Switched: Flirt New Adult Romance

by Mae, Cassie

  He puts on his blinker to take the off-ramp, and the sound jolts me from my head. Talon taps his fingers on the wheel and gives a slight shrug of one shoulder. “How long have you known me, Kayla?”

  Ignore your heart pounding a million miles a minute and answer him! “Um, I’ve known you since you started dating Reagan. But I knew of you way before that.” Way, way, way before that. I watched you every day for eight years.

  “So what did you know of me?”

  That you are the most beautiful person on the planet. That you give up your seat when a girl walks in the room and there’s nowhere for her to sit. You set aside time to take your sister to wherever she wants to go whenever you see her. You make sure to pass the ball to several of those catcher guys on your team, and don’t play faves. You are pretty much perfect, except you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Which is that Reagan can’t love you like I can.

  I turn my eyes to my glittery toenails and start picking at the polish. “Not much, I guess.”

  “You weren’t aware of my reputation?”

  Of being the high school’s own Channing Tatum?

  He laughs at my blank stare, and turns onto my dorm street. “Let’s say I had to do damage control once I started dating Reagan.”

  What the heck is that supposed to mean? I have about five seconds to get more out of him before he stops the car. “I’m confused.”

  “Seriously, you don’t remember?” He pulls into the spot closest to my dorm, puts the car in park, and shuts off the ignition. “I wasn’t exactly the monogamous type.”

  Like a wrecking ball, the memory crashes into my brain. I must’ve pushed it so far away because I never wanted to believe Talon Gregory slept with so many people. And not just one person at a time either. They were all rumors, and I didn’t believe them because he never seemed like a man whore. But I suppose this is his confession. At least to me.

  “Wow.” Whoops! Didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  Thank heavens he laughs. “I know. I try to block it out too.”

  “What’s so bad about it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking all over the place. Even though I know exactly what’s so bad. Reagan may seem super confident, but even she probably gets a complex with someone so experienced. Oh! Lightbulb … is that why they haven’t slept together yet?

  Talon pinches his lips, then lets them fall back open like he’s about to share something super personal. I better make sure I handle it with care and don’t freak the freak out. It was a long time ago anyway. Time to prove I’m a good go-to girl!

  “You really didn’t know?” He smiles at me, but it’s not reaching up to his blue beauties. “It’s not like I kept real quiet about it.”

  He stops and I wait for what seems like forever. Oh, why did I bring up this uncomfortable topic?

  “Reagan knows about all the other girls, right? I mean, you guys went through”—I put my fingers up in quotes—“ ‘the list,’ right?”

  “I told her everything … she wasn’t real happy. She kind of thinks because I’m—” His head goes back against the headrest again, and he starts fiddling with the keys in his hand. “Sorry, she’s your best friend. You don’t want to hear this.”

  He reaches for his door handle, and I go into panic mode. He’s going to walk me to my door, but here in the car, it’s strangely intimate, and I don’t want him thinking I don’t want to talk to him.

  “Talon,” I say, grabbing his biceps. My tiny hand can’t fit around it, and I have to focus on what I was going to say, instead of blurting out, Holy muscles! Please wrap those arms around me and never let go!

  His hand drops from the door handle, so as much as I don’t want to, I drop my hand as well. “Reagan’s not my only friend. You can talk to me, and I won’t say anything to her if you don’t want me to.”

  He smiles, and this time it does go up to those sapphire eyes. He leans over the console, and … What’s happening? He’s not going to kiss me, right? He wouldn’t do that to Reagan. Even though the chemistry between us is flying through the car like his watermelon air freshener. I can’t move, and I can’t stop looking at his lips and wanting them on mine … but not yet. Not yet! I want to scream it, but I don’t have to. His face turns so it lands over my shoulder, and those big ol’ biceps I wanted around me wrap me up in the best hug I’ve ever had in my life. It’s totally orgasmic, which is embarrassing to admit, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. And I wonder if Talon’s a good in-between-the-lines reader, because I know I didn’t say out loud that I wanted him to hug me, even though I was thinking it pretty hard.

