He Kissed Me First (Kiss & Make Up Book 2)

by Sara H Ney

  On purpose.

  My body, of its own accord, shivers.

  Dipping his head down and leaning in, Matthew’s breath is on my neck, his nose running lightly along my jaw. “Say yes to the bet, Cecelia.” I gulp and he inhales next to my ear, then gently runs his tongue along my lobe as he whispers, “Mmm, you smell fucking fantastic. Like fresh air and sexual repression.”

  My eyes briefly flutter closed. He is pure evil.

  “How will I know it’s about to happen?” I manage to croak out.

  “Hmmmm,” He hums against my ear, the deep baritone of his vocal cords vibrating against my neck. “I guess we’ll need a code word, won’t we? When I say it, you will obediently stop whatever it is you’re doing, and pay your penalty.”

  “You’re pretty cocky for someone who hasn’t even taken his last shot yet,” I say, tipping my neck back a little so I can look into his eyes. His mouth is millimeters from my mine.

  “Confident, not cocky.”

  “Agree to disagree,” I retort, cheekily. He’s tortured me long enough. “You sure you know what you’re getting into by entering into this agreement? One kiss on the mouth is all you’re going to get.”

  He laughs. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it. And trust me, one will be enough.”

  Er, not sure if I should be insulted by that...

  In any case, I lean in until my breasts are firmly plastered to his chest. I wiggle around a little bit, rubbing my naturally round boobs up against the front of his thin cotton tee shirt until his pupils dilate and I can feel him harden in his jeans.

  Then I go in for the kill. “Okay. If you’re sure...”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” he manages to croak out in a whisper.

  “Promise?” I wiggle a little bit more.

  His Adam’s apple bobs and he gulps, nodding. “Yes.”

  “One kiss? Then you never get to kiss me again.”

  “Yup.”

  Hmmm. Not sure I like how he keeps hastily agreeing, but I brush it off, reminding myself that he’s an arrogant asshole. “Well then. In that case,” I move closer still, my mouth suspended so close to his there is just the barest whisper of air in between us. “Since you’re so sure you can handle it...” I open my mouth the smallest fraction, and, with a light flicker of my tongue tease the space directly under his mouth, slowly licking him up to the cupids bow above his upper lip. “Yes Matthew. I’ll take the bet.”

  His mouth gapes opens and his nostrils flare - all the visible signs that he’s one hundred percent turned on. “You... y-you bitch.” He breathes in a stutter, grabbing at me for all he’s worth with both hands and trying to slant his mouth over mine. “Forget everything I just said. I want that kiss now.”

  Little word of advice ladies: do not poke the hornets’ nest unless you plan on paying the price.

  I push on his chest and quickly shove him away. “Forget it buddy,” I say, stepping away with a laugh and smacking him on the back like his buddy would. “We have a deal. One kiss - but only if you make this shot.”

  He glares at me, adjusting the bulge in his jeans.

  I smirk. “Better make it a good one.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cecelia

  “If thought bubbles appeared over my head, I would be so screwed...” - Someecards.com

  “So... he made the shot.”

  We’re sitting around our small, round kitchen table - Molly, Abby, Jenna and I - surrounded by various junk foods and a random left over veggie platter from Molly’s biology study group. I pick at a piece of broccoli, pulling it apart into tiny sections before eating one nibble at a time.

  My roommate half laughs at me, and shakes her head solemnly. “Of course he made the shot - it’s like, what he does for a living, practically.”

  “Well obviously I didn’t think he would,” I mumble.

  “That was your first mistake. Total rookie move.” Molly digs through the Jelly Belly bowl on the table, picks through them and selects a few bubblegum flavored ones (her favorite), pops one in her mouth, and begins chewing.

  Jenna chimes in. “He plays hockey. For Christ sakes, Cece, it’s his job to get his puck into a small space.” She chuckles at her own joke. “Get it. Puck into a small space?”

  “Yeah, yeah, we got it. Your sex puns are sooo helpful.”

  “One could even say he’s good at getting it in,” Jenna chuckles.

  “Okay, Jenna, we get it,” Molly says, dryly.

