Kissing The Bad Boy

by Melanie Marks

  Jeremy’s gaze flicked to my hands, then back to my eyes. “You okay?”

  He was probably worried I was going to start leaking tears again.

  Thankful he had no clue what was going on in my brain, I cleared my throat. “Was your dog okay?”

  The small smile crept back onto Jeremy’s lips. His eyes not leaving mine, he shook his head, explaining that the volunteers at the shelter told him that Norton had been the runt of his litter and that he was too weak and tiny to survive.

  “Even the vet at the Humane Society said that,” Jeremy explained. “But I still wanted him the most. Because it was like … he needed me, you know?”

  I nodded, totally getting that. And already understanding that was the way Jeremy was. After all, he had helped me out when I needed him. Just now he had helped stop my tears.

  Jeremy watched me for a second with a curious stare, then slowly he went on with his story telling me the vet explained to him that Norton would die because he was so tiny and frail that he was unable to maintain his own body heat.

  Jeremy leaned in closer to me, making heat of his own, though he had no idea what he was doing to my heart—that little sparks were exploding through it. Jeremy softly went on with his story, telling me Norton kept shivering that first night—couldn’t stop—so Jeremy tucked him in his shirt to keep him warm and that’s how he slept that first night—with Norton shivering in his shirt. And since Norton didn’t die, that’s how Jeremy slept every night—with the tiny puppy cuddled on his chest.

  It was so adorable! The way Jeremy told the tale—with his eyes twinkling and his lips quirking. He explained the dog would nestle his sweet little head under Jeremy’s chin to sleep, making these sweet little noises all night. And now, even though it’s been years and Norton is huge, he still tries to sleep with Jeremy like that. Jeremy wakes up in the mornings and there’s Norton, his huge German Shepherd, with his head under Jeremy’s chin.

  As I said, Jeremy’s eyes twinkled so adorable all the while he told the story. Then, he gave a nervous laugh when he finished. Oh! My heart caught. I loved his laugh so much. Adored it. It made me want to take his hand, hold it forever.

  Jeremy gave another little laugh as his nephew plopped unexpectedly down in his lap. The three year-old’s cheeks were stuffed with food again.

  “Whoa,” Jeremy said as the little guy opened his mouth wide, staring up at Jeremy. Jeremy laughed. “That’s a lot of food.” He flicked a look to me, then whispered to his nephew loud enough so I could hear, “Don’t show it my new sister, though. She’ll think our family’s gross and not want to live with us.”

  Of course, that made the boy turn to me. Silently, he opened his over-stuffed mouth even wider.

  “Wow-wee,” I said.

  I took a huge bite of my crab-cake and chewed it up (though I didn’t really need to, it looked pretty chewed up to begin with). Then, as an after thought, I crammed in mashed potatoes and a heaping spoonful of carrots. I chomped and chomped really quick, then opened my mouth wide. For the full effect and viewing pleasure, I stuck out my tongue, displaying my masterpiece of chewed food.

  The boy gave a dramatic nod of approval, like that would do. Jeremy laughed, choking on the punch he’d just sipped. “Gross,” he said, his eyes dancing.

  His eyes had twinkled just like that as he told his story about Norton. It made my stomach flutter, and made me yearn to be his friend … okay, more than his friend, though I tried pushing that thought aside.

  I was interrupted from my dreamy, mushy thoughts by one of my new “cousins” or maybe he was just a family friend. I really had no idea, though I’d been introduced a couple of times to the teenage boy. He hooked me with the crook of a huge, fake candy cane. (Did I mention the wedding happened a week before Christmas? No???? Well, maybe that’s because I really wasn’t feeling that “jolly” or “merry.” But the place was decorated for Christmas—hence, the candy cane.)

  “Dance with me,” the relative-slash-family-friend said. He was good looking, pretty much. But I’d overheard Erica laughing with him earlier, making fun of my “scowling.” Well, I’d give him scowling.

  “No, thanks,” I said, my scowl in full force. “I was just leaving.”

  I hopped out of my chair and unhooked myself from the candy cane. I heard the guy swear under his breath at me as I scurried away. Wow! That was a filthy name he called me. I hoped he wasn’t a close cousin or family friend. If I ever saw him again, I’d claw his eyes out.

