Kiss Me Like You Missed Me
Taylor Holloway
Copyright © 2018 by Taylor Holloway
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Also by Taylor Holloway
About This Book
Prologue - Kate
1. Kate
2. Kate
3. Cole
4. Cole
5. Kate
6. Kate
7. Kate
8. Kate
9. Cole
10. Cole
11. Kate
12. Kate
13. Kate
14. Cole
15. Cole
16. Cole
17. Kate
18. Kate
19. Kate
20. Cole
21. Kate
22. Cole
23. Cole
24. Kate
25. Cole
26. Cole
27. Kate
28. Kate
29. Kate
30. Cole
31. Cole
32. Kate
33. Kate
34. Cole
35. Cole
36. Kate
37. Kate
38. Cole
39. Kate
40. Kate
41. Cole
42. Kate
43. Kate
Epilogue - Kate
Epilogue - Cole
Coming Soon: Lie With Me
Special Teaser - Lie With Me
Special Teaser - Admit You Want Me
Also by Taylor Holloway
Also by Taylor Holloway
Lone Star Lovers
Admit You Want Me - Ward
Kiss Me Like You Missed Me - Cole
Lie With Me - Lucas (Coming Soon)
Run Away With Me - Jason (Coming Soon)
For fans of exciting, romantic mysteries full of twists and turns, check out my Scions of Sin series!
Bleeding Heart - Alexander
Kiss and Tell - Nathan
Down and Dirty - Nicholas
Lost and Found - David
About This Book
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Cole Rylander is back in town. Things are about to get crazy.
Kate
There was a time I’d have done anything for my brother’s friend Cole.
He was right out of my dreams: hot, charismatic, and talented beyond belief.
Maybe I was naïve to think I could, but I had to make him mine.
I thought that I was making progress until his talent took him away.
Not all dreams come true.
Now Cole is back, and I want him just as much as ever.
I’ve grown up enough to be embarrassed by the way I acted back then.
Time has taught me some hard lessons.
I don’t throw myself after the unattainable dreams—not anymore.
This time, I won’t be the pathetic, starry-eyed girl who gets her heart crushed.
If only I could convince my heart to agree.
Cole
It all started with a prank gone wrong, but the joke was on me the moment I laid eyes on her.
What were the chances my friend Ward would have a little sister like Kate? I didn’t even know he had a sister.
Kate was everything I could ever want, and against all odds, she even wanted me back.
Too bad her brother would murder me if he knew.
I spent my college years trying my best to avoid the one girl I wanted.
I left, letting her believe I never wanted her.
Now I’ve chosen to retire early from the NFL after four concussions in two years.
I needed to quit while I still had two brain cells to rub together, but I may be in for heartbreak instead.
I’ve come home to find that the girl I’ve never been able to forget has forgotten me.
I guess I should have told her the truth.
Kate’s convinced it’ll never work, and she’s just as convinced I never wanted her.
She’s still stubborn as hell and I don’t deserve her, but I’ve always loved a challenge.
This time, I’m not playing games.
Prologue - Kate
When the mysterious package arrived, I had to maneuver sideways to avoid catching the delicate fabric of my full skirt on the ragged screen door. The delivery guy stared at me with wide eyes. He handed me the nondescript cardboard box, stammered “Here’s your package ma’am,” and stumbled back to his truck in confusion. I could understand his shock. Instead of my usual second-hand clothes, today I looked like I’d stepped off a runway in Paris. Not bad for a girl who lived in a shabby double-wide on the last lower edge of the working class.
With my aggressively nipped-in waist, tea-length percale-lined grey taffeta skirt and black silk bodice, my homecoming dress wasn’t exactly on trend. I loved it. I knew all the other girls at my fancy high school would be wearing what I saw in the malls.
Brightly colored, sequined, mermaid-style dresses were everywhere this year. Even with their four-figure price tags, those dresses all looked the same to me: garish, heavy, uncomfortable, and overpriced. Besides, Jessica Rabbit might’ve been able to keep her dress up with sultry willpower, but my double-d’s would be straight-up vulgar if I tried to wear a strapless, sequined piece of lingerie.
My demure dress couldn’t be more different. Dior’s new look rocked Paris when it debuted in 1947. It was an attempt to reclaim the freedom, glamour, femininity, and optimism that had disappeared during the austerity of war. My prom dress didn’t have Dior tags, but it was very beautiful, and it made me feel sophisticated and special.
Even though it was older than my mom, the materials and construction were much finer than the mass-produced clothing of today. The dress had been handmade for someone, and she’d conveniently been exactly my size. My dress had still cost much more than I could afford, but I couldn’t regret buying something so gorgeous. The vintage shop didn’t even know what they had.