  Abby stares at Jenna, affronted. “Don’t be disgusting - that’s Molly’s brother. What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m just stating the obvious. Chill.” Jenna shoots Abby a condescending look - watching them, it’s pretty darn obvious there is no love lost between these two. The fact is, they will argue about everything.

  The last time they were together in a room (um, just last week) they got in to a huge disagreement because Jenna wanted to listen to Pandora, and Abby thought we should be listening to I (Heart) Radio.

  Stupid.

  Seriously though - I have trouble finding out where all the animosity stems from. I have a sneaking suspicion that at one point Abby had a small crush on Jenna’s ex-boyfriend, Alex, and blamed Jenna for breaking his heart during the break-up.

  But whatever. Back to my problem.

  Jenna takes a bag of Skinny Pop and rips it open, sending a few loose popped kernels scattering to the floor. She looks over the edge of the table, and gives a weak ‘Oh shit’ before stuffing a handful from the bag into her mouth. “Okay [crunch]. So what I want to know is [crunch, crunch] how the two of you ended up playing miniature golf in the first place. That is so weird.”

  “Why is that weird?” I ask, rising from the table to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Does anyone else want anything while I’m up?” A chorus of ‘no’s’ fill the room before I shut door on the fridge and return to the table. “We went to play mini putt-putt because nothing else was open,” I laugh. “Scout’s honor.”

  Jenna groans. “Ugh. I hate when people call it mini putt-putt. No offense...”

  Abby gives me a ‘is she for real’ look before asking “So... I think we’re all wondering the same thing... what’s the magic word going to be?”

  “Like I’m telling you guys that.”

  Jenna leans in. “Is it something like... moist? Or gurgle?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Jenna, be serious. My brother would never pick a word like that.” Molly rests her chin in the palm of her hand and pops another Jelly Belly into her mouth. “He’s pick something like... snoz berries. Or fucktard.”

  “Um... what the hell are snoz berries?”

  “It was only like, one of his favorite words growing up. Since he wasn’t allowed to swear, he’d say snoz berries instead.” Molly’s voice gets high pitched and nasally as she does an impression of Matthew as a kid. “Aw Mom - What do you mean I can’t have a new hockey stick? Ugh! Snoz berries!”

  We’re all laughing now, including Abby, and Molly continues. “If you think he’s a moron now, you should have met him ten years ago. ‘Mommmm, Molly took my bike out of the garage and didn’t put it back. Mommm, Molly is cop-y-ing meeee.”

  “Back then he was way douchier,” Jenna agrees. Abby shoots her another exasperated look while I take a sip out of my bottled water, and Molly digs through the candy bowl. We are quite the motley crew.

  For a few seconds no one says anything.

  But then... “You do know taunting him by licking his face was a terrible idea. I mean... it’s pretty much the worst thing you could have done.”

  “Thanks Abby.”

  “Yeah, but guys love that shit,” Jenna interjects with a knowing smile. Out of all of us, she’s the most experienced.

  My best friend continues. “I mean. Licking his lips and walking away? That’s like poking a sleeping bear. With a blunt force object.”

  “It was in the heat of the moment.”

  “At a miniature golf c
ourse.” Jenna deadpans.

  “Um, you mean mini putt-putt,” Abby corrects her.

  “Shut up, Abby.”

  Even Abby’s laugh sounds sarcastic.

  My phone, set in the center of the table, buzzes. Crap. Six eyes bore into me, and I fidget in my seat. Jenna, of course, breaks the silence. “Aren’t you going to see who it is?” Her lips are twitching, and I shit you not, her eyes are actually sparkling mischievously.

  “Um.... No?

  Molly snorts. “Oh please. Don’t lie. You’re dying to look at it.”

  “Matthew hates it when you snort, by the way. He says it’s unladylike.”

  My roommate just stares at me, her mouth slightly agape. “Matthew says it’s unladylike? My, my, my - getting real cozy, are we?” Her hand snakes across the table, inches from my phone. “If you’re not going to see who it is, I will.”

  “Molly Wakefield, don’t you dare!” shouts my bestie, coming to my defense. Naturally, Abby always has my back.

