A Sweet, Sexy Collection 1: 5 Insta-love, New Adult, Steamy Romance Novellas (Sweet, Sexy Shorts)

by Kaylee Spring

  In a cascade, my hundred-dollar textbooks, forgotten receipts, half a dozen pens and pencils, and two condoms fall out of my bag. I don’t have the energy to be embarrassed at those last two items because my Epi-pen rattles out last, dropping with a satisfying clunk on my spiral-bound journal.

  The girl pauses when she sees it, just long enough that I fall back, unable to hold myself up any longer. My vision has narrowed to a pinpoint, and I can feel my heart slowing to a sluggish crawl. The last thing I see is the girl trying to read the instructions in the dim light. Then everything is dark.

  Then a burst of light.

  The ephedrine leaps through my system like lightning, restarting my body with too much power for it to handle. I’m immediately back up on my feet in a defensive pose, heaving at the air, thankful for it like only a truly thirsty man can appreciate the fine taste of water.

  “Whoa, whoa,” the girl says. She places a hand on my forearm. Then, seeming to remember something, she takes two steps back and looks for her pepper spray once more. “We’re even now, okay? I saved your life, so just leave me alone, alright?”

  “Leave you alone?” My voice is raspy and an acrid taste coats my tongue. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “You’ve been following me. When I shouted at you to stop, you just kept walking.”

  I reach for my ears but find my headphones gone. A quick glance at the ground shows them half covered by the backpack she tossed aside once she found the Epi-pen. “I was listening to music. Besides, why would I follow you?”

  “Because you wanted to rape me?” she says, fists raised up to her face.

  “I’m not going to rape you,” I say with a coughing laugh. “I wouldn’t even have the energy for consensual sex tonight, even if you were on top. All I want is to get home and collapse on my bed. You have no idea how long this day has been.” I try to relax my system hopped up on artificial adrenaline. I don’t want to scare this girl. “Look, honest mistake, okay? If you’ll just let me pack my stuff back in my bag, I’ll leave you alone.”

  As I’m saying this, I’m wiping at my eyes and nose. The residual effects of the pepper spray have not all been cured by the Epi-pen. In fact, unless I’m crazy, they’re getting worse. So bad that when I bend down to grab my textbooks, I fall to one knee in a coughing fit.

  “Are you okay?” the girl asks. She’s hesitating, but after another hacking episode, she’s at my side, slapping my back. “This is all my fault.”

  “Like I said,” I say and spit out some of the bitter stuff, “it was an honest mistake. What if I had been some crazy murderer? It’s better to be safe, right?”

  While I lean back against a tree, swiping at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie, she gathers my things and throws them in my bag. “Here,” she says and hands it to me.

  I sling it over one shoulder and try to hide the deep ache in my chest and the tears rolling down my cheeks. “Next time I see you, I’m walking the other way.”

  This earns a laugh from her and another episode of coughing from me. This one leaves me gasping for air on all fours.

  “You can’t be alone like this,” she says. “What if you fall and hit your head on something?”

  “What am I? A senile, old lady? I’ll be fine.” I stand up, but immediately fall back to one knee.

  “Says the guy that’s fallen and can’t get up.” It’s a good joke, but neither of us laughs. She’s hesitating again, calculating something behind those blue eyes. She takes a deep breath and bites her lips. Then with a nod as if to reassure herself of a difficult decision, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

  Chapter 3

  Kat

  Standing at the door of my apartment, key shaking in my hand, I wonder what the hell I’m doing. The man I thought was going to knock me upside the head and ravage me, leaving me for dead, is now following me home. I thought I was the victim, but an allergic reaction means I feel like the guilty party here. So here I am, not sure how far this is supposed to go. I don’t even remember his name, so I ask him as if I didn’t read it earlier on his Student ID.