  I texted my dad as I raced to the coat closet. “GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!” He had promised to come the moment I texted.

  “Try to have fun,” he’d instructed when he dropped me off in front of the wedding chapel three hours earlier. But he didn’t understand what he was asking—or I guess he did, but it was too much. I couldn’t have fun. I hated these people. Hated the whole situation. It didn’t only screw up my Christmas, it screwed up my whole life.

  “Are you okay?”

  I froze.

  The voice came from behind me. I recognized it. It got my heart fluttering and my pulse skyrocketing. It was Jeremy.

  “I heard what that guy said to you. He’s a jerk.”

  I continued to put on my coat, my back still to him. He was so nice. Why did it always make me want to cry? The funny thing was, I felt like doing something else as well—something just as stupid as crying, but the complete opposite. Complete. Opposite. I wanted to grab him and snuggle up in his cozy, warm arms. More than that. I wanted to play with his messy hair and feel his amazing, tantalizing lips on mine—have them crash against my mouth and …. Whoa, Jodi! I scolded myself—for at least the hundredth time. He’s your stepbrother. Stepbrother!! Get a grip!

  Ugh! I needed to dunk my head in a bucket of ice water. But well, at least I didn’t feel like crying anymore, right? Right?!

  Trembling, I sucked in my breath and finally dared to face him, but then, oh! He gently caged me against the wall, his arms on either side of me, blocking me in. My heart pounded with panic and curious delight. It seemed he was going to kiss me. But why? Why would he do that? As if to answer my unasked question a tiny grin quirked on his tempting lips as he pointed up at the ceiling—mistletoe!!

  My heart ignited. I was certain it was going to pounce out of my chest. He gently drew closer, his hot mouth lowering to mine, making my blood sizzle. I closed my eyes, my breath catching as I felt his warm, soft lips brush against mine, first gentle and tentative, then deeper, exploring. The room spun. I could feel his heart beating, feel his shoulders rise and fall as he held me closer and closer.

  But all at once, much too soon, he pulled away. “Sorry,” he laughed softly. “I didn’t mean for it to get like that. It was just supposed to be a joke.” He touched his lips and grinned. “That was my first kiss.”

  I struggled to catch my breath. “Mine too.”

  We stared at each other, silent. His eyes were bright and his breath rapid. He seemed to feel the same as I did.

  Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad.

  He’s my stepbrother, he’s my stepbrother, he’s my stepbrother!

  Just then Dad came into the open doorway of the coat closet, making us jump.

  “You ready, sweetie?” He chuckled. “I thought you’d be waiting outside by the curb. Did you manage to have some fun?”

  My eyes skirted to Jeremy. “Um … yeah.” I nudged Dad towards the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Bye Jodi,” Jeremy murmured as I tried to make a graceful exit—well, anyway, exit without doing a face-plant. No promises, though. I still felt lightheaded and unsteady from that delicious, yummy kiss. Even so, I heard Jeremy’s next words, though he whispered them low and husky, “Merry Christmas.”

  I turned back to him, my heart in my throat. Merry Christmas? I’d just gotten my very first kiss and it was amazing. Totally spectacular. But it was from my brand new stepbrother.

  So, was this a merry Christmas? Was it the best ever … or the worst? I couldn’t decide.
I really couldn’t. Staring into Jeremy’s dreamy long-lashed eyes, it felt like the best. The very, very best that any girl could possibly ever ask for. Ever. But somehow I didn’t think my dad would feel the same. My mom either.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Merry Christmas, Jeremy,” I whispered back, wishing just saying his name didn’t make my heart race. But it did.

  He gently pulled me back to him as I tried to scramble away. His lips parted as he placed an unexpected gift in my hands. The two place cards from our table—Jodi and Jeremy. The two Js on the nameplates were swirled all fancy and beautiful.

  He gave me a shy smile, “I just thought they looked good together.”

  I blinked at him. The thing was—they looked perfect. Like they belonged together—Jodi and Jeremy.

