Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  My fingers page through it, and the dread only grows. There are so many clauses in cold legalese. Nothing seems unreasonable. But that doesn't make it any better.

  When I look up, he's smiling, sitting in the chair next to me with another God forsaken smirk on his lips. “Is this really necessary? There's so much here.”

  “It's for your protection as much as mine. Here, look at the last page,” he says, reaching over, pulling the last sheet out and putting it on top. “I knew we'd be pressed for time, so I asked my guy to spell out all the rules in a neat little list.”

  My eyes skim more. He's not kidding about the little part. It's three short phrases that could mean anything if they weren't backed up by longer parts:

  No sex. Both parties agree to keep their relationship strictly professional.

  No money. Fake fiancée understands this arrangement guarantees no compensation, beyond what Mr. Randolph decides to spend on gifts, expenses, or direct rewards.

  No disclosure. Fake fiancée agrees to keep this agreement strictly secret, until such time it's terminated, and further agrees any disclosures to the media without prior approval by Mr. Randolph are prohibited.

  I'm shaking my head. He grabs the pen, pushes it into my hand, and holds it up in a writing positioning. “What's wrong, beautiful? Anything you'd like to add?”

  My eyes bleed fire when I look at him. I seriously contemplate asking him to add no teasing to this stupid agreement, if it wouldn't sound so ridiculous.

  “No. Let's get this over with,” I say, sighing as my wrist glides over the paper. I scrawl my name and initials on several pages, drawing on my legal experience to take one last quick look to make sure there's nothing buried that can bite me.

  When it's done, he grabs the papers, and throws them into a leather case on the table. “Perfect. I'd say 'pleasure doing business,' but then that's a given when I'm dealing with you, doll.”

  It still doesn't sit right. I press my hands together, looking away, staring at the city's winking skyline through his windows. “I know what we need to do. I signed it. Tell me what else you need.”

  “So thoughtfully boring. How about a drink to celebrate?” he asks, helping me sit on one of the posh chairs next to a massive window.

  “No,” I whisper, blinking back my tears, wiping them beneath his unrelenting gaze with my wrist. “I just need a moment.”

  For half a minute, he's quiet. Then he sits down across from me, takes both my hands, and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “How do I make this easier?”

  Easier? No such thing. There's nothing in the world that will make this faux engagement with a man who has his kind of history a breeze.

  “Let me in,” I tell him. It's the one concession that might give this a shred of normalcy. “Treat me like a friend if I supposedly want to be your wife. Talk to me about life, where you're going, what you really want to achieve after this madness.”

  He looks away, dropping my hands. “We're actors, Maddie. Just like the contract says. We aren't old friends, and certainly not lovers. We were classmates who got in too deep, and on the wrong asshole's worst side. We did some stupid shit it's taking years to undo. Why do you want to complicate this?”

  “Because it isn't simple. Not when you shove me into your arms and kiss me for the first time in years! God, Cal. I know it can't be easy, everything that's happened, but do you have to be so heartless?”

  He reaches up, scratching his clenched jaw. His sky blue eyes pierce mine, angry and electric, like it's almost as hard for him to sit here with me, and re-live the past.

  I'm a fool for asking him to step back with me into the pain, I know. But honesty never hurt anyone, and right now, it's the only thing that'll let me process this screwed up arrangement without feeling like a plastic accessory.

  “I picked you because we have a certain history, doll. That's undeniable. I need it to fool the world, and make sure my father coughs up what belongs to me before he's gone. Don't see any sense in this burning need you have to rehash hell at the academy. Let's put it behind us, and keep it the fuck there. Let's play our parts. You're here to be my fiancée. Not my therapist.”

  His harsh look threatens to set me off all over again. The tears stinging my eyes worsen because I haven't even had a chance to sleep off the jet lag.

  I hate this. I hide the tears behind my palms, turning my face, willing him to shut up and disappear.

  “It's been a long day for us both. Let me show you to your room.”

  “No!” I'm on my feet, clearing my eyes one more time to give him a harsh look. “Just point me to the right place. I'll find it myself.”