  “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Aaron,” he says. His voice sounds less scratchy, but he’s still gasping and my apartment is only on the third floor. From what I can tell, beneath that hoodie, he’s far too athletic to be out of breath already. “And yours is Kat.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands. Maybe this was all part of his ploy. Maybe I’ve fallen right into this stalker’s net. “How did you know that?”

  He points towards the stairs. “I saw the name on the buzzer downstairs. I didn’t know it was you, but it’s hard to miss such a cute name. I love cats. Now we’re in front of your door, and the numbers match, so that’s how I knew.”

  Not completely satisfied with his answer, but equally flattered by his calling my name cute, I slide the key into my deadbolt. With a quick thought, I add, “Just so you know, my boyfriend will be back any minute now. So you can only stay here a little bit, alright?”

  “Got it,” Aaron says. He’s leaning on the wall, one hand scratching at the upper section of his chest. I wonder if he’s having a skin reaction in addition to his breathing problems. If I had any idea pepper spray could cause such damage, I might have considered running first. “It might just be easier if I head home. My place is only a few streets down.”

  I pause for half a breath. “No, you don’t have to do that. It’s fine.” I open the door and point to bathroom. “You can wash up in there. I’ll get you a clean towel. Try to get that crap out of your eyes. I’ll find something for you to wear. It looks like the pepper spray’s gotten all over your hoodie.”

  He drops his bag beside the couch and heads to the bathroom. After handing him a towel while he’s already rinsing his eyes and face, I pop into my bedroom. Crumpled in one of my moving boxes is a hoodie that I just haven’t had the heart to toss. Steve left it here the day before the accident. That was last spring when the weather was bouncing back and forth every day. It had gotten searing hot overnight, so he left it draped on a kitchen stool at my breakfast nook. That was the last I saw him until the funeral. I gave everything else back to his family. The laptop he kept at my place. Even his deodorant and toothbrush. Packed it all in a box and left it on their doorstop. But the hoodie I kept for myself. It smelled like him. At least, it used to.

  My therapist would be proud that I’m finally digging it out, like a bullet from a wound. But I give it one last sniff. With all the time it’s spent mingling with my clothes, Steve’s scent has long ago vanished. But I can still remember the way it felt on him.

  I wait on the couch for Aaron to finish in the bathroom. When he comes out, he’s holding his hoodie in a ball. “I think this is the reason I kept itching. Where’s your trash can? I don’t want to even chance washing this.”

  Although he says all of this, I’m only half listening. I was right about Aaron being athletic under all that fabric. He’s got on a white undershirt that contrasts his darker skin tone wonderfully. I wonder what sport he plays, not that I’m interested whatsoever in such things, but I’m curious how he carved out such a body.

  “Oh,” I say, snapping back to reality. “It’s under the sink. Sorry for the mess. I’m moving tomorrow.”

  “That explains all the boxes. I thought maybe you were just a weird hoarder. Glad to be proven wrong.”

  After he stuffs his old shirt in the trash, I hand him Steve’s hoodie. “Here. You can wear this.”

  He holds it out at arms-length and looks over the front. “Tight. This is from the Pixies tour, right? I was there, but they were sold out of hoodies.” He pulls it over his head, and I feel two forms of regret. One for seeing the last reminder of Steve on this guy I thought was going to attack me. Another that he’s covered that chest of his.

  “Why don’t you keep it?” I say. “As a sign of apology.”

  “I’m not going to argue with that. Plus, I mean, you did mace me,” he says with
a laugh.

  “Well, I thought you were going to rape me or something.”

  “I’d say that’s a bit racist, but I guess if you tried to warn me and I didn’t hear you because of my headphones that at least some of the blame is on me.”

  “Oh,” I say, holding my hands up as if to block this accusation. “It’s not like that at all. It’s something else.”

