Valentine's Day Kisses : Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  She grunts as she strides past me, and I step over and block the path to her room.

  “Anything I should know about you?”

  She winces as if I had crossed the line in the proverbial sand. “You want to know something about me?”

  “Yeah, like, what’s your routine?”

  “Let’s see.” She folds her arms across her chest, her face filled with attitude. “As soon as I get home, I like to unhook my bra.”

  Nice.

  Her eyes narrow in on mine. “Except on weekends when I just plain don’t wear one.”

  This just gets better.

  She smirks. “Relax, frat boy, I’m not showing off my nipple piercings just yet.”

  “Nipple piercings?” This is a must see. “And, by the way”—I touch my finger just under her chin, and her eyes widen like she might bite my balls off—“I’m as much a frat boy as you are a sorority girl. Got that, sweet tits?”

  She sucks in breath. “Call me that again, and I’ll arrange for a nice, slow death.”

  I pump a dull smile. “Good night, sweet tits.” I head to my room before all hell breaks loose.

  And something tells me it already has.

  Sugar Coated Truth

  Roxy

  A spear of defused sunlight lies over my eyes like a blade, annoying the living hell out of me, so I turn and burrow my head in the pillow. My phone buzzes softly from somewhere on my bed, and I slap around until I locate the damn thing. It’s Camilla Gorilla Grant, some girl from my old dorm who believes women who shave are simply bending backward to please the opposite gender—that it’s our God-given right to be as hairy as nature intended. Nevertheless, she’s met the mountain man of her dreams because, apparently, my mother was right when she said every pot has a lid, except for me, of course. I had one of those stupid glass lids that shattered a few weeks back right along with my heart.

  “Hello?” I bark at her for interrupting my marathon-sleeping spree.

  “Well hello to you, too.” She giggles because apparently college girls are required to laugh after every sentence that utters from their lips. I didn’t get the memo. “Hey, like, you’re not just getting up right now, are you? It’s like eleven-thirty.” Also, in order to qualify as a Whitney Briggs coed, you’re required to pepper your conversation with the word like—like aggressively. And there’s that whole Ugg boot requirement, but I’ve been known to live in mine, so I’ll keep that one out of the equation for now.

  “No—yes, who the hell cares about my nocturnal comas. What do you want?”

  “All right, geez. I just wanted to put in an order for a little get together I’m having Saturday night.”

  I sit up, suddenly fully awake with my heart racing at the prospect of filling my very first order. And, God, she asked me and not Melanie I-bake-orgasms-by-the-dozen Harrison. It feels like a Christmas miracle about a week too late, but, hell, I’ll take it.

  “So what are you thinking?” My voice rises a few notches as I try to manufacture something just this side of friendly from my vocal cords.

  “Oh, I don’t know…It’s for Jessa Hopkin’s bachelorette party.”

  “Jessa’s getting married?” Great. It was bad enough all my friends were seemingly leashed to their boyfriends—soon they’ll be leashing themselves to their boy toys for life.

  I guess I’d better start that cat rescue I’m destined to run from my home.

  “You didn’t know? She just got like knocked up and stuff, and her parents are all like well you should probably get married, so they’re doing it.”

  “That’s a good reason.” I don’t bother hiding my sarcasm.

  “I know, right? It’s totally romantic. I mean her baby gets to be a part of her special day. It’s a memory she and Brian will always cherish.”

  “And don’t forget the wedding night. That cute little bugger in the making gets in on that fun, too. Hey, wasn’t she dating Luke like forever?” Okay so I let one slip, but it’s early, and I cried myself to sleep over that entire I left you for LeAnn can’t-sing-for-crap Cleo, so I’m allowed to say like however the hell much I want today.

  “Yeah, but he’s not that into her now that she’s knocked up with Brian’s kid. Guys are funny that way. Once they see you’re sleeping with someone else, their balls get the hint, and you’re done. Plus it’s like the worst way to kill their ego.”