  With a savage glance, he points down the long hallway starting under a crystal chandelier. “Last room at the end. Sleep in tomorrow. I'll be out all day. Won't need you again until Sunday, when it's time to visit my father.”

  I storm away, resisting the urge to head for the front door instead, and find my way out.

  By the time I clean up and lay down in the Egyptian cotton sheets, my new headache is worse. It's shocking how much the four hours I've spent with him are like staring into a mirror, expecting familiarity, and seeing only distortions.

  He's the same. It's the Cal Randolph I remember in all his arrogance, his wit, his ruthless good looks with the ocean eyes able to melt any panties he desires, whether the women wearing them like it or not. The boy who teased me, who turned out to be my savior, always showed the same smirk, same poise, same bottomless energy and focus as I see in this man.

  But there's also something different; a dark, cold, and very adult aloofness in his character. The old Cal wouldn't have shuffled me off to bed if he'd seen me cry like this. He would've swept me into his arms, kissed away my tears, and carried me off to join him in bed after making certain I wore a smile again.

  This new man, who I've agreed to marry, and pray it won't ever go that far, I don't know. He confirms my biggest fear I've carried around for seven years: our tragedy changed Cal forever, and not for the better.

  IV: Schoolyard Crush (Cal)

  I'm pissed off the next day, and grateful I have business elsewhere.

  Don't know how I could spend it in the condo with her moping around, hidden in her room, greeting my calls to breakfast with an icy silence. Before I left, I grabbed a pen, scrawling an angry note I slipped underneath the door, giving her my driver's number if and when she's ready for food. My kitchen is also well stocked, but I can't imagine Doll cooking for anything.

  Sure, she's grown up. She's developed talents I'm sure I haven't seen. Hell, for all I know, she's become a master chef in her spare time, and maybe one day when I'm not making her miserable, she'll whip up something that makes me lean back and say, “wow.”

  Yet, I can't stop seeing the Maddie I knew. She's there, staring me in the face, daring me to live like the gullible kid I swore I'd killed. I see the innocent girl who never came to school with lipstick, wearing a uniform blouse a size too big for her, those thick black lenses framing her eyes, still bringing her lunch to school every day in a Power Puff Girls lunchbox well into her Junior year.

  The marketing campaign I'm working for Spence and Cade can't distract me from the past. Nothing makes a Saturday afternoon stuck at the office fly by faster than letting my mind wander.

  Seven Years Ago

  I never met a girl so dense. Doll must think I'm teasing her for some sick pleasure, and not because I'm dying to get in her pants. She's never so much as cast a wanting glance my way, and let me hold it. But I see how her eyes study me when she thinks I'm not looking.

  Those looks get me hard. They're the same eyes I've seen on the other girls in the small harem I've boned since I lost my virginity to a cougar at a Phoenix resort a few years back. Lust is always familiar, yet so fucking different in her soft hazel eyes. I wish I could figure out why.

  Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and I think it's trying to claim Cal Randolph, too. This crazy need to get under her skin, or at least between
her legs, sends my thoughts in dumb directions. Like deciding to ask her to the winter dance, rather than the cheerleading captain, Tina, who's been choking on my cock for several weeks.

  Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is coming fast for the Academy. That means a two week break, more freezing rains hammering Seattle non-stop, and – what else? – presents.

  My old man probably has my new Mercedes lined up, just like I want. He's been ignoring me a lot between business and John coming home last week. It's good to see my older brother again, and my parents love having their hero home for the holidays.

  I find him in my room one evening, after I come home early from German. My plans to ask Tina over here or take my fist to the hard-on raging between my legs go up in smoke as soon as I see him reclining on my bed, cigarette tucked between his lips.

  “John, what the fuck?”

  “Can't sleep in my old bed anymore. It's too damned soft. Yours is a lot firmer.”

  “So, you think you can take over my room whenever?”

  He looks at me, pulls the smoke from his lips, and flicks the ashes into the silver waste bin next to my bed. “I think you're all grown up, and maybe you can handle letting your big brother crash for a few hours on a mattress that doesn't want to eat him alive. Also thought I'd come by and make sure you're not into any stupid shit.”

