vexingly hot looks. Rush may as well be my big brother—a real one.

  “You came.” He high-fives me. It was Rush who insisted I make an appearance. Rush and I have spent an awful lot of time together these last few days. He’s sort of taken on the role of my personal counselor, which I appreciate. But the main role he’s voluntarily undertaken is as Grant’s biggest cheerleader. That’s the reason I like hanging out with Rush the most—we both seem to linger in conversations that have anything remotely to do with Grant. “You want seats down front? You can sit with the team.” He tries to take my hand, but I retract it.

  “Are you insane?” I glance down at the bench and spot Grant knocking back a bottle of water with his stare still zeroed in on us. As soon as our eyes meet, he’s quick to look away.

  “Just checking.” He holds his hands up a moment. “Post-game party at Beta. I better see you there.” He heads back to the team just as Darcy starts in on a spastic wave.

  “Grant! Number twenty-one!” She bounces in her seat, shouting his name like a mantra before snagging his attention. She motions him over, and he walks to the edge of the stands, leaning in with an uneasy look on his face.

  I glance down at my phone, pretending to be unaware of the spectacle she’s creating.

  “Up here, silly!” Darcy belts out a laugh, and I can’t help but think she sounds like a hyena. Not that hyenas are unlovable—it’s just that I think they should come with a mute button. At least the people version.

  My phone bleats. It’s Daisy. How’s it going?

  He’s on his way over. I hit send.

  I knew it! I can practically feel Daisy’s excitement.

  I text back. To see his ex-girlfriend.

  Grant edges his way into Darcy’s aisle, his eyes staying focused on the task at hand, but there’s something about being in this close proximity that sends me into a mild panic attack with my heart jumping into my throat, my blood pounding in my ears.

  Lucky tucks her elbow in my rib while Harper clasps her hand over my knee and gives it the squeeze of death.

  The phone vibrates in my hand. Asshole. I can’t hel
p but shed a tiny smile at Daisy’s text.

  Grant stops dead in front of me, and my heart stops right along with him.

  “Get over here! Let me give you some luck!” Darcy springs to her feet before throwing herself on him.

  Harper leans in and whispers, “Some bad luck.”

  But it doesn’t look bad from here. Grant carefully embraces her in return before taking off and speeding toward the court. Nope. Didn’t look bad. Looked pretty great to me. Grant’s arms wrapped around my body is something I’ll never feel again.

  Lucky leans in. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great.” I stare at my phone, and as if on command Daisy texts back.

  And then what happened???

  I text back. And then they hugged it out and lived happily ever after.

  Daisy doesn’t waste a second. Crap. Sorry you had to witness it.

  I debate a moment on whether or not to go with the truth or a lie. I’m fine. I promise. For all practical purposes, I go with the lie.

  The game drones on, too loud, too many boys dancing with the ball between their legs, too many buzzers and whistles sounding off.

  Rush and Lawson come up and talk to us during halftime, but Darcy drifts down to the court and shows off her all-access pass to the boy I once loved—still pathetically do. Not sure what to do with that—unrequited love. It sounds beyond pathetic, like some tragic romance novel gone awry. That’s what’s become of us. We’ve reduced ourselves to mere caricatures of who we used to be. The irony isn’t lost on me. In an attempt to become my own person, I fall for the one human being who can never truly accept me for who I am. I realize that now, and in a macabre way, I think I deserve this. I ran so far from who I was and ended up full circle. The truth being, I could never really outrun myself. Dammit, I tried, though, and in doing so, I ran right into Grant.

  The final buzzer sounds, and the squeak of shoes is replaced with the groan of the crowd along with a mixed applause. I’m so stoned by my own sorrow I don’t even know if we’ve won or lost. The crowd mingles onto the court, and I watch as Darcy practically flies down to the bench and leaps onto her number twenty-one. Grant’s body is slicked with sweat, his hair dripping wet, and she cringes as she pulls him into a hug. I wonder if I would have done the same. A playful cringe-worthy moment, but this version of me would have gladly pressed my lips to his, adhered my body to his tall, sticky frame, and groaned with an ache that only the thrill of passion could bring.