  “Ego…right.” I chew on that little nugget for a while. If Aiden is anything, he’s all ego. He’s all about looks, name brands, social standing, and apparently bedding down ageing pop princesses. Come to think of it, he’s all about the things that reasonable people abhor.

  Camilla puts in her order, and it’s only once we get off the phone do I realize that tomorrow is Saturday, so I haul ass out of bed and head for the shower. The door is shut, and the water is running, so I guess I’m out of luck for now. I turn around and smack into a lean side of beef.

  “Hey.” Cole’s eyes widen for a moment. They’re the perfect shade of algae—the furry kind you find under a rock, or if I want to get romantic I’d say the color of sweet spring grass right after the rain—eh, I think I’ll stick to algae. “You sleep okay last night?”

  It’s funny how he can make even an innocuous question seem like a cheesy pickup line.

  A female voice starts in on a bad rendition of Titanium from the shower, and I roll my eyes at how clichéd she is without even realizing it.

  “Let me guess, she’s trying out for the a cappella group on campus? The Saved By the Bellas?” I avert my eyes. She won’t make it. I had indigestion that strummed a more bearable rhythm in my stomach last night.

  “What?” Cole cinches back like I decked him.

  “It’s a Pitch Perfect reference.”

  “A Pitch what?” He follows me into the kitchen as if I cared.

  “It’s a movie, moron—an American classic in the making, sort of like Mean Girls which is what I am in the event you haven’t noticed.” I snarl at him. He winces as a low-riding smile plays on his lips, and my insides pinch with heat. His face is peppered with just enough stubble to make kissing him seem interesting—not that it wasn’t last night. “Anyway, yeah, I slept like a baby.” Right after I cried like one.

  Cole steps in between the fridge and me. His blazing eyes bear into mine, and my stomach drops as if I were on a roller coaster. “So what was the deal with you and that guy last night?”

  “He took a crap on my heart. The end.” I swoop around him and pluck the creamer from the fridge before starting up the coffee maker. Sacks of flour clutter up the counter, and I know I’ve got enough eggs and butter, so I’ll only have to pick up a few odds and ends at the grocery store. Which is a good thing because I’m down to my last few dollars.

  Cole steps in front of me with his rock-solid chest inches from mine. “Sounds harsh.” His dark hair is slightly rumpled, glossy and black as a raven’s wing. He smells like musk and last night’s romp and stomp, and yet my insides revolt against my will and have some overt sexual reaction to him. Pathetic. No wonder every girl on campus needs to ride the Brighton express. Nature has turned him into a fundamentally perfect procreation machine, and it’s all the opposite gender can do but fall under his primal spell. It’s biology, stupid.

  “It is harsh, but that’s what I get for believing in fairytales.” I zip around him and take a seat at the bar while the coffeemaker burps to life.

  He leans in across the counter, elbows down, his eyes still trying their best to command mine. “What’s a fairytale?”

  “Love.” I don’t hesitate with the answer, mostly because it’s true. “What you do is real.”

  Cole flinches as if I had accused him of grand coital larceny.

  “You know—you hook-up.” I shrug. “You screw the night away and let the vaginas fall where they may. Nobody expects anything from you.”

  His head ticks back a notch. His features reconfigure with a look of confusion. Clearly, I’ve stunned him with this non-revelation.
/>
  “What the hell are you talking about? First you tell me I treat women like dirt, then you tell me nobody expects anything from me. I don’t treat anyone like dirt and…” he racks his brain for a minute. “My professors all expect things from me—papers to be exact.” His lips curve in a victorious smile—a pittance of one at that.

  “Oh, come on. Have you not seen the damage you’ve inflicted on that wall back there with your claw mark collection? I’m surprised you haven’t compromised a support beam. I bet the entire building is in danger of collapsing with your next conquest.”

  He flexes his lips just south of a smile. “All right, so I like to keep track. For the record, since Bryson called off the competition, I haven’t added a single scratch to that wall. This isn’t some race to see who can land the most chicks.”

  “No, it’s about sex. And, believe me, I appreciate your honesty.”

  “I take it that idiot last night was anything but.”