  “Sure,” Aaron says, but his tone has changed. “Something else. Never heard that one before.” He’s grabs his bag and walks towards the door. “I’ll just get out of your hair then. Thanks for the hoodie. I really appre—”

  I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe it’s seeing him wearing Steve’s hoodie. Maybe it’s that I don’t want him to misunderstand me. But I grab his hand before he can leave. He stops dead in his tracks. “It’s really not like that.” I take a deep breath. “God, I haven’t eaten all day. Are you hungry? I could order a pizza or something.”

  “It’s alright,” he says.

  “No, it’s not. Plus, my therapist said it’s good for me to talk about him.”

  “About who?”

  “About Steve.”

  Chapter 4

  Aaron

  I’m really not sure what to think of Kat. Not at first.

  First, the way we met was not the stuff of fairytales or the sort of meet cutes you see in romantic comedies that blaze across the theaters each summer. No, no. Kat sprayed me with pepper spray after fearing I was going to rape her or worse.

  Not the sort of stuff that sells movie tickets, that’s for sure.

  But then she invited me into her apartment. I’m not stupid. I know the only thing that brought me here was guilt on her part. She didn’t anticipate my allergies. Just like I didn’t expect to be maced while walking home.

  Then she hands me the hoodie I’m wearing now. That’s where everything changed. I felt it the moment I pulled it on; the way she looked at me was like she was seeing someone else. That’s how we ended up here.

  “Who’s Steve?” I ask.

  “Steve,” she begins, her voice trembling, “was my boyfriend. He’s the one who bought that shirt. It was the last one. I was there when he bought it. So maybe you and I rubbed shoulders that night in the crowd.”

  I nod, not sure what to say. “Why didn’t you give him his hoodie back when you two broke up?”

  “Oh,” comes Kat’s reply. “I gave everything back to his mother after the accident, but I kept this for myself. It still smelled like him.”

  It’s only now that I realize we’ve been on different pages that have finally lined up. She had mentioned a boyfriend at the front door, but I knew that was bullshit meant to frighten me and keep me in line. Then when she mentioned this guy, Steve, I was thinking there was some other guy she was still pining after, hoping she could one day re-connect with. Why else would she be keeping his hoodie?

  I sit on the couch beside her, close but not touching. Just like she wouldn’t leave me alone in my time of need, I can’t just leave her alone. “What happened?” I ask as gently as I can.

  “It’s not an original story or anything. Just wrong place at the wrong time.” She swipes at her cheeks with her sleeve. “Steve was walking back here. He’d had a few drinks with his buddies after work, and I didn’t want him driving. The bar was only a mile away. It shouldn’t have been that bad of a walk.”

  Kat drops her head further, burying her face in her palms. “There were these kids, just teenagers. I guess they’d been drinking. Doing other stuff too. Meth, I think. When they saw Steve, they thought he looked like he had some money on him. Steve should have just handed them his wallet, but he was drunk, which meant that he was even friendlier than usual. In their testimony, the boys said that Steve was joking with them, not taking them seriously at all. That’s why they stabbed him. Left him for dead.”

  I’m not prepared for this sort of stuff. But I guess no one’s ever ready for death. Even when my grandfather finally passed away after battling cancer for half a decade, I still wasn’t ready to let him go. He’s the one that got me interested in engineering. He turned my life around, but then, all of a sudden, I had to figure things out on my own. No one’s ever ready for something like that.

  “He survived a couple of days in the ICU, but then he got this infection. Fell into a coma. Never woke up.” Kat looks over at me. “That’s why I freaked out when you were following me. It was like I’d had this nightmare again and again after Steve’s death, and suddenly I was living it. In my mind, there was no other reason you might have been following me. You were after me, so I had to defend myself.”

  I nod my head subconsciously and voice my thoughts. “Well, that does make sense. I guess it’s sort of my fault too. I mean, if I’d noticed you trying to get away or warning me, I might not know what pepper spray tastes like.”

  “I’m sorry about that. “ She places a hand on mine when she says this. For a whole second her warmth travels through me, sending a shiver up my arm. Then she seems to realize what she’s doing and withdraws her touch. “My therapist says it’s post traumatic stress.”