My ex-boyfriend hadn’t known what he’d had either, and I’d be going to the homecoming dance alone as a result. Screw you, Travis, I thought to myself as I collected my heavy, dark hair into a chignon at the base of my neck. You thought for sure I’d put out on prom night, huh? The rumors had worked their way back to me just in time for me to dump his spoiled ass in spectacular, screaming fashion.
What really hurt was that he’d both denied the rumors to my face and then spread it around that he dumped me because I was a crazy cheater with an STD. I stabbed bobby pins into my hair with a bit more force than necessary as I thought about stupid, entitled, good-looking, popular Travis and his equally awful little group of friends. I should have known the whole group was only being nice to me because of Travis. The really messed up thing was that if he hadn’t bragged to the whole school about taking my v-card, I might’ve given it to him. I was dumb enough to believe he really liked me.
I added a strand of my grandmother’s white pearls and my reflection looked back at me from the mirror approvingly. I’d made the right decision. I would go to the dance alone, look like a million bucks, and make Travis very, very sorry. I may have been one of the poorest girls in school, and I certainly wasn’t the smartest or the most popular, but I had my pride.
A text from my mom made me jump: Be safe tonight! Have fun. I’ve got to work a double, but I’ll see you on Sunday. Love you.
I sent her back a thumbs up,
a heart, and a happy face. She didn’t know about the Travis situation, and I wasn’t going to bother her with it. My mom—a nurse—had been working nonstop shifts at the hospital. The dirt bag she’d just broken up with had cleaned out our bank account and stolen all our electronics (including the laptop I used for school) before disappearing a few weeks earlier. Between him and my deadbeat biological dad who hadn’t paid child support for me or my brother since I was in diapers, my mom had plenty of her own drama to deal with. And that was just in her personal life. Professionally, she dealt with all kinds of crap (most of it literally, well, crap). I tried not to make it all worse for her.
Another text, this one from a blocked number, made me cringe. In the attached image, Travis was standing in front of a black, stretch Hummer with three guys and four girls from our school. In the background, the manicured lawns and sprawling houses of the nice side of town looked like something out of a magazine. Travis had his arm around the waist of one of the girls, a pretty blonde named Ashley. She was wearing a pink and gold sequined gown, and I could see the characteristic red soles of her Louboutin shoes beneath her long skirt. Just one of those shoes was worth more than my entire wardrobe.
But money clearly couldn’t buy class or good taste. Her dress was a size too small and the straps looked like they were painfully digging into her shoulders. Her bronzer also looked a shade too dark, making her look less sun-kissed and more sunburned. I thought about replying with a snarky comment about her over-aggressive contouring but managed to restrain myself.
For once, I was determined to take the high road. This time I wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me go ballistic when they called me trailer trash. It had taken a long time, but I was finally starting to learn that setting my temper free made situations worse and not better.
I didn’t know which one of my eight pictured classmates had sent the picture, but my money was on Ashley herself. We were on the volleyball team together and she despised me for beating her out for captain. Whether it was her or not, the implication was clear. You aren’t one of us. You’ll never be one of us. Like I needed to be reminded of that. After I dumped Travis, I’d had several snide comments directed my way that I wasn’t good enough for him anyway. Someone had also stolen my books out of my locker and written ‘trashy bitch’ on the inside covers. The casual bullying stung, but I’d had plenty worse treatment than that over the years.
A second photo, this one of Travis making out with Ashley in the limo, lit up my phone. Whoever was sending me this shit was really rubbing it in. They even added a message this time: He’s better off without a crazy, cheap slut like you. As if sticking his tongue down Ashley’s throat was not the equivalent of French kissing a filthy toilet seat? Please.
I tossed my phone down on my bed next to the package and grabbed some scissors off my desk. I needed a distraction before I melted down and lost my nerve. The mystery package would have to do.
Feeling frustrated and helpless, I stabbed into the cardboard down to the plastic wrapping beneath.
Like a science project volcano made of vinegar and baking soda, a small-scale explosion issued out from the plastic bag with a decisive pop. Shock and fear slowed the experience, but I was powerless to prevent what came next. A multicolored plume of powder shot through the air and hung thick in the air. The powder—no, glitter—I realized after a moment, drifted down like shining snow, settling on every available surface in my room. It adhered like superglue to my skin, my hair, my eyelashes, and my dress. It was everywhere. I’d never seen so much glitter in my entire life. There were pounds of it, kept under pressure in that plastic bag. Until I punctured it, that is.
Through the salty sting of my tears, I saw nothing but red.