  They’re right though: I do want to see who it is.

  “Go on. Go ahead...” Abby quietly prompts like she’s cajoling a kitten out of a tree, pushing my phone closer with her forefinger. Like a crack addict, my nose twitches and my fingers itch to grab it.

  The tiny blue light in the top left hand corner blinks.

  It’s him. I just know it.

  I unlock the screen and go to my messages. There are three.

  Mom: Don’t forget to call grandma tomorrow. It’s her bday

  Mom: Remind Veronica

  Veronica: Mom wanted me to remind you to call Nana for her birthday. Plz tell her to stop texting me. It’s driving me frickin cray cray.

  “Not him,” I say, setting my phone back down, deflated. My shoulders even sag a little. “My mom and my sister.”

  “That sucks.”

  I text my sister back: At least moms not following YOU on “The Twitter.” And please stop saying cray cray

  Molly sits back in her chair and studies me. Finally, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head off - somewhere out there, my big, dumb, lummox of a brother is plotting his seduction. Or assault. Whatever you wanna call it.” She laughs, popping the last pink bubblegum Jelly Belly in her mouth, chewing slowly and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Have no doubt about that.”

  Oh, don’t I know it - he is out there plotting.

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. And honestly, what I’m most looking forward to.

  **Matthew**

  Just for the record: the word is canoodle.

  And I don’t know how the hell I’m going to fit it in to a sentence - especially in public. Cecelia chose it, and I know she did it on purpose knowing I was going to sound like a fucking idiot saying it out loud.

  In front of actual people.

  I sigh.

  It seemed like such a good plan at the time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Matthew

  “Sometimes you just have to knock a motherfucker’s teeth out.” - Source unknown. Post-game, in the locker room.

  I drum my large hand on the counter in the locker room as I impatiently wait for the boys to finish showering after practice. Out of boredom, with my forefinger, I poke my cell so it spins in a circle, round and round it goes, shiny and white on the smooth wooden counter top.

  “Don’t you have something better to be doing?” Weston asks, coming from around the corner.

  “Nope.”

  “Gee, what a surprise.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.”

  “Actually, I am surprised. On a Friday night you don’t have any tail lined up? Shouldn’t you be out pounding a random hoochie into some dirty mattress?”

  I shoot him a grimace. “Wow Wes, when you put it that way, you really make the idea sound soooo appealing.”

  Weston laughs and sets a hockey stick on the counter, examining it carefully for nicks before ripping open a new package of black grip tape.

  I nod my head towards the stick. “Who’s woody?”

  “Ryan’s. His mom can’t afford to buy him a new one. Or new tape.” Wes tears a piece of black hockey tape off the roll with his teeth and begins wrapping the handle of the kid’s beat-up stick.

  “Why isn’t he doing this himself?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe he’s embarrassed. Maybe he doesn’t know how. Anyway, who cares?”

  “I do. He should learn to take care of his equipment.”

  Weston stops for a brief second and glances up at me, a peeved expression across his brow. “Fine. When he comes out here you can tell him yourself, since obviously you’re going to be a dick about it. Then you can show him how to wrap the blade.”

  “I’m not being a dick. All I’m saying is, Ryan should learn that depending on how you wrap it, it can feel totally different when you grip it.”

  Weston stops wrapping and looks up again with both eyebrows raised, the shadow of a black eye still darkening the recesses next to his nose. “I’m not even going to comment on that.”

  “Huh?”

  “That sounded really lewd and perverted.”

  “You think that sounded lewd? Do you even know what that word means?”

  “You forgot perverted. I said you sounded lewd and perverted.”

  “Jesus Christ, what does my sister even see in you?”

  “No, seriously. How about when Ryan comes out here, you explain to him how to hold and wrap his own wood so it feels good when he grips it.” As he’s saying it, Weston is rocking his hips back and forth, thrusting against the counter.

  “Dude, shut the fuck up.” But it’s too late: the douche bag is laughing and shaking his head, as he continues to carefully wrap Ryan’s inexpensive Wal-Mart brand hockey stick like it’s a Bauer Vapor APX, undeterred.