  “That idiot is none of your business.” I hop down and pour myself a cup of battery acid the coffeemaker managed to piss out.

  “I don’t know about that.” Cole comes over and rakes his breath over my neck. “It sort of became my business when he tried to split my face open.”

  I spin around and spill my muddy coffee just shy of his feet. “Boy, you like to get up close and personal, don’t you? Let’s initiate a new rule, a three-foot clearance around one another at all times.” I make my way back to the fridge and hear the pipes twist off in the bathroom.

  “Three-foot clearance?” He comes up behind me, and the heat from his body emanates to mine. “It’s gonna be pretty hard to recreate that kiss we shared with a buffer like that.” His hot breath smooths down my back like a wild fire, and an involuntary moan rips from my throat. “If you want, we can hang out later. I’ll let you take that wooden spoon off the wall and chase me around with it. Or maybe I can spank you with it and teach you a lesson?”

  I come to and suck in a quick breath. Cole Brighton is nothing short of a carnal magician who’s skilled in the fine art of landing coeds on their backs. Well, not this one.

  “Look”—I plunk down what’s left of my coffee and spin into him—“you can save the one-liners, the bedroom eyes, and the sexual sleight of hand for someone else, buddy.” I get right in his face, and my body turns to liquid. “I’m not buying it,” I shout, trying to convince both him and my weak feminine needs that I freaking mean it.

  He gives a quiet huff, his chest bouncing with the idea of a laugh. “Listen, sweetie, if I wanted you, I’d have had you last night—all night.” He walks away, and I see nothing but a wall of red.

  “Ha!” I belt it out, loud and proud. “In your dreams. The only way you can land a girl on the mattress is to get her nice and toasted first. I bet there hasn’t been a girl in your bedroom within legal alcohol limits in years.”

  “Oh, really?” He turns around. “A hundred bucks says you’ll be sober the day you beg me to take you back there.”

  Gah! “You’re incredulous!” I strut over and jab my finger in his granite-like chest. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not all that. In fact, none of the girls at Whitney Briggs think so either.” Okay, so I might be making things up right about now, but, in my defense, my ego demands it.

  “Yeah, right.” He averts his eyes out the window and somehow this initiates a boiling rage inside me.

  “I am right.” I tilt into that cocky grin brewing on his lips. “You’re nothing but a novelty around here just like an ugly sweater at Christmas. No one really wants to be seen with you—you’re just a part of the sorority-girl tradition—some hazing ritual that involves the lower half of your body.” I glance down a moment before forcing myself to revert back to his eyes.

  He shakes his head, completely unaffected by the barb I just threw.

  “All right, sweetie. You’re still pissed about last night, and I bet you haven’t been laid in weeks, so I’ll let this one slide.” His lips come in close to my cheek, and I inch back just as he comes in for the kill.

  His squeeze box left over from last night bops into the room and locks her limbs around him as if she were ready and willing for round two. But I don’t stick around for the show. I make a beeline for the shower then get the hell out of dodge.

  I’ve got three-dozen penis cupcakes on order, and I damn well better get used to having a dick in my face especially if I’m going to be living with one.

  Cole

  It took an hour and a half before I finally convinced Angel to take off. Okay, so I might have treated her like dirt a little, but that was only because she was forcing me to break all sorts of one-night stand bylaws I didn’t even know I had. For starters, I’m still a little miffed about the no-virgins infraction. Secondly, no double dipping in a twenty-four hour period or said girl might be led to believe things were “evolving.” Third, no working in breakfast, lunch, or dinner around any mattress moves I might be willing to employ. This is just a hookup. That’s why they’re called one-night stands and not relationships. There’s a fine line between the two, and I’ll be the last to cross it.

  I hit the gym over on campus and meet up with Bryson in the weight room.

  “Dude.” He offers up a fist bump. “Thanks again for standing up for Roxy last night. Sorry things got ugly.”

  I take a seat on the bench next to him and pluck the towel from around my neck.