  I sigh over his shoulder, relaxing in his hold. Then his warm breath tickles my neck when he opens his mouth.

  “Thanks, Kayla.” He pulls back and taps a finger across my nose, which jolts me because he’s never done something like that. “It was a long time ago, and I think Reagan and I are past it. I’d get into it more, but I’m going to fall asleep.”

  Oh right! His eyes are all hooded and sleepy. “Are you okay to drive home?”

  “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, text me or something when you get home so I know you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

  “I will.” He grabs his door handle again. “First, let’s get you home okay.”

  If only our RA wasn’t such a tight-ass, I’d invite Talon in to sleep in Reagan’s bed till she got home, so I could watch him sleep. Instead, after he drops me off at the bottom of the stairs, I settle for sitting on my bed and staring at my phone, time going so slow I’m pretty sure it’s stopped completely. But the cell finally lights up and sings out “You Belong with Me,” by Taylor Swift. My Talon song.

  Got home ok. Have a g’nite!

  I read the text a million times before I doze off into Talon-induced dreams.

  Progress Report: December 12

  I think I may have made some headway. Talon is starting to open up to me! He was super close to spilling some major scoop the other day, I could tell. And since then we’ve spent exactly forty-two minutes alone. Not all at once. Just here and there. Like yesterday, when we walked to the restrooms together after class. One minute and thirty-seven seconds of nothing but Talon. It was heaven. I’m sure he felt it too, even though all we talked about was how our sixty-year-old Professor Summers had a hickey on his neck. Good for him.

  This trip back home will be the best thing that ever happened to us!

  Step 7:

  When Given Opportunities to Spend Time Alone, Don’t Talk About Something Stupid

  (And don’t sigh every twenty seconds!)

  Two weeks’ worth of clothes: check.

  Toothbrush: check.

  Two boxes of wheat crackers, a bag of frosted animal cookies, and a six-pack of Arrowhead water: check, check, and check.

  And nerves? Humongo check. I may puke out all my insides.

  I thought fifteen minutes in the car alone with Talon was nerve-racking. Now I have thirteen freaking hours in front of me—the car ride Wesley hooked me up with.

  “Wesley, help!” I cry, flying back on my bed and slapping my arm over my eyes. I need a list of topics of conversation, and I need it memorized by tomorrow. If I sit there like an awkward, crushed-out dinkus, I will spend the entire winter break crying in my room, watching rom-coms, and throwing popcorn at the TV whenever things work out for the movie stars and not me.

  Wesley chuckles and sits next to me on the bed, holding his acoustic guitar in his arms, strumming the strings lightly. “You’re so needy. What happened to the whole ‘Talon and I are soul mates’ thing? I’d think soul mates would be able to find things to talk about without help.”

  The second he sets the guitar down, I throw a perfect elbow to his gut. He rolls into a fetal position and half laughs, half whines.

  “Jerk. I’m helping you with your car ride.”

  He shifts on the bed so that he’s leaning against the wall. His hand goes over the spot where I elbowed him, rub
bing the pain out, before he brings his acoustic back on his lap. He’s probably using it for armor now. “Honestly, I think Reagan and I will be sleeping more than talking.”

  “Bor-ing.” I slide up so I can sit with him. “Don’t you want to take advantage of it? That’s what it was all about, right?”

  “I guess. But I’m not all that smooth when it comes to her. You should’ve seen me fumbling after you guys left last week. Sleeping may be my best bet.”

  I almost spout off my snarky comment about how that’s because his mouth is closed when he sleeps, but I stop myself when I see how sad he looks. Damn it.

  “Reagan said she had fun with you.” That’s a total lie, but she didn’t say she didn’t have fun. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

  He rolls his head to the side to give me a you’re-full-of-shit look and strums his long fingers against the strings. “You know how you have this weird, uncontrollable sigh when it comes to Talon?” I punch his shoulder, and he lets go of the strings to shove back, but not hard. “Well, when I’m with Reagan … alone especially, I get this weird, uncontrollable stare.”

