by Anna Martin
“Come on,” he said and dragged her away by the wrist before anyone could step in.
As they ducked into a door marked Employees Only next to the bar, Clare hissed and spat and cursed at him, but Jared marched on, only stopping when they got to a corridor that led to the kitchens.
He looked back and saw the telltale swelling around Clare’s left eye. He’d been in enough scrapes in military school to know the beginnings of a black eye when he saw one.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered and dragged Clare into the kitchen.
“Hey!”
They both turned as someone finally caught up to them. An older woman in a white chef’s jacket stood with her hands on her hips.
“Y’all can’t be down here.” She narrowed her eyes at Clare’s scratched face, then at Jared, who was pulling the hapless woman along. “Is there a problem?”
“Gay,” Jared said, pointing at himself. “Very gay.” He pointed at Clare. “Bitch fight. Can we get some ice for her face?”
“I fucking hate you,” Clare hissed as the woman rolled her eyes and marched through a set of swinging double doors. He ignored her and followed the chef.
This kitchen was empty, a smaller space Jared assumed was used for catering more intimate parties. Their savior in a white jacket was piling ice cubes into a ziploc bag that she then wrapped in a dish towel.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the icy package at Jared. “There’s a smoking area out back.”
Behind them, Clare sniffed in disdain.
“Thanks,” Jared said with a grateful smile and steered Clare away before she said something insulting.
The smoking area wasn’t the cramped shack Jared expected. It was more of a walled garden with a couple of benches. Since he didn’t know where Chris had taken Mia or what the argument had been about in the first place, it seemed the safest place to be.
“Here,” Jared said, steering Clare onto one of the wooden benches. “Stick this on your face.”
“I don’t fucking need—”
“Shut the fuck up and put the ice on your face,” Jared said. “You can’t out-princess me right now, sweetheart.”
Clare looked livid but sat and slapped the ice over her swollen eye.
“Good girl.”
A slim Hispanic guy wearing checkered chef’s pants came out of the door to the kitchens, whistling to himself and stopping short when he saw the high school kids in fancy clothes snarling at each other.
“You guys shouldn’t be here,” he said cautiously.
“Please,” Jared said. “I will give you twenty bucks for a cigarette right now.”
Hispanic Guy grinned and pulled a battered packet of Marlboros from his pocket. “How about your number instead?”
Jared hesitated, then tucked a folded bill into the packet in place of the cigarette he took. “I’m taken,” he said.
“Not her?”
“No. Not me,” Clare said around the ice on her face. “Him inside.”
“What happened?” Jared asked, lighting the cigarette and taking a long draw on it.
“Fucking bitch,” Clare spat.
“Which one?”
“Mia. She should know when to keep her fucking nose out of other people’s business.”
Jared took another drag on the cigarette, passing it to Clare when she held her hand out. He didn’t claim to know much about women, but this seemed to be one of those situations where he could do no harm by staying silent and letting her speak.
“Bitch has been trying to set me up with Chris for fucking ever.”
“Hm.”
She passed the cigarette back. “What happens in my relationship is none of their fucking business.”
Jared raised an eyebrow. “You have a relationship?”
“Fuck you, Jared.”
He schooled his face into a picture of nonchalance, even as his inner gossip queen went wild. After one more drag on the cigarette, it was almost burned out, and Jared walked over to the metal box on the wall, scratching out the embers before dumping the butt.
“Let me see,” he said as he sat down next to her, gently bringing the ice pack away from her face. The cold was keeping the swelling down, but she’d likely have a shiner. She winced, and he apologized and carefully pressed the pack back onto her face. “Keep it there for a while longer if you can.”
She nodded. “You don’t hate me,” she said, her voice perfectly matter-of-fact.
“No.”
“Hm.”
“Should I?”
“A lot of people would.”
Jared nodded. “Yeah. They would.” He waited for the Hispanic guy to duck back into the kitchens, nodding a good-bye and tossing Jared one last sorrowful look over his shoulder. “I think I feel sorry for you.”
“Bitch, please.”
“You love him. It’s clear to anyone with eyes you love him, and he fucking adores you, Clare. He worships the ground you walk on.”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” she repeated, although the venom had drained from her voice.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Jared said, getting into the swing of this now. “I think you’re scared. Chris offers you the world on a silver platter, but you know you won’t ever be able to leave him if you go there. So you keep him at arm’s distance.”
“Jared,” Clare said, a low warning.
“You’re a fucking bitch, Clare.”
She laughed once, hollowly. “That’s why you should hate me.”
“You push people away and it works. It works for everyone, apart from the people who can see through your bullshit. No one looks through your bullshit like Biggie. That’s why you call him Chris. Because there are no masks, there are no walls, there’s no hiding between you two.”
Clare sniffed, but this time a tear rolled down her cheek. Jared pressed on, knowing there would never be another chance for him to say this.
“You call him Chris,” she said petulantly, but he ignored her.
“You need to stop playing with people, Clare. You got away with it with me and Adam because it all blew up in your face, and he fell in love with me. He loves me, Clare. And I love him. One day though you’ll play the wrong game with the wrong person.”