  “Fuck you, if you've been looking through my things. I'm not fourteen anymore,” I growl, marching over to my closet, scanning it to see if anything is out of order.

  “Oh, I already did my inspection. What kind of sorry fuck would I be hunting IEDs and mines for Uncle Sam if I couldn't cover my little bro's room in five minutes? You've got nothing to worry about. Just a couple crushed beer cans, a few dried up joints, oh, and porn. Didn't know you kids even whacked it to magazines anymore. Isn't it all digital now?”

  I see red. He's found the vintage European collection Cade swiped from his attic last week, and passed off to me and a couple other guys.

  “None of your business! Don't make me say it again, John – stay the hell out!” Anger sticks in my throat like thorns. I swear, I'll stare down Scourge and his crew of idiots all day, but my brother has a real knack for pushing just the right buttons to turn me into a kid throwing a tantrum all over again.

  “Saw the trophies you've got in your dresser drawer, too,” he says, sitting up and flicking his depleted cigarette into the trash. “At least, I'm hoping they're trophies. Don't tell me you're into wearing lace now?”

  The blood drains from my face. This is worse than finding my porn stash. Goddamn.

  I look him dead in the eye. “Had to take something from the girls I already fucked. I'm not the kind to kiss and tell, so that's all your getting. Go ask your army pals for jerk stories, if that's what you're after.”

  He chuckles, pointing and laughing at the red damage carved on my face. “You're a good kid,” he says, finally standing up. Hope like hell he's ready to give me some much needed privacy.

  He heads for the door, stopping when he's got one foot in the hall. He's still wearing his army boots, huge rubber beasts that seem out of place for the Brazilian wood on our floors. “Nah, on second thought, you've changed my mind. You're not a kid anymore, Cal. You're a man. Think you'll go better places than I did at eighteen, screwing off a year in Florida and drinking my brains out, before I decided to enlist. Had to stop dad from getting really pissed. All I'm saying, I guess, is sorry for treating you like the same little shit who used to bug me.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, before I let out a sigh. “Thanks, asshole.”

  He's a dick, but in his own way, John's an okay guy.

  We briefly shake hands before he leaves me alone with my deepest secret, the one he couldn't find because there's no physical evidence except empty air. Last week, I shoved aside my trophies from the fucks I've had, and cleared an empty space.

  In my brain, it's got Maddie's name on it. I'm going to stuff her soaked, torn panties there sometime in the next few months, or I will lose my shit.

  I can't let this weird fascination go on without finding out what's underneath her prim and proper skirt. Bigger and better things are waiting after I screw this out of my system.

  I'm so fucking over Scourge today. The bully clanks when he walks with his stupid chains, always the same two lapdogs at his side who think they're hard because they're willing to run errands for the school's prize pig.

  This morning, he pushed Cade out of the breakfast line so hard my buddy lost his food on the floor. Both him and Spence are calmer, cooler than me. They're lucky, and so is fuck-face.

  I wouldn't have held back giving him the business end of my fists if he did it to me, discipline and detention be damned.

  I'll never understand why they let him share classes with us. What job could possibly be worth it to make Principal Ross kiss so much ass?

  By mid-morning, he's mouthing off to Mr. Gregorson, our European history teacher. He's senior faculty, silver haired, and he's just as done as the rest of us with this kid's shit.

  Scourge tells him he doesn't give a rat's ass about flunking yesterday's quiz on the Borgias. Gregorson orders him back in his seat, placing a call to the front desk, informing them he'll be down in the office shortly.

  He sounds defeated. That gets to me today, makes my guts churn.

  It's always the same: Principal Ross doesn't want to do shit. Even if Gregorson pressed the issue, he'd suspend Scourge for a day to get his slap on the wrist. Asshole would return tomorrow, more determined than ever to give the rest of us a hostile learning environment.

  We're in gym near the end of the day when I catch him circling Maddie. She has like two friends in the whole school. They're all slow runners, lagging behind everybody else while we're doing laps on the track.