  Suddenly, this Christmas looked totally different to me. It was messed up, yeah. Royally. But still, it seemed I’d received an amazing gift … only it wasn’t under the Christmas tree. It seemed it was going to be in my heart—making it flutter and get all spastic. It didn’t seem right—at all—but whether I wanted to admit it or not, my Christmas suddenly seemed pretty dang merry.

  Jeremy was an awesome gift.

  ***

  After meeting Jeremy at the wedding, I’d wanted desperately to be his friend. Unfortunately, I soon learned everyone wanted to be Jeremy’s friend. The next week when I moved into his family’s house, I discovered Jeremy was like a magnet. Everyone was drawn to him, not just me, not by a long shot.

  I longed to get to know him better, but it seemed I would never get the chance. He was always busy, busy, busy—in demand—getting phone calls, going to friends, practicing with his band. There was no time in his life for me.

  I decided he was just being nice at the wedding—taking pity on me, since I had looked like I was going to bawl. He was obviously like that—an extremely nice person. I mean, saving dogs and crying girls and such.

  But sadly, I soon figured out that he didn’t really, truly care about me. I mean, not as more than a pathetic girl that had needed saving. Since if he cared, he wouldn’t ride off on his bike to his band every day. He would invite me to come along.

  Sigh.

  I was back to feeling miserable about my new situation—a new family where I just didn’t fit in … though there had been one night. One magical night. I have no idea why it happened, why things turned out differently that night than all the others. It had started out the same, Jeremy grabbing his guitar after dinner, ready to bike off and practice with his band, ditch me as usual.

  But Mom stopped him as he was leaving the kitchen, the rest of us still sitting at the table. She didn’t expect him to come with us, but she mentioned the holiday fair to him, just to let him know we’d be gone.

  Jeremy had been almost out of the door by then, but he turned back to us, looking hesitant.

  Gregg, his dad, smiled at him and started clearing the table. “This is a new situation Jeremy—having a new step-mom and sister. We’re not trying to change your life or turn it upside down. You can go to your band practice tonight or come with us to the fair. It’s your choice.”

  Jeremy glanced at me. Then—to my shock and delight—he put his guitar down. My heart soared. He chose us!

  That night had been so much fun … and unexpected. I cherished every moment of it—spending time with Jeremy, having him practically all to myself. But it had only lasted that one night.

  Then things went back to normal—me miserable and alone.

  So, my first day at Jefferson Middle School—Jeremy’s school—I felt like I was going to throw up.

  First period, as soon as the bell rang, the teacher had me stand at the front of the class. She introduced me to the room full of rowdy seventh graders, and then had me sit in the nearest empty seat. Then I became invisible—to her, it seemed—but definitely not to the rest of the class. Stares and hushed speculation surrounded me. Whispers about my clothes, my hair, my looks—it all had me unable to take my eyes off my desk, off the word “Boring” that was carved into its smooth surface.

  “Talk to her,” I heard one boy whisper to another, “I dare you.”

  At the same time I heard:

  “Plaid?”

  A girl scoffed it from somewhere behind me, obviously talking about my skirt—it was plaid.

  “School girl?” “Stuck-up?” “Extensions?” “Fake highlights?” “Padded bra?” “Garage sale?” Whispers, whispers, whispers.

  I was torn between wanting to defend myself—I didn’t have “extensions.” My hair is so long because I hate to get it cut. And I didn’t have “fake highlights” either. I’d just spent a month with my dad at his vacation beach house in Malibu. So much time in the sun frosted cool red streaks through my “smokin’ auburn hair.” (Those were the words from a boy behind me—not mine.) I wanted to stick up for myself—but mostly I just wanted to disappear.

  Embarrassingly close to tears, I glanced across the classroom. That’s when my eyes locked onto my new stepbrother, Jeremy’s. The air whooshed out of me seeing him here—sitting in this class. I quickly darted my gaze away, embarrassed and … disintegrating.

  I bit my lip, trying to block out everyone’s whispering, trying to listen to the teacher tell us about her holiday break—skiing disasters and sleigh rides. Then, ugh! She had this brilliant plan to go around the room having each of us tell her the best thing we got this Christmas, or the coolest thing we did over the holiday break.

  I slunk down in my seat, wishing I were anywhere but here. Nothing cool happened to me over the break. Nothing. My life had fallen apart over the break. I had to move into a house full of strangers—had to leave my home, my friends—to live with newly-married-Mom and her sleek new family.

