Kiss Me Crazy

by Jami Wagner

  “Hmm, I think you’ll have to work harder for it,” I say, shooting him a wink of my own.

  “Okay stop … stop!” Mark says.

  Shit. I forgot they were right next to us.

  “Is this drink laced with something?” Kass looks in her cup. “Because I thought I just saw the two of you flirting.”

  I think we’d have gotten away with it if Tripp and I had responded with more than just looking at each other.

  “Tripp, let’s get drinks,” Mark says and pushes him until they walk away.

  Traitors. They didn’t even give me enough time to think of what I’m going to say to Kass. No doubt she’s about to start a round of twenty questions.

  “Talk. Now,” she says as if on cue. Her entire face lights up. “Tripp was the guy!”

  Dang it. Am I really that easy to read?

  “Shh, shh, okay, nothing has happened. I don’t want anyone knowing, okay?”

  “Oh my god, you like Tripp.” Her eyes go wide and then she smiles. “I actually think I like this.”

  “Stop, Kass. It’s seriously nothing. Just a crush is all. It will pass.”

  “Sure.”

  Her response isn’t very convincing.

  “Where is Winston?” I ask. A new subject is needed.

  “He’s going to be late, but good thing, too, because he’d have freaked had he seen what I just saw.”

  I roll my eyes and groan.

  “Oh, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she says right before Mark walks up with shots.

  I take one with the group and toast them all.

  Here’s to keeping secrets. I hope.

  ***

  Three hours later, I’m feeling real good. Like, really, really good. Like karaoke doesn’t sound half bad good.

  “Damn, Lennox, I never knew you could dance like that,” Kass shouts into my ear as we move to the beat of some rap song. I think someone said it was Fetty Wap or something. It’s not bad—a little hard to get my hips in a rhythm, but still, not bad.

  To be honest, I didn’t know I could either. Dance, that is. I’m going to go with liquid courage for the win.

  I keep swaying my hips and waving my hands in the air as song after song plays. Someone, I’m pretty sure Mark or Winston, places another beer in my hand.

  “This is your last one.”

  Ah yes, Father Winston.

  “Yes, sir,” I say with my hand at my forehead.

  “Maybe I should,” Winston starts to take my drink, but I twist away.

  “Fine. This is my last one,” I say.

  He gives me the scowling glare thing he’s been doing a lot of lately, but then nods. The look Tripp is giving me as he drinks his cup of beer isn’t much different.

  Tripp hasn’t spoken to me much since that first conversation. I swear, the moment Winston showed up, he went back to his old ways. I’m feeling pretty confident right now, and I’m not so sure I won’t confront him about his unacceptable behavior. Teasing isn’t nice.

  “Tripp hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night,” Kass says. “I think he likes you back.”

  I scoff.

  “What?”

  “If that were true, he’d have at least made a move on me by now. All I got was a lame hand hold under the table that afternoon at Plum’s.”

  “What! He was holding your hand? That is so sweet,” she says and takes a drink of her beer.

  I do the same. Only I drink mine until it’s gone.

  “Yes!” Kass shouts as I take the last gulp. “Oh my gosh, this is the best party yet. I’m so glad you came,” she says and then spins around, giving a little hip shake. I do my best to copy her, but I’m positive it didn’t turn out as good.

  I try it again and spin right into someone. My foot catches theirs and I’m about to go down, but someone yanks me up.

  “Whoops,” I say with a giggle as I find my balance.

  The smile and giggle stops instantly when I see who caught me.

  Damn Tripp.

  “We should go,” he says.

  He’s probably right. I jerk my arms out of his hold and head for the door.

  “Lennox,” he calls out behind me.

  I don’t answer him, but I do find Winston at the door.

  “Do you want me to walk you, or will you be fine?” he asks.

  “I’ll walk her,” Tripp says behind me.

  “Cool, I’ll—” Winston starts.

  “I’ll walk myself, thank you very much,” I say and stride out the door. Kind of. “Ahhh!” I scream when the cold pavement hits me before the air does.

  I look behind me and up from the ground. I guarantee my glare says a quick reminder about the step would have been nice.

  Tripp grabs my hand and pulls a lot harder than I expect; my body lands flush against his. One hand moves to the small of my back as I look up at him. He’s starting down at me; his eyes flash to my lips and everything inside me perks up. I close my eyes and wait.

  “Let’s get home,” he says instead of kissing me. His grip around me loosens and we fall into step.

  My mind is a bit foggy, but a couple things are clear: Tripp sucks and I’ll punch him in the face if he mentions the scrape on my knee or the small trickle of blood now running down my shin.

  This is exactly why I don’t go to parties.

  Tripp

  Lennox does something to me that no girl ever has, and tonight, I couldn’t keep her out of my line of sight. God, she looked fucking stunning. She always does, but something about tonight—I don’t know. Maybe it was my ego thinking she got dressed up for me, and knowing someone did something so simple for me makes me go crazy. And the way she keeps bumping into me now, lighting my skin on fire with each touch, is making it really fucking hard to keep my hands off her. We’ve both been drinking, which means nothing can happen.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  I turn to head up to our apartment and reach out to help Lennox. She’s been fine this whole walk, but still, she did fall down the steps earlier. From the looks of it, she hit her knee hard.