Another tear rolled down her elegant cheek.
“Stop playing him. He doesn’t deserve it.”
To his amazement, she nodded.
They weren’t now, and would never be, super gal pals, but he felt sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine being in her shoes. Would never want to be, either.
“I’m going to go find Adam,” Jared said. “Go get yourself fixed up, and you better come back fighting, bitch. Don’t you dare fall now.”
He rose and walked off in the direction of the front of the building, hoping to loop round and get back to the entrance. The hotel was surrounded by delicate, manicured gardens, and he walked through them slowly, watching the sun start to sink over Mt. Ranier.
When his phone buzzed with Adam’s ringtone, Jared smiled to himself and pulled it out of his back pocket.
“Good timing. I’m heading for the front of the building.”
“Me too. Do you have Clare?”
“No. I just gave her a serious talking-to and left her on a bench.”
Adam snorted, and Jared felt himself fall a little bit more in love.
As promised, Adam was waiting on the front steps of the hotel when Jared rounded the corner, hands shoved deep into his pants pockets and frowning, although his face softened when he saw Jared approaching.
Wordlessly, Jared pressed himself to Adam’s side and let Adam be the quiet comfort he needed. Adam ran his hand up and down Jared’s back and pressed a soft kiss to his neck.
“So, according to the valet, there’s an ice cream place right down the street that’s open late. You wanna go get some frozen yogurt?”
“Yeah,” Jared said. “I really do.”
“Awesome.”
It was a warm night, so Jared undid the top bu
tton on his shirt and pulled his bow tie loose, letting it drape around his neck. Adam looked a little disheveled, like Ryder had put up more of a fight than any of them could have expected.
As they walked along Broadway, Adam linked their fingers together and swung their arms back and forth.
“So, you told Clare off?”
“Yeah.” Jared grinned. “Called her out on her bullshit, told her to stop fucking with people’s lives, said that she needs to get her shit together and give Chris a chance because he worships her.”
“Holy shit,” Adam breathed. “Are you serious? How are you still alive?”
“No idea. Someone needed to do it. I caught her at a weak moment, probably the only reason why I got away with it.”
The ice cream parlor was an old mom-and-pop type place, deliciously kitsch and welcoming, even at this time of night. Jared held the door open and let Adam lead them inside.
The ice creams were lined up in bright rows in the freezer, a rainbow of tempting sweetness. There were a few other patrons tucked away in booths, couples and lovers out on dates on a nice summer evening.
“Wanna share a sundae?”
Jared grinned. “Sure.”
They bickered good-naturedly over flavors for a few minutes until they were called forward to place their order, then found a booth at the back where they could hide while dessert was being made.
“Do you think we’re missing much?” Jared asked as they held hands across the table.
Adam wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah. Ryder was fine once she calmed down, just spitting mad.”
“Who threw the first punch?”
“Not sure. Didn’t ask.”
“Damn. Me either.”
Adam squeezed his fingers and grinned. “They’ll be talking about this prom for years.”
Leaning forward until the edge of the Formica table was digging into his ribs, Jared pressed his lips to Adam’s in a grinning kiss.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking into warm gray eyes from an inch away.
Adam smiled back unguardedly, letting Jared see all the layers and colors that made up their still new relationship.
“Hey,” Adam echoed. His expression changed, hardening, and Jared frowned back.
“What?”
“Let’s go back.”
“To prom?”
“Yeah,” Adam said with a laugh. “My mind is going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on. I hate missing things.”
“And there was me thinking you were staring dreamily into my eyes,” Jared teased. He squeezed Adam’s hand over the table and dug into his wallet for the money to cover the dessert and a decent tip.
They walked back to the Murano hand in hand, bow ties undone and draped around unbuttoned collars, sleeves of their shirts rolled to the elbows, both suit jackets carried in the crook of Jared’s elbow. When they arrived at the hotel, there was a police cruiser parked outside. The look on Adam’s face was pure glee.
“Great,” Jared said, squeezing Adam’s hand. “My boyfriend is a gossip whore.”
“Honey, if you hadn’t figured that out already, you’re seriously not paying attention.”
Jared laughed and they ducked into the grand ballroom.
If Adam was disappointed in the lack of armed officers cracking down on drunk teenagers, the sight of Chris and Clare dancing together was probably enough to make up for that. They were both wearing gold plastic crowns, telling Jared what he’d already suspected: they’d won prom king and queen. Clare and Adam had been crowned at homecoming, and Jared couldn’t help but suspect Adam had something to do with making sure Chris took the title at prom.
There was a truly spectacular bruise developing over Clare’s cheekbone and eye, but she didn’t seem to care. There was an almost serene expression on her face as she and Chris danced together in slow circles, her unblemished cheek on his shoulder, his hands on her ass.
“Come on,” Adam said, tugging Jared onto the dance floor.
Jared quickly tossed their jackets over a chair and let himself be led into one of the spotlights, then wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist. A few other kids moved back to give them space, and Jared chuckled to himself. In one year he’d gone from being an unknown entity in New Harbor to holding almost equal status as Adam.
