Kaleidoscope Hearts

by Claire Contreras

  The clearing of her throat made my eyes snap back to hers, putting an end to their voyeuristic journey down her now grown-up body.

  “You’re so grown up,” I said before I could stop myself, cringing at the voice I said it in, all needy and husky and—fuck my life—desperate. I expected her to roll her eyes, the way she normally did when I said anything to her, but this girl—this freaking girl—looked at me and smiled the sexiest smile I’d ever seen. And I had just been at a party full of hot girls smiling, but Elle’s was slow and sensual when she wasn’t trying to make it be. It was just her smile, the one I’d been seeing for as long as I could remember. Putting that smile on this grown-up version of her should be downright illegal.

  “Are you hitting on me?” she asked, using a sultry voice that surprised the hell out of me.

  “That depends,” I said, inching to sit closer to her, somehow completely forgetting that I was at my best friend’s house, and this was his little sister. The thought of Vic finding us crossed my mind, but I pushed it down. In that moment, under a sky full of stars with a sad Estelle, all I could think about was making her smile.

  “What does it depend on?” she whispered.

  “Whether or not it’s working,” I whispered back, lifting my hand and running it down her back—a motion I shouldn’t have done, because now I knew Elle wasn’t wearing a bra under the oversized sweater she had on, and that knowledge woke up everything in my lower region.

  She shook her head softly, her eyes flickering between my eyes and mouth like she was actually thinking about my lips on hers. I shouldn’t have liked that thought as much as I did.

  “It’s not,” she said finally.

  “Why were you crying?” I asked, gathering her hair and pushing it behind an ear so that I could get a better look at her. The wiggle of one of her outstretched legs caught my attention, and I realized she was wearing a knee brace.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I blew out my knee in dance practice the other day for the fourth time, and when I went to the doctor today—thinking they would tell me my brace would come off in a couple of weeks like the last time—he said I have a torn ACL and can’t dance anymore,” she said in a hoarse whisper. As she looked away, I saw new tears begin to gather in her eyes. “Ever. My Julliard dreams are gone, just like that. Not that I had a real chance of getting in, but now the possibility is ruined.”

  I had no words for that. The only things Estelle did with her life were dancing and painting, but dance was her passion. It was her light. You could see the way it made her feel and how much she loved it with every move she made.

  “You still have a year of school, Elle. Don’t rule it out. Like you said, it’s happened before,” I said, cupping her face and wiping a stray tear with the pad of my thumb. She looked at me again and shook her head, but didn’t move away.

  “Not like this, Bean,” she whispered, licking the tears off of her lips. “This time it’s over for me. I just know it.”

  I pulled her face to my chest and held her there, letting her cry all over my shirt, because that was all I could do.

  “I’m so sorry, Chicken,” I whispered, as I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It would have been considered a brotherly thing to do if I hadn’t closed my eyes and smelled her hair, picturing it draped over my pillow.

  She leaned away from my chest, wiped her face, and looked up at me. Her eyelashes stayed stuck together as she blinked. “Why are you here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be at one of those crazy parties you’re always talking about?”

  “I was. I came to drop off Vic and heard you crying.”

  She nodded once, averting her eyes for a beat before looking at me again. “So, I’m so grown up,” she said, repeating my words and smiling with a twinkle in her eyes that made my chest squeeze and my jeans tighten.

  “You are.”

  She leaned her face closer so we were breathing on each other. If either of us leaned in a centimeter, our lips would be touching, and God, how I wanted that to happen.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Things I shouldn’t be thinking about,” I whispered back, my eyes on her mouth again, wondering how it would feel.

  “Like what?” she asked, her breath falling over my lips.

  I closed my eyes and leaned back just a little bit. “Like things a nineteen-year-old shouldn’t think about a sixteen-year-old.”

  “You act like you’re so much older than me.” We were both still whispering, trying to keep, whatever this crazy thing was, a secret. I was sure the crackling in the air between us would alert everybody in the general vicinity of this house that something was going on.

  “I’m old enough to know better,” I responded, tilting my face and leaning into hers, letting my lips brush hers lightly, then dragging them until I reached the edge of her mouth. I dropped a kiss there.

  “I always wondered what that would feel like,” she said, releasing a long breath as my lips grazed over hers.

  “You’ve never kissed a guy before?” I asked, rearing back. What the fuck was wrong with the guys in her school? I hadn’t even kissed her. Not really, anyway.

  Elle laughed quietly. She looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “I meant what kissing you would feel like.” She smiled bashfully and looked down at the space between us where our hands touched.

  “You’ve thought about it?” I asked, smiling, wishing her confession didn’t make me as happy as it did.

  “Often,” she said, trying to smother a smile of her own.

  I sighed heavily, ran a hand through my hair, and looked back at her open window. I needed to change the subject. I couldn’t think about her dreaming of kissing me, or the way I suddenly wanted to do so much more than that with her. “I can’t believe you got out here with that cast. Let me help you get back in.”