  “I can do it myself, thanks,” she says, moving out of my reach.

  “I know you can. I was just trying to help.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  We walk in silence up the steps, but the moment we are inside, I ask, “Did I do something to piss you off?”

  She scuffs and doesn’t answer me.

  “Lennox.” I follow her into the kitchen.

  She pulls a bottle of tequila from a top cabinet shelf and then two shots glasses.

  “Maybe you should slow down,” I suggest. I’ve never seen Lennox drink alcohol at all. I’m not so sure shots after the beers she drank are such a good idea.

  She twists the cap off the bottle and stares at it.

  “You know, I’m always slowing down, or taking the safe route as I like to think of it, and I’m over it.” She gives a straight smile. “Look at where it got me. Broke. Still working my ass off. Still in school. And still alone.”

  “You’re not alone. You have Winston and Kass and Mark and …”

  “You?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “More friends. Great.” The sarcasm in her voice isn’t lost on me. She wobbles and heads out of the kitchen, her perfect ass swaying side to side in front of me.

  Is she being sarcastic because of the two times we almost kissed, because I held her hand, or because she still doesn’t see me as a friend? I feel like that should be a stupid question, but she hasn’t exactly made it clear.

  “Hey, Lennox,” I call after her just as she returns with a fresh Band-Aid on her knee.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “Why did you need a roommate?”

  Shit, I didn’t know she was going to ask me that. I thought she was going to hit me with do you think fork is a funny word? or something silly like that because that’s the random shit people talk about when they are dr
unk.

  “I, uh …”

  “Don’t want to talk about it. Big surprise,” she says, her voice laced with more sarcasm. Tipsy Lennox equals Sarcastic Lennox.

  Even if I did want to talk about it, I wouldn’t know what to say anymore. I moved in and don’t have money because my parents suck? Because they were right and I needed to learn responsibility? Maybe the answer is both. Besides, I am under the impression she knows this answer already. Maybe she just wants to hear it from me.

  I still can’t believe Winston told her, but what’s done is done and it doesn’t change the fact that yeah, I’m broke.

  “Tell you what, Tripp,” Lennox begins before I can come up with an answer. The flirtatious sound in her voice piques my interest. “Let’s play a game.”

  A game sounds way better than the direction this conversation was going.

  “What kind of game?”

  “I’ll ask you something I’ve been wanting to know, and you get two options: take a shot or answer. Same rules for me when you ask me something.”

  I shake my head.

  “That’s a bad idea, Lennox.”

  “Aww, come on. Have a little fun.”

  “Not with that game.”

  “And here I thought you were fun.”

  “I am fun and smart, and that game isn’t smart.”

  “For someone who said I was the most boring person they know, you sure do know how to ruin a party.”

  Something stabs at me. Guilt, maybe? I haven’t been the nicest guy to her and yet here she is, trying to get to know me, albeit in a disturbing way.

  “Let’s cap it at three questions each,” I say. There are a few things I’d like to know.

  Plus, she doesn’t need much more to drink, and neither do I.

  “Three questions we each have to choose to answer. Once we both answer three, game over.”

  I’m going to regret this in the morning.

  “Fine.”

  “Okay, you go first,” she says.

  “Why do you want to get into this journalism program?” I ask.

  “Because not getting in means I failed. Why did you move in with me?”

  I take a shot.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask.

  She takes a shot.

  “What happened to all your money?” she asks.

  I take another shot.

  “Why don’t you like to go to parties? Aside from tonight.”

  “I don’t trust people,” she says, rolling her eyes and grabbing both the bottle and her shot glass as she returns to the couch. I grab my glass, too, and follow her.

  “Why don’t you ask me questions you don’t already know the answer to, Tripp?”

  “Do you have feelings for Winston as more than a friend?”

  My question takes us both by surprise. He’s sworn up and down that they are just friends, but sometimes that’s a one-sided feeling. I want to know. I need to know. Especially when my feelings for Lennox continue to grow.

  “To me,” she begins, “he’s just a friend, Tripp. Nothing more. Are you and Sydney still together?”

  “No. She left when the money ran dry,” I answer.

  What does her to me answer imply? Does Winston like her? Does she know this?

  “Did she break your heart?” Lennox asks, propping one knee on the couch as she faces me.

  “It’s my turn to ask a question,” I point out, and a rosy color takes over her cheeks when she looks down. “But no, she didn’t. What I had with Sydney didn’t involve emotions.”

  Lennox scoots toward me and grabs my hand. “That’s terrible.”

  That fire is back.

  Nothing can happen. Nothing.

  Clearly, taking my own advice isn’t in my plans tonight.

  I take advantage of her hand in mine and tug her closer. Her free hand rests on my chest as she looks up. Her heated gaze clashes with mine.

  I don’t give either of us the chance to second-guess this. I dip my head and press my lips against hers. I swear our hands roam each other’s bodies as if the moment might not last long enough to get the chance to explore.