My now-glittery heels left a little trail of sparkles through the hunting and fishing mega-store. The girl working the register at eight p.m. on a Friday was about my age. She took in my appearance with a nonplussed expression. I’d pulled one of my brother’s hoodies on over my dress as protection against the freak cold front, but I still looked like I’d been rolling around the floor of a glitter factory. It rubbed off on every surface I touched, including the money I slid across the counter to her.
“Did you find everything you were looking for tonight?” She asked me carefully, loading the bottles into the bag and not meeting my eyes.
“Yeah. Thanks. You’re out of these ones now,” I said, lifting one of the little amber bottles.
She nodded, looking down at the glittery bottle, then at me, then back at the bottle. “Hunting season starts next week.”
I nodded back, collecting my receipt and purchases and making as dignified of a retreat as I could. My sparkly lips pulled back into a humorless smile. “Thanks.”
I was hunting all right, but not for Bambi. Hunting season for my prey started right-fucking-now.
The drive from Plano to Austin ordinarily takes about three and a half hours. I made it faster than that, because I never went below eighty-five. In hindsight, that was not a great idea for a sixteen-year-old with a learner’s permit, but I was running on frustration, humiliation, Waffle House, and Red Bull.
Interestingly, the package did not originate from one of my classmates in Plano. Instead, it’s address was from two cities away in the state capital where my brother was going to college. In fact, it was from his next-door neighbor. That was an odd coincidence, since it was one of the few places I knew how to navigate to, having just helped him move in a couple of weeks ago. Still, I could only assume that somehow, Travis or one of his nasty friends were behind my glittery predicament.
By the time I arrived in front of the door belonging to Cole Rylander, resident of the men’s dorms at the University of Texas, it was almost three a.m. I managed to sneak in the door after a drunk guy—security wasn’t exactly tight. You’d have thought my anger-fueled adrenaline rush would not have lasted long enough to see this plan through, but I was special. I had anger to spare, all the time. Right then, I was still trembling with it. I banged on the door with one gloved hand, clutching the squeeze bottle I’d stolen from a Waffle House on the way behind my back.
“Jesus Christ, what do you want?!” The man said when he opened the door. His voice was groggy, like he’d just been awakened, and he was rubbing his eyes as if in total disbelief. I guess it’s not every day a walking disco ball knocks on your door in the middle of the night. I wasn’t even seeing him at the moment. “Who are you?” He stuttered.
“Are you Cole Rylander?” I confirmed, dancing from foot to foot. The squeeze bottle—the kind that restaurants use for condiments like ketchup—was a cold weight in my hand. I’d put everything in the locked toolbox in the bed of the truck as a precaution, only filling it up in the hallway right before knocking. It had gotten icy-cold during the drive.
“Yes but—urgh!”
As soon as I knew it was him, I whipped out the chilled deer urine filled squeeze bottle and doused him with it. The man retched when the smell hit him, and I just kept squeezing, exhausting every last drop of the thick, putrid-smelling liquid all over his bare front. I didn’t aim for his face, but I wasn’t avoiding it either. He probably got a mouthful or two.
“Oh god, oh god, what is this shit?!” he cried in between gags. Guilt pinged through me and I quashed it. This was justice. He was rubbing his eyes again, this time to get the deer piss out of them. “Why?!” He stumbled out blindly into the corridor, and I easily escaped his grasp. He collided with the wall in front of him with a loud, painful thump.
“Because fuck you that’s why! Fuck your glitter package you fucking asshole!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “You ruined my homecoming dress. You ruined everything. I hate you!”
Around me, I could hear voices and stomping behind the other doors in the hallway. People were waking up and would want to know what the hell was going on. Before I could be caught, I dropped the squeeze bottle and ran back to my truck. I thought getting revenge would make me feel better, but ins
tead of energized and vindicated, all I felt was exhausted and alone.
I’d never had a hangover before, but I couldn’t imagine it felt worse than I did the next morning. Driving for almost eight hours straight made my joints ache and my head pound. I woke up at two p.m., feeling and looking like I’d had a very rough night. It took four showers to get most of the glitter out of my hair and off my skin, and two vacuum bags to remove the worst of it from my room. My dress, however, was irreparably ruined, along with my hairbrush, a lampshade, and a handful of other possessions that couldn’t or shouldn’t be washed. Even my hairdryer was ruined. The glitter had lodged in the motor, making it smoke.
Feeling defeated, I wrapped myself in a fuzzy afghan blanket and sat on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate while I waited for my hair to dry. There was even an episode of ‘Say Yes to the Dress” on that looked promising. The sudden chime of the doorbell made me freeze. I waited, hoping whoever it was would give up and go try to convert the neighbors instead. Ding-dong! I gritted my teeth.
“Go away!”
Kiss Me Like You Missed Me Page 1