  “What?”

  He goes back to playing. “I stare at her. Like I’ve gone brain dead. She says something, but I don’t hear it even though I see her mouth moving. Then she looks at me like no one’s home.” He taps his forehead, then covers his face with his long, bony fingers, the room suddenly very quiet without the background music.

  “So you space out. Everyone does that.”

  “Yeah, but it happens so much I know I’m making her uncomfortable.”

  “Nothing makes Reagan uncomfortable.”

  That seems to make him ease up. The dimple on his chin gets a little more prominent as he smiles through the hand still covering half his face. “Yeah, you could be right about that.”

  “I’m right about everything.” I shove off the bed and crack open my laptop. “Okay,” I say, wiggling my fingers over the keyboard as he goes back to strumming the guitar, “tell me what to talk about tomorrow.”

  “Just pepperoni? Why not sausage and pepperoni? Or olives or Canadian bacon?”

  Talon’s flipping through the songs on his iPod with one earbud in his ear while the other dangles down his toned chest under a blue button-down. I don’t blame him for acting so—there’s no other word for it—bored. I think I’ll make myself fall asleep with all the pizza talk. And we’ve only been in the car for twenty minutes. Ugh.

  Wesley better keep a close eye on his guitar. I sense its life is in danger.

  Talon eventually shrugs and says, “I don’t know. Guess I like plain pizza.”

  “Cheese is plain pizza. Unless it’s the four-cheese kind. I can’t remember what the four cheeses are, though. Mozzarella, that’s a given. But what else? I know it can’t be feta. Because when you cook feta, it smells like ass.” I wink at him, and he semi-chuckles. Like one of those really awkward I’m-humoring-you laughs. I want to slam my face on the horn.

  Why is it I can chatter my tongue off with any other guy—even Wesley—and make it super interesting and funny, but when it comes to the God-sent specimen next to me, I end up blabbering about cheese? Talon sticks the other earbud in and reclines his seat. Lovely. This is just lovely! I’ve reached the maximum level of awkward.

  Desperate for something to do, I make sure his eyes are still closed before I reach between his legs to get a box of crackers, even though I’m far from hungry. I’ll probably end up stopping at a gas station to barf because my stomach feels like stretched rubber. Putting food in there will send it bouncing right back out.

  Talon shifts, and my arm gets trapped between his thighs. His closed eyes pop open, and I jump back into my seat, swerving the car onto the rumble strip on the side of the interstate. I think five gallons of blood rush to my face.

  I can’t look at him. Oh holy wow, I almost touched his crotch! I may die right here in the driver’s seat.

  When the blood stops pounding in my ears, I hear something else, and I finally get the nerve to shoot my eyes over to Talon, who’s laughing his butt off. And like there’s a flusher on the side of my head, my face goes from super hot to lukewarm as I bust up with him and the blood returns to other areas of my body.

  He plucks an earbud out, still chuckling as he says, “And I thought things couldn’t get more awkward between us.”

  That stops my laughter. I knew I was being a total dud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Kayla, I was only talking about the fact you’re my girlfriend’s best friend, and we’re alone together. You aren’t awkward.”

  My pizza conversation begs to differ. “Like I told you before, you’re my friend too. It shouldn’t be awkward at all.”

  “Yeah.” He leans back again, tucking a hand behind his head and closing his eyes. “Speaking of Reagan, I’m on an assignment.”

  “Oh?”

  “She wants me to drill you on what you want for Christmas. She wanted me to be subtle about it, but …”

  I laugh. “I like direct. Tell her I want something that won’t embarrass me this year.”

  “You didn’t like the underwear and fabric softener she got you?”

  One of his eyes pops open to catch my reaction, so I pull out a full-force gag and grimace. Leave it to Reagan to give me G-strings on Christmas. And not just any Christmas, but the first one we had with the guys. I had to suffer through a million and a half wedgie jokes, compliments of Wesley and his big mouth.