  Her fingers curl into my shirt, bunching it, and the heat of her touch on my skin makes me want to rip my shirt off. I want to feel this fire against my bare skin. I move my hands to her hips, and her shirt inches up at my touch. Her lips are soft as they move against mine at first, then quickly turn frantic. It’s like I’ve never kissed a girl; kissing Lennox is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  A moan comes from deep in my throat the moment she moves to straddle my lap. Her tongue swipes across my lips, and I flip her over to her back and settle between her legs. I run my hands over her smooth legs, inching up to the crazy tiny shorts she’s been wearing all night. I skim the bottom edge of the fabric and graze my hands against her ass checks. God damn, she has the softest skin I’ve ever felt.

  Lennox’s hands move to my jeans; her fingers touch the skin just above my pants, and my erection strains even more against the zipper.

  I jump off her.

  Her arms immediately cross over her core as she looks up at me. Panic fills her eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” she asks. Her voice cracks, and it’s like someone squeezed my heart.

  I shake my head, grip my neck, and growl all at the same time. We’ve both been drinking. I’ve wanted to kiss her, yes, but fuck. Would she be doing this is she were completely sober? “We can’t do this, Lennox. It’s not right since—”

  I don’t even get to finish before she’s off the couch and running to her room. The door slams before I can stop it.

  “Lennox.”

  Silence.

  “Lennox, just open up for a second, okay?”

  More silence.

  I wait for what feels like an hour, hoping she’ll change her mind, but she doesn’t.

  Shit.

  What did I just do?

  Chapter Ten

  Lennox

  Feeling like mud caked on the bottom of someone’s shoe is the number one reason I don’t really enjoy drinking, or so I thought. My new number one reason is because I had my tongue down Tripp McCain’s throat and I really, really enjoyed it and want to do it again and now I can’t stop thinking about it. He’s a great kisser. Sweet and rough at the same time, if that’s a thing. I guess it is, since he does it. The memory of his hands on my skin speeds my pulse. Tripp wasn’t my first kiss, but he sure as hell just ruined all kissing for me from here on out.

  I’d have never done it if I’d been sober. I mean, I wasn’t drunk, but I had a splendid buzz going on, and now I’m more hung up on the fact that I made an ass of myself than anything else. I’m not just the shoe-caked mud now. I’m the rock stuck in the mud-caked shoe. How can I face him? Is he going to tell people? Would I want him to? Will he laugh at me? Oh my god. Was I bad at it? What if it was only good for me?

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I pull the covers over my head and groan. I’m not leaving my room for days. Maybe even weeks. If I ignore him, he’ll go away and eventually move out.

  My phone buzzes, and I yank the covers off my face.

  Winston: Are we still on for lunch today?

  Shoot. I totally forgot I agreed to that with him last night.

  Me: Yes.

  Not acting normal will make it worse. Pretending it didn’t happen will make it worse. Those two options leave me with only one more to choose from: confront Tripp and get it over with.

  After a quick glance in the mirror to straighten my hair and fix any smeared mascara, I head down the hall.

  I pause.

  What if he doesn’t remember?

  I shake the thought. Of course he does.

  I take a single step and pause again.

  What if he pretends it never happened?

  Then I’ll pretend too. Easy as that.

  I reach his room, my hand curled in a fist and hovering over his door.

  I can do this. I’ve got this. We’re both adults �
�� most days. Today will be one of those days.

  I’m halfway to knocking when his door swings open.

  Our eyes connect immediately. I inhale and step back at the fiery look he’s giving me.

  “We, ahh—”

  Tripp swoops one arm around my hips, yanks me toward him, and captures my mouth with his own. His tongue collides with mine, and his free hand gently grips my hair as he deepens the kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold tight. I didn’t think it would be this amazing the second time around.

  “Don’t hate me for doing that,” he says, pulling away but not letting me go.

  “I don’t.” The words leave my lips so quickly it’s like they had a mind of their own.

  “Good, because I want to do more of that.”

  He leans in to kiss me again, but I stop him. Because I’m crazy, surely.

  “But last night, you said we couldn’t do this. That it wasn’t right.”

  “We’d been drinking, Lennox. You really think I wanted our first kiss to be a result of too many shots and beers and not thinking clearly?”

  Wait a second …

  “So you wanted to kiss me?” I ask.

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “But we’re always … arguing.”

  His deep chuckle awakens every part of me.

  “Less lately, but yes. Imagine what I’d want to do to you if we never argued.”

  I fight the smile on my lips and look anywhere but in his eyes.

  What would he do to me?

  “Don’t blush like no guy has ever said that to you before.” And I’m pretty sure I’m blushing more. “Lennox?” Tripp says my name slowly. He leans away from me and dips his head until I look at him.

  “What?”

  “Guys have said that to you before, right?”

  “Totally,” I say and reluctantly step out of his grip. “All the time. Every day I see them or talk to them. It’s such a …”

  “Do you always ramble when you’re nervous?” Tripp asks with a chuckle.

  I cross my arms and focus on the wall next to him. “Sounds like it.”

  “God, I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “What?”

  “For you to get even cuter than you were five minutes ago.”

  I laugh. A deep laugh. “Cue cheesy line.”