  I offered her my hands and helped her up, looking away into the distance and paying attention to the sound of the ocean behind us—anything not to look down at her. Our hands were still connected, and I could feel her gaze on mine. I knew if I looked down, I would kiss her—full-on kiss her—and plunge my tongue in her mouth while I suck that plump bottom lip. I knew it. I wanted to so damn bad. But I couldn’t. That wouldn’t be fair to her or Vic.

  “Ready?” I asked with a heavy sigh, as I pulled her hands in the direction of her window. I watched as she climbed in without turning back to me. When I said goodnight and started to walk away, she called my name. I walked back and dipped my head, holding on to the edge of the window.

  “Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.

  I looked up at the sky, hoping something would tell me what a bad idea that was, then I let out a breath and looked at her again. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.” And the thing is, it was true. For that month, I went back every night after the guys and I went out, and then I told Elle all about our adventures. Most of my stories were filled with warnings of what girls shouldn’t do at parties, so despite the attraction I felt, I was offering my older brother knowledge. Estelle made it difficult to stay away from her, so I kept going back nightly. I loved our easy conversations about everything and anything. I loved the way she thought my jokes were shitty and the way her eyes brightened when I finally said a good one. But some nights, she would lean into me and ask me if I would kiss her when she was eighteen and what I’d do if she was a stranger in one of my college classes. Those questions made it hard for me to think straight. I tried to dodge them by smiling and laughing. I never told her that if she was a stranger in one of those classes, I’d be on her like white on rice. I never said that if she was eighteen, I would break my rule and face the consequences. I did, however, tell her that I usually dated older women because they were less complicated and didn’t expect as much. I was way too busy focusing on school and the college experience to be tied down. She always gave me a small frown when I dropped those little hints, like sh
e wanted to challenge me and change my aversion to a real relationship. I kind of wished she had taken up that challenge, just to see how hard she’d try, even though I knew the outcome would be the same.

  Present

  “YOU DID WHAT?” Mia asks in a bewildered tone that makes me bury my face in my hands.

  “I know,” I say in a smothered mumble.

  “Look at me! I want to see how you really feel about this whole thing, because let me just say, I am shocked.”

  I drop my hands and look at her, really trying to school my features and not start laughing at the expression on her face.

  “Oh my God. You liked it. I thought he kiss attacked you and you were pissed off, but you obviously liked it! Are you insane, Elle?”

  I frown.

  “No, really,” she continues. “I’m all for you moving on with your life, but Bean? There are a million other guys out there.”

  “I know. I know.” I let out a frustrated growl. I can’t believe I freaking kissed him. “At least I walked out on him this time.”

  “I guess,” she whispers.

  “You guess?” I prompt.

  “It’s just . . . you walked away last time too, and look at where that got you.”

  “A new boyfriend, and later, fiancé?”

  “Wyatt was another terrible rebound, but I’m not here to talk crap about people who can’t defend themselves.”

  I let out a breath and shrug, because I don’t want to open that can of worms. When I met Wyatt, this older—much older than me—man, I traded in my friends and family for time with him. I became the girl I said I would never be for a guy, but he wasn’t just a guy, he was so much more. He was my mentor, my friend, my lover, and even though he had a controlling aura to him, and I dealt with crazy mood swings at times, he loved me. He was good to me.

  “I don’t want to talk about Wyatt,” I say.

  “You never do,” Mia counters, raising an eyebrow. I know she’s trying to goad me—trying to get me to the place where I lose my cool—because her words resonate something within me that I can’t argue with.

  “I don’t want to fight right now, Meep.”

  “Because you know you’ll lose the battle.”

  “I can’t do this right now,” I say finally, taking the glass of Moscato and drinking what’s left in one huge gulp before slamming it down with a clink. I take out a bill and toss it on the table.

  “You’re seriously leaving over this?” she asks, balking at me.

  “I have to go get some stuff and get ready to go to Felicia’s house for dinner tonight, and I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now.”

  “How are you going to move on completely if you’re still eating dinner with his parents every goddamn week?”

  My mouth pops open. I can’t believe she’s even going there right now, even after knowing how upset this is making me. I try to regain control of the blood simmering inside my body, but the longer I stand there, the more impossible it is.

  “Next time I need your advice, I’ll ask you. You shouldn’t be dishing out so much of it anyway! Your ex-boyfriend left you to marry his ex-girlfriend, and you rebounded with his uncle! How’s that for fucked up?” I practically shout.

  “I didn’t know it was his uncle!” She slams her palms over the table and stands up, so it looks like we’re in a boxing ring with the table serving as our referee.

  “I . . . I . . .” I put my hands on my head and squeeze the impending headache. “I have to go. I can’t . . . I can’t right now.” As it is, I already regret what I said to her. She didn’t deserve that and I know it, but dammit! She knows I hate it when she brings up Wyatt. Even when he was alive, I refused to talk about him with her after a while, because it would always end up turning into a huge argument.

  By the time I get to Victor’s house, I decide I hate everybody and can only pray nobody else gets in my way, because I feel like I have enough pent-up rage inside me to make a charging bull look tame. The door slams behind me in a thud, and I head for the stairs, ignoring the voices coming from the kitchen.

  “Elle?” Vic calls out.