  When the teacher got to me, asking: “How about you, Jodi? What was the best thing that happened to you over the break?” I could barely look up from my desk.

  “Uh … I got a new bike,” I answered which was pathetic, but sadly the truth. It was the best thing that happened. The best thing. Only, see—I hated that bike. Really, truly hated it. Still, everything else that happened was worse. Besides, Mom had intended well with the bike. I knew that. It was expensive and everything. And I had asked for one. ‘Cause Jeremy rode one everywhere. I secretly hoped maybe if I had a bike too he would invite me to tag along—not leave me with his evil sisters.

  But the bike Mom bought—it was bright pink.

  I was embarrassed Christmas morning when she wheeled it out, embarrassed that Jeremy and his mean sisters saw it, embarrassed that I had to act like I liked it in front of them.

  Ugh!—that bike. Yet … it was the “best” thing that happened. Everything else bit.

  That first morning at Jefferson Middle School—when it was finally Jeremy’s turn to answer the teacher’s big question, he’d been reading a guitar magazine. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on. He looked up at the teacher with a confused grin, like he was willing to answer anything she wanted … but he had no clue what the question was.

  The teacher smiled, seeming semi-amused, like Jeremy was secretly one of her favorite students, but she had to hide it because he wasn’t ‘attentive’ in the slightest—and teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites.

  “Well, Jeremy?” she asked expectantly, reaching down to close his magazine. “What was the best thing you got this Christmas?”

  “Um,” Jeremy looked across the classroom … at me. My stomach fluttered.

  He grinned. “I got a new sister.”

  My heart ricocheted off my chest. Then burst up to heaven from happiness.

  The whole class gasped and started whispering again. “Step-family.” “Shared bathrooms.” But this time I didn’t care. I was floating on a cloud high over the classroom, far beyond the school, beyond everyone in it.

  Jeremy didn’t hate me or resent me for invading his house. He liked me!! He was glad I was his sister! Suddenly—just like that—it seemed maybe my life didn’t bite after
all. In fact, it seemed maybe it was awesome.

  The teacher moved on to the girl behind Jeremy. Her answer may not have even been in English. I have no clue. Jeremy’s gorgeous brown eyes were still on me, making my heart slam against my chest and my brain melt to goo.

  Only for a second was I able to meet his warm gaze. Just one second. Then I had to look away. Had to. My face was burning, totally on fire, and my heart felt like it was exploding.

  Just for something to do—so I didn’t, you know, explode—I leaned down to unzip my backpack looking for … nothing. While I was down there though—searching for nothing—I heard the girl that made fun of my skirt again. (She had an extremely nasal voice—it was hard to miss.) She whispered to her friend all drama-like, “She lives with Jeremy.”

  “Lucky her,” the friend whispered back.

  I smiled, totally agreeing. Yeah, lucky me.

  I sat through the rest of class thinking that, Lucky me, lucky me, lucky me.

  … until a note was passed to my desk. I stared at it a long time, my stomach clenching. It was folded up into a tiny square. JODI, was scrawled on the front in big, bold print.

  I looked around the class, anxious and sweating. Who had written it? Was it that gross guy sitting next to me drawing yucky, scary, demon monsters on his notebook? The guy that just called me de-licious to his friend? Or maybe it was one of those girls behind me? I could still hear them whispering about my clothes and about my hair. Ugh!

  I prepared myself for a nasty punch in the stomach. Some of these people seemed pretty mean. I bit my lip, staring at the note. Did I really need to read it? Really?

  Finally, I told myself it didn’t matter—whatever anyone said. The only person in this classroom I cared about was Jeremy—and he liked me.

  I sucked in my breath and unfolded the note.

  Then I smiled as I read, “Your bike’s not that bad.”

  A jet of warmth shot through me. The note was from Jeremy. It had to be. No one else had seen the bike. Everyone thought I liked it. I mean, I’d just told the whole class it was the best thing that happened over break. Jeremy must have known I was only pretending to like it with Mom, that I wasn’t really a total dork, ecstatic to get a hot pink bike. Thank goodness.