  Scourge picks up speed, racing behind Chelle on Maddie's left, and knocks the poor girl over. I'm not close enough to do shit.

  She goes down hard on one knee. Him and his assholes laugh, all three shooting the girls the middle finger as they race past them, buying five minutes worth of cruel, simple entertainment.

  “What's up?” Spence asks, running at my side, a knowing flicker in his eyes. “Looks like you're about to do something stupid.”

  “No, but you keep pace with Cade. I'm going on ahead.” I pump my legs as hard as they can go.

  The bullies have slowed, fallen behind the girls again, who are moving at a crawl as Maddie and her other friend, Elizabeth, help Chelle walk on her banged up knee.

  When I'm closing the last ten feet, I'm moving like a maniac, watching Scourge's wingman, Reed, try to repeat the tipping prank with Doll. I never give him a chance.

  My shoulder impacts his at a furious speed, throwing him into Scourge. The three idiots fall like bowling pins, swearing the whole time.

  I don't slow down until the girls are well ahead of me. Then I turn, giving the bastards behind me the stink eye. If they want to catch up with the trio again, including Maddie, they'll have to go through me.

  “What the fuck's your problem, Randolph? You got a crush on them bitches?” Scourge stumbles up to me, spitting raw hate. “Fuck you, if you do. No joke, I'll find out who she is, and make her life a living hell if you think about swinging your dick at me again. Shit, maybe I'll go after all three. Just because.”

  “You'll do nothing,” I growl, my voice so deep and feral it surprises me. Clearing my throat, I see Spence and Cade appear at my side. Perfect timing. If this gets uglier than it is, I'll need backup. “Just leave them alone, Alex. Save your bullshit for someone else.”

  His whole body bristles when I use his real name, instead of that stupid moniker. “Getting awful tired of you trying to play Sheriff around here, Randolph. Your daddy ain't the only one who's got money and connections. None of you assholes have an in at this school like my old man and my uncle.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we know how you've got Ross on a leash,” Spence says, flashing his teeth.

  “Can I?” Reed steps up,
his dumb face turned to his leader, quietly asking Scourge's permission to break my friend's nose.

  “Leave it,” I tell Spence, putting my arm across his chest. I don't need to do it with Cade.

  They're usually calmer, but they're also more trusting. The assholes in front of me are unpredictable. There's a decent chance we'll have a fight on our hands as soon as our backs are turned. We don't need to go starting it.

  “You don't want to fuck with us, kid. Stand down. Last and only warning I hand out. Next time, you'll be dealing with Uncle Match.”

  “Whatever. Glad you've got someone in prison, at least. You'll wind up there yourself one day, asshole,” I say.

  I hold my boys back, wishing I could roll my eyes harder without touching off a fight. Surprisingly, Scourge doesn't bother doing more than mumbling a parting fuck you. We wait, watching them slink away.

  “Ever think he means his uncle's so tired of his crap he'll bring us brownies for knocking his shit in?” Cade says, a rough grin peeking through his lips.

  “Getting our hands dirty is no joke. Let him have his space, long as he isn't up in ours.”

  “Funny, doesn't seem like ours he was getting in.” Spence and his damned knowing looks.

  “What? You wanted me to stand here with my thumb up my ass while he put those girls in stitches?”

  “Nah, obviously,” Spence grunts. I grab my friend by the collar, giving him a firm shake. “Course not. Just thought you were awful quick to stick your nose in his business. But the asshole had it coming.”

  “Yeah. Sorry,” I snarl, releasing his jersey. I jog several paces ahead of my friends.

  Need the space to clear my head. Several yards away, the school's outside bell rings, letting us know it's time to get our asses back in the locker room, and change.

  On my way in, I see Maddie with her friends, stopping to check Chelle's knee. She looks up, catches my eyes, and there's a moment.

  For some ungodly reason, this obsession isn't purely sexual. Sure, I want her wrapped around me so I can finally stop jerking it to fantasy, but it's more than young lust.