As the final chords of the sappy ballad rung out through the speakers, Jared impulsively twisted Adam around and dipped him low, a classic Hollywood-movie-musical finish, and the perfect angle for him to press a firm, loving kiss to Adam’s mouth.
The move made people laugh, and clap, and whistle, and Jared didn’t care. They were still kissing when Adam righted himself and rose on his toes, finding a better angle to slip his tongue into Jared’s mouth. Jared decided to take a leaf from Chris’s book, and grabbed Adam’s ass. For leverage, of course.
The music changed and Jared dared to glance over at Clare. She was scowling at them, clearly annoyed her spotlight had been stolen. Jared flicked his middle finger up at her.
She mouthed back, “Fuck you.”
Jared grinned and turned back to look at Adam.
Against the odds, this senior year had turned out to be epic.
Five Times My Best Friend Kissed Me
And One Time I Kissed Him First
by Anna Martin
The Second Time
Summer 2002
The fire crackled invitingly, even after all the hours it had been lit. Orange sparks spat up into the night, occasionally spilling out of the hexagon of driftwood onto the sand, and long sticks thrust out of the blaze—earlier in the night, they had held fat sausage links, then s’mores. Evan and his friends had opted to chance being caught with the contraband fire on the beach after deciding the reward outweighed the risk.
Evan inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to the heady, full night sky. This was summer. This. The feeling of being warm and full, fire heat on his face, vodka in his belly burning warmth there too. The sea air, no breeze, not in Virginia in August. Sand between his toes.
Soft lips on his own.
Evan startled, and the group around him laughed.
“Thought you were sleeping,” Cassie Williams told him, pushing at his shoulder so Evan lost balance and fell back on his elbows. He joined in the laughter, even though he didn’t share their amusement.
Cassie was nice, of course. He’d known her since preschool, maybe earlier. Who knew around here. It wasn’t the first time she’d kissed him. Once, in second grade, it had been after he’d fallen and scraped his knee. For the past few weeks, Cassie had been hitting on him again, and every time he’d neatly deflected, trying to turn her attention to someone who’d maybe return it. Evan wasn’t going to.
“Not sleeping,” Evan said. His voice came out a deep rumble. Since his voice had broken, it had been like that, deeper than the other guys’, something else that made him stand out. He’d hit his growth spurt twice now, once at fourteen and again the previous year, just after his seventeenth birthday. He’d be eighteen in a few weeks, right after the start of the new school year. Evan would be the first one in this group to have his eighteenth birthday.
Two of his friends stumbled out from behind one of the high sand dunes, their hair in disarray, clothes more than a little disheveled. Evan joined in the hoots and catcalls, grateful for the distraction.
“Evan!”
That voice was familiar, and Evan dropped his head back, knowing he couldn’t ignore it.
“Evan, you fuck!”
Evan laughed and let his head roll to the side. Grinning, Scott stood in his board shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, hands balled on his hips.
“What?”
“We’re playing football.”
“Scott, it’s almost midnight. How the fuck do you plan on playing football?”
Scott pointed straight up at the moon. Which, admittedly, was giving off a lot of light in the clear night sky. Scott’s skin glowed, pearlescent in the moonlight. It reflected
off his Irish pale skin and lit up his blue eyes like he was magical.
Evan pulled himself to his feet with a heaving sigh. He hadn’t been able to say no to Scott for a long time now.
One by one, the others abandoned the fire pit and wandered over to where Scott and Andy had drawn wobbly lines in the sand to designate a playing area. Someone had brought a foam football or found one in the trunk of the car, and Scott was tossing it back and forth with Andy as they galloped the length of the makeshift field.
“Evan,” Scott said as Evan stretched out the kinks in his neck. “My team?”
It was a question but not one, not really. Like there was any question that Evan King would play on the same team as Scott Sparrow.
Evan nodded and kicked off his flip-flops, pushed his fingers through his hair, and cracked his knuckles. It looked like there was about ten of them playing, including a few of the girls. They split down the middle, their friends quickly choosing their allegiance to either Scott or Andy.
Scott hustled Evan together with the rest of their teammates: Katie, who played hockey and was strong and hella fast, Drew, and Tony. They would do well, Evan decided.
“Jamie is their weak spot,” Scott said as he casually threw his arm around Evan’s shoulder and pulled him into the huddle. “We already agreed no tackles, so don’t push it. Karen will fight dirty, so don’t engage her unless you have to.”
“Got it, Captain,” Katie said with a salute. Scott laughed and pushed her shoulder.
Everyone knew Scott and Katie hooked up. It wasn’t a big deal. They weren’t dating, and Katie made no claims on Scott—his time or his affection. Though there was affection there, in spades, both claimed they had no interest in a relationship.
Evan tried very hard not to be jealous.
The game got silly quickly, and Evan led the laughter. Scott was more gymnast than football player, vaulting over people one-armed, tackling Evan to the sand even though they were on the same team and neither of them had a ball.
“You’re such a douchebag,” Evan huffed as he hauled himself up, brushing sand from his ass. Scott just reached a hand out to be pulled up, and Evan indulged him.