  “Yeah. I’m just here for a moment. Picking something up,” I shout back, reaching the bedroom door and closing it behind me. I sag against it, feeling like a teenager avoiding her parents, and I focus on collecting my thoughts before the inevitable footsteps come up the stairs. The knock comes shortly after and I sigh, conceding to open it. I regret it immediately when I find Oliver standing on the other side, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks and a smile. I refuse to give in to the urge to let my gaze travel the length of his naked torso. My eyes can burn in hell for wanting to do it. My hands can follow them and sit beside Satan himself for wanting to reach out to tame the mussed brown hair falling over his forehead.

  “What do you want?” I ask, not even trying to hide my annoyance.

  He stops smiling and starts frowning, crossing his arms over his chest. I refuse to look at his defined arms. Absolutely refuse.

  “What crawled up your ass?” he asks, and I start closing the door on him, but he stops it with his hand. I exhale.

  “I don’t have time for this right now, Oliver. If you want to annoy me, come back after nine o’clock,” I mutter, looking down at his naked feet. They’re probably the least attractive thing on his body, but then, feet usually are.

  “Okay,” he says, pushing the door wider and letting himself in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Annoying you.”

  “I said after nine. It’s six-forty, and I have to go.” I grab the bag I have on the floor, filled with pictures of Wyatt.

  “Where are you going? Another date?” he asks, as he walks around the room, picking up everything and looking at it—even a pink bra that’s draped over my chair. He stays fixated on that.

  “I guess you can call it that.” I turn to the closet and sift through clothes, looking for something more modest to change into. The black shirt I have on shows off my entire back, and it’s not something I would wear to Wyatt’s parents’ house without him there.

  “I like what you’re wearing,” Oliver says huskily into my ear, making me jump. I turn quickly, both palms up and ready to push him away, but get sidetracked when my nose ends up on his sternum and I can’t help but breathe him in. He smells of salty water and a natural scent that’s sweet, yet masculine. I only hesitated for half a second, but it’s long enough for him to place his hands over mine. He presses them to his warm chest, and my breathing escalates.

  “Look at me, Elle,” he says, using the deliciously low, demanding voice that made my toes curl and my eyes roll back many moons ago. I have no choice but to tilt my head back and give him my attention. “Forget those lame guys you’re dating. Let me take you out.”

  My heart, if possible, spikes even further in my chest, overriding all warning of the impending chaos that’s sure to come. I try to turn my attention to the poster hanging beside us, but the image of a kissing couple has my eyes darting back to deep green eyes that burn into mine. My stomach does a flip-flop—the way it always does when he looks at me that way. I try to take my hands back, because these feelings are too scary for me to deal with right now, but he holds them tighter, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing the tip of my ring finger. Why did he pick that finger to kiss? I pull harder, and he finally lets my hand drop.

  “I can’t,” I say, my voice raspy.

  A myriad of emotions flash in his eyes before they settle on determination, and I’m forced to take a step back—away from his scent, away from his warmth.

  “Why not?”

  I sigh and finally look away, back down at his naked feet. “I just can’t.” He knows why not. He shouldn’t ask me that question. “What’s Vic doing, anyway?”

  His body moves into mine so quickly that I don’t have time to react, as his large hands clutch my arms and his face drops, bringing his nose to mine. I just stare, wide-eyed, waiting for his lips to close the distance,
but they don’t. He just looks at me . . . breathes on me . . . lets me breathe on him, and then he groans. And that fucking groan bridges the distance between us and crawls into the core of me, draping over every fiber of my being.

  “What do you want, Oliver?” I whisper against his lips. “What do you want from me? You want to kiss me? You want to fuck me? You want to come into my life like the hurricane that you are and tear down everything I’ve rebuilt before you disappear again?”

  His lips brush lightly against mine—just a breath of a touch—yet he’s crowding me like he’s about to devour me. He won’t though. He never goes in for the kill. He just casts the lure, reels me in and then cuts the line. As expected, his hands drop, and he pulls away from me as quickly as he’d approached. I feel a pang deep inside me that I desperately wish wasn’t there.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, shaking his head in a movement that makes his hair sway back and forth. His eyes are soft on mine now, and I can almost hear his thoughts: I should never have kissed her. I should never—

  My brows rise in surprise at the apology, though. There are so many things I can say to him, but the sudden, defeated look in his eyes keeps my mouth shut. Finally, I exhale and push off the wall to stand in front of him, keeping enough distance between us to discourage us from reaching toward the other.

  “It’s okay just . . . don’t do it again. The kiss the other day was a mistake . . .” I stop talking and walk past him, putting the bra away and sorting through my underwear drawer, like I’m unearthing hidden treasure or something. This time when I feel him come up behind me, I drop my head and exhale. He really needs to stop sneaking up behind me.

  “Oli—” I start, and gasp when I feel his lips on the back of my neck, soft and warm. My heart thunders and I freeze in place, my shaking hands still inside the drawer. I close my eyes and focus on breathing, as he drops another kiss right beside that spot. I never knew the back of my neck was so sensitive. The feeling sends a ripple of sensation down my arms and through my body.