  “Okay, can you be more specific? I don’t want to go back to her with only that. She’ll jump down my throat about how useless I am.”

  Another edge to his voice. I want to poke and prod at it, but I’m not sure how to do that without sending up a red flag with the words I Want to Be Mrs. Talon Gregory! scrawled all over it.

  But I only have two weeks. I can’t miss any opportunity.

  “Everything okay?”

  He shrugs, keeping his eyes closed. I go for the reverse psychology tactic.

  “I won’t say anything to her, but I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. No biggie.”

  “She’s been on my case lately. Not sure why. But it’s like I’m not enough all of a sudden.” Takes two seconds for him to spill. Score one for Kayla!

  I nod, then remember his eyes are closed. “Have you talked to her about it?”

  “I’ve tried. She acts like I’m a crazy person and shrugs it off. It’s frustrating as hell, but I don’t want to fight, so I let it go.”

  Sounds like her. “You should tell her how you’re feeling. She may freak out, but she needs to know you’re serious. Maybe then you can find out what’s wrong with her.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know, would ya? It would sure save me the headache.”

  I glance over at him, and he’s smiling. I have the sudden urge to shove his shoulder, but that seems too brotherly-sisterly. Like how I would act with Wesley, not Talon. So I keep my hands on the wheel. “Sorry. Not going to get in the middle,” I lie. Because I’m going to get to the bottom of this one as soon as I see Reagan. “But if it saves you an argument, tell her I want new car seat covers. And not pink ones. I want black or something neutral. Even though it is funny to watch you guys drive my car in pink-clad seats.”

  “You are a lifesaver, Kayla.”

  I bite back the huge-ass grin threatening to take over my face. It’s getting easier now to relax and talk about something other than stupid pizza. I want to do a fist pump and pull out my phone to tell Wesley. Since he’d be the only one happy for me.

  “Hey, can we stop in a bit? All that pepperoni talk has me starving for something other than what we got.”

  Talon rubs his stomach, and I’m jealous of that hand because I bet it’s running over some delicious abs right now.

  “Sure. Take a nap first, then we’ll eat and swap seats.”

  Hopefully after he wakes up, I’ll have a whole bunch of amazing and interesting topics stocked in my brain.

  Ste
p 8:

  Cozy Up to His Family

  (Even if it means eating burnt food.)

  Talon’s house was our normal hangout before we all gassed it up to college. And when the tires knock against the curb, I fly out of the car and flop into the mounds of snow in his front yard. Oh snow, how I’ve missed you! All we have in Berkeley is this gross rain that wants to be snow, but can’t quite get there. Spokane has the good stuff.

  A big duffel bag lands next to my head, and Talon sinks into the icy cold next to me. And here I thought we were too old for snow angels, but we both wave our arms around, occasionally smacking into each other.

  We stop, and I let out a sigh, but not one of my Talon sighs. I love college, love being on my own, but there’s something about being home that puts warm fuzzies all over my heart.

  “We need hot chocolate,” Talon says, sitting up. He quirks a smile my way and holds his hand out. When I settle my tiny fingers in his large man ones, a Talon sigh pops out. I internally curse myself.

  I’m a lot closer to his coat-covered chest when I’m upright, and there’s a beat when his hand stays around mine and I’m able to smell the peppermints he has in one of his pockets. Or maybe it’s his breath. I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t really know or care about much of anything right now. His eyes lock with mine, there’s another beat, and I can’t breathe. Can’t even smell the peppermint anymore because no air will enter my nostrils. It takes me singing Reagan’s name over and over in my head to stop my lips from planting themselves anywhere on that gorgeous face.

  What is happening? Reagan is your best friend. He’s staring at me. This isn’t normal! Reagan is your best friend. He’s smiling. Holy wow, he’s still holding my hand. Reagan is your best friend. Is he leaning in? No, he can’t be. Yes, he is! Reagan is your best friend!