  “My pops had that. He served in Iraq. Watched a lot of guys get torn up. He had to take sleeping pills on the Fourth of July or the fireworks sent him into a pretty bad place.”

  “I hate the fourth too,” she says.

  Although this girl offered to buy pizza earlier, it seems she’s forgotten. Which is probably for the best. I need to be going. I’m fine now. She’s safe, so there’s no reason to drag this out any longer.

  When I sling my backpack over my shoulder and stand, I can see her realization that I’m leaving. She jerks forward a bit, as though to stop me. “I could still order that pizza if you’re hungry. I feel bad that I can’t do something for you after all that.”

  I point to the hoodie. “I got something cool out of the deal. We’re good.”

  She nods, and her eyes travel down to my chest. I’m sure she’s remembering when her ex used to wear this. I’m just about to turn toward the door when a sound outside makes both of us jump. It’s not fireworks.

  No, that’s a gunshot.

  Kat leaps up and wraps her arms around my waist in an instant. She’s trembling, taking turns between burying her face in my chest and looking towards the window.

  “It’s alright,” I say. “It’s probably the same neighbor who lives not far from me. Mr. Francis shoots at squirrels every hour of the day and night.”

  This doesn’t convince her. She says something, but her voice is muffled by the hoodie.

  “What?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She pulls away just enough to look up at me and repeat, “Please don’t go.”

  Chapter 5

  Kat

  After two hours of chatting and devouring a whole pizza together, I’ve learned a lot more about the guy I thought was going to kill me. It turns out that he’s an engineering student. He was on his way home from studying in the library when I attacked him. Like me, he’s been single for sometime.

  “My last girlfriend, Elene. She was cool until I found out I was just her Friday guy. Turns out she had a Saturday guy and a Sunday guy and…well, yeah. Those dating apps make it really easy to meet and cheat, it turns out.”

  “I never got into those things,” I say. “I can’t trust that anyone is who they say they are. I have to chat face-to-face before I can trust a guy.”

  “Like this?” Aaron says with a sly smile before finishing off the last slice of pizza. With the food is finished, the yawns begin, but I still can’t get over that sound from earlier.

  “It was just Rusty shooting at squirrels,” he says again, but I don’t budge.

  “You don’t know that for sure.” I’m biting my lips. My brain is reminding me of how late it is, forcing my eyes to dart up to the clock hanging above the breakfast nook. Nearly midnight. At the same time, my heart pulls my attention back to Aaron and the fact that I don’t want him to leave. All this despite the fact that we’ve on
ly just met. “You could sleep on the couch.”

  “That might not have even been a gun,” he says, but there’s hesitation in his voice too. His feet aren’t aimed for the door. They’re pointed at me. And I once read in some business guide about body language that a person’s feet always point at the direction they want to go.

  “Still,” I begin saying, not sure how to finish the sentence without bluntly saying that I want him to stay. “You could go back to your place in the morning. It’s a really comfy couch, I swear. Sometimes I sleep out here instead of in bed.”

  He smirks. “It’s not the couch I’m worried about.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Aaron looks over to his bag. “I’ve actually got loads of homework. I wasn’t exactly planning on sleeping tonight.” He glances over at the bar stools pulled up to my little peninsula of counter I only use to drop my keys and purse on and occasionally eat a bowl of cereal at. “But if you really want me to stay, I might just set up over there and try to get finished with this paper I’ve got due tomorrow.”

  I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to wonder why I jump at this suggestion when I’m lying in bed, staring at the inside of my bedroom door, but for now I just say, “That would be great! I mean, not the fact that you have to stay up all night. That sucks, but I’ll make you something to eat before you leave in the morning. I hope you like cereal.” I curse under my breath and say, “Actually, I forgot to pick up milk on the way home. So, it will have to be dry cereal. Or stale bread.” I grimace. “I’m not exactly sweetening the deal, am I?”