  “Yeah, well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” That conversation we had this morning runs through my mind, more like a screaming match. “What’s with her, anyway? She’s lit like a match half the time. I tried to be nice to her this morning, and now I’m half afraid she’s going to slap me with a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

  He chuckles, returning his weights to the bar. “Roxy’s a head trip sometimes. Tread lightly.”

  “She mentioned that jackass broke her heart. You know anything about it?”

  “He cheated. The end.” He unties his shoes while sweat beads down his face. “I guess he and Rox had been together for a while. It wasn’t the first time he stepped out on her.”

  “Really?” I adjust the weights. “I wouldn’t have pegged her for someone who put up with too much bull.”

  “I guess you never know what makes someone tick. We’ve all got our reasons to keep those negative vices around. Speaking of vices”—he stands and stretches his arms over his head—“I’ve got an opening at the Black Bear if you want it. We’ve had three bartenders graduate and leave Hollow Brook for greener financial pastures.”

  “Bartender, huh?” Not that I’m in a position to be choosy. I’m pretty damn strapped at the moment. “I’ll take it.”

  “Great, you can start tomorrow night.” He slaps me five on his way out the door.

  “See you there.”

  Bartender. I shake my head. Who am I kidding? The way I log hours at the Black Bear, it’s been destined to happen.

  “What’s up?” A tall guy with a slightly familiar frown takes Bryson’s spot, and I nod over at him still unable to place him. “I’m Ryder.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Roxy’s brother.”

  That’s where I know that frown—runs in the family.

  “Oh, right. You were there last night.” Suddenly I feel like forfeiting my workout routine. If he’s anything like his sister, I’d better put my balls on notice because they’re about to get sucker punched.

  “Thanks for sticking up for my sister.”

  “I wasn’t really sticking up for her.” I throw my leg over the bench and eye the exit. “I was just defending myself from some wasted jackass. What did she ever see in him, anyway?”

  “What does anyone see in anyone? Look, Aiden’s not her anything, never was never will be. He showed her some attention when she needed it, and the rest is breakup, makeup history that spanned three long years. I’m glad she’s finally got him out of her system.”

  “Dude, why’d you let it go on so long?” My insides clench at the
thought of that asswipe screwing with her heart for three years straight.

  “Why did I let it?” He sits up with a laugh buried in his throat. “I can no sooner stop Roxy from doing anything than I can stop my hair from growing. It’s pretty clear you don’t know my sister. She can be hardheaded sometimes.”

  “I got that.”

  “Yeah, well, what you don’t got is the fact she’s broken on the inside. Look, I’m not getting into it with you, but just know that our family life wasn’t as ideal as the Capwell name paints it to be. She’s been emotionally starving since birth, and there’s a hole in her heart I’m not big enough to fill. She’s like the rest of us. She just wants someone to genuinely care.”

  “Genuinely care.” I repeat as if I were taking mental notes on how to navigate the minefield that is Roxy Capwell. And why does Capwell sound so damn familiar? I’ll have to implement my ninja google skills once I ditch this place.

  “The only reason I’m telling you this is because you’re living with her. Do me a favor—don’t make any moves on her. She’s a little vulnerable right now, and I’d hate to see her thrown into some rebound relationship with the school sex mascot.” He flexes a dry smile. “No offense.”

  Sex mascot?

  “No offense taken.” I slap him some skin and get the hell out of the gym.

  Judgmental prick.

  But a part of me knows he’s right.

  By the time I get back to the apartment the entire place is lit up with the scent of sugar and spice and, holy heck, everything nice.

  Who the hell is this girl? And how did I get so lucky?

  “It smells like heaven.” I groan as I magnetize toward the kitchen. It’s as if a sugar plant exploded and drenched the air with its sickly-sweet affection, and, holy hell, do I ever approve.

  Roxy’s hair is spun in a knot with a wooden spoon driven through the beautiful mess. Her face is coated with powder. The entire kitchen looks as if a flour bomb went off, but her eyes glow like two backlit beacons warning me not to get too close or me and my man parts will run aground faster than we did before.