  Whatever.

  It’s annoying the shit out of me that he isn’t seeing my point, but is instead making a mockery out of it. Frustrated, I hiss out through gritted teeth, “These kids need to learn responsibility.”

  In response, Weston tears another long strip off the grip tape roll and continues quickly winding it around the handle of the stick. He spits out a sliver of tape that stuck to his tongue before saying, “I’m not a fucking idiot - I know exactly what you meant, and I respect that. I do. But these kids take forever to do this shit, and I’d rather wrap this myself so I can get the hell out of here. I plan on getting laid tonight. Unlike you, I have a date waiting, so... Sorry dude.”

  He wants to hurry so he can get laid?

  So he can bang my sister. How do I respond to that? “You’re pushing your luck, man.”

  “Dude. I can’t help it if my girlfriend is horny as fuck and likes sex, okay?”

  “Jesus Christ, McGrath. What the hell did I tell you about TMI?”

  “Can’t help you with that. At some point you’re going to have to get over it, bro.”

  Then, coming from seemingly out of nowhere, a pubescent voice behind us asks, “Hey Coach, what does horny mean?”

  Slowly, and with dread - as if facing a guillotine - Weston and I both turn.

  Weston clears his throat. “Um, gee... Hey Mitchell. Done with your shower so, um, soon?” He’s embarrassed and red faced: serves him right.

  “Yes.” Mitchell Decker squints at us, his tiny, beady brown eyes magnified by his thick glasses, boring into us both. “What does it mean?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and glare at Weston, asking sarcastically, “Yeah Coach McGrath, what does it mean?”

  Weston fidgets. “It means girls who, uh... like to, uh... kiss. You probably shouldn’t repeat that word though because girls don’t like it.”

  “But your girlfriend likes it though?”

  “Kissing? Oh yeah she does...” His voice is dripping with innuendo.

  “Weston,” I warn.

  “Why are you getting all mad at Coach McGrath? Are you sore because you don’t have a girlfriend and all the guys think you’re gay?”

  “No Mitchell,” I grind out. �
��I’m mad because Coach is kissing my sister and he won’t clam up about it.”

  Mitchell’s eyes get as wide as saucers, and he looks horrified. “Ewww, you’re kissing his sister? If one of these guys was dating one of my sisters, I’d probably punch him in the face.”

  I pat Mitchell - my new favorite player - on the back. “You’re a good man, Mitchell Decker. I knew there was something about you that I liked...”

  **Cecelia**

  It isn’t long after I’ve changed into my favorite pajamas, and parked my ass on the sofa, that my phone chimes.

  Grabbing my cell and a bag of Skinny Pop, my thumb unlocks the screen at the same time my other hand digs into the popcorn bag for a handful.

  I shove it in my mouth, chewing, and tap open my new messages.

  Matthew: What’s up.

  I look down at my pajamas and sock footed feet, wincing.

  Me: You know. The usual Friday night stuff.

  Even I roll my eyes at that, and shove another fistful of popcorn into my mouth. Shit this stuff is addicting...

  Matthew: Are you lying?

  Well this is awkward...

  Not sure which approach to take - do I lie, or tell the truth? I hesitate briefly before replying: Yes. I’m lying. Why?

  Matthew: So you must be doing the same thing I’m doing. Which is nothing.

  Me: Pret-ty. Much.

  Matthew: So, wanna do nothing together?

  I shit you not - I stare at my phone like it’s about to combust into a million little pieces and I’m not sure what to do with it. There might even be an appalled look on my face.

  Do I want to hang out with him? Yes.

  On the other hand... Hell-to-the-no.

  For several reasons (and obviously I’m about to tell you why):

  1. I look like crap. And if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s him seeing me (yet again) in this state of appearance. Granted, he did see me looking amazing on my date, but only after seeing me countless other times.... not so amazing.

  2. Now that I’ve got them on, these pajamas are pretty damn comfortable.

  3. No good will come of this. I mean - we just can’t seem to behave ourselves when we’re together, can we?

  4. Seeing him will make me like him. Even more.