by Sara H Ney
“It’s an old term that means to kiss and cuddle,” Molly answers wryly, raising her brows at me.
“Sounds like some kind of donut,” Kevin laughs.
“You would think it was a donut, you fucking moron,” Weston says, checking Kevin with his hip.
“Hey watch it. I almost spilled my drink - that’s alcohol abuse...” our friend mutters, clutching his beer glass with both fits and holding it tight against his body to protect it.
Jenna clicks her tongue, and watches as I cross my arms and repeat myself, only louder this time. “Ceceila Carter. I said canoodle.”
She shakes her head defiantly. “No.”
“Why the heck do you keep saying canoo -” Molly stops herself abruptly, her pretty face lighting up as her best friend continues babbling beside her.
“Seriously, canoodle? Why not car? Or cardigan. Or cavity. Or cadaver....” Jenna mutters. “Those would all make more sense than just randomly....” She pauses. “Wait. Is that the... Oh my gawd, it is. Holy crap - that’s the code word from your bet at mini putt-putt, isn’t it?”
I stare at Cecelia, who continues glaring at me, feet glued to the floor. “You bet your sweet ass it is.”
**Cecelia**
Low. Blow.
What kind of a colossal asshole would call in a bet, for a kiss, while I was on a date. With. Another. Guy?
I’ll tell you what freaking kind: the Matthew Wakefield kind.
Slack jawed, I stare at him wanting to walk over and slap him hard across the face. I mean, seriously - the nerve. I feel Neve’s fingers playing along the seam in the back of my shirt and want to smack him, too.
Stupid boys.
“Why are you doing this?” I hiss at Matthew, our friends (including Neve) looking back-n-forth between us in stunned fascination. I swear if this was the movies they would all be eating popcorn and Milk Duds.
“You even have to ask? This is a game we started - and I plan on finishing it - even if you don’t.”
Well, shit - Of course he plans on finishing it. I should have known when we made the stupid bet that Matthew wasn’t going to back down or forget about it like a decent human being with some compassion. Nope. He’s too competitive for that.
“What are you trying to say Matthew? That if I don’t walk over there and kiss you, you’re going to.... What? What are you going to do about it?” I lip off, hands on my jutted out hips, unable to stop the words from bitterly spilling out of my mouth. “You can’t make me like you, so stop trying. And you can’t make me kiss you.”
Matthew shakes his head at me, feigning disappointment. “Cecelia... Cecelia... you’re testing my patience.”
He looks me up and down, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and I return the favor. His green eyes are bright, interested, and staring right into my soul. His dark auburn hair is disheveled, like he’s run his fingers through it a million times already tonight. He dressed up a little - his tall frame looks utterly delicious in a light sage pinstripe dress shirt, the top two buttons undone and untucked over dark wash, low slung jeans.
I glance down at his feet (because it’s in my nature to not just size him up, but to do it thoroughly) to find navy and white Speery Topsider boat shoes.
Damn him. Damn him and his fine ass.
Nevertheless, I cross my arms, unrelenting, and purse my lips before tipping my chin up and refusing to look directly at him. If he wants to call in the damn bet, he’s going to have to kiss me first.
“Cece, maybe you should just get it over with,” Jenna calls from only a few feet away, trying to be helpful.
“A canoodle is a canoodle, Cecelia, and might I remind you - you chose the word,” Matthew laughs, spreading his arms wide, inviting me in. “Want me to come over there?” He gives his fingers a little ‘come hither’ wiggle.
“I still think canoodle sounds like a donut...” I’m close enough to hear Matthews’s friend Kevin mutter, and see Jenna pinch him in the forearm. “Ouch! What?”
God this is embarrassing.
I glance over at my date only to find him chatting up a scantily clad female bartender, his back completely turned to Matthew and I, apparently uninterested in the unfolding drama even though we agreed and discussed that he was going to pretend to be into me to make Matthew jealous (I know, I know - a stupid thing to do) and to make him suffer a little bit longer before I finally gave in and admit to liking him, too.
Well, there goes that plan... Thanks a-freaking-lot, Neve.
Ugh, flippin guys. Not to sound bitter, but why can’t they just do what they’re told? Or for that matter - what they say they’re going to do. That would sure make life easier... Instead of getting involved with an Alpha male, maybe I should start looking for someone a little easier to boss around.
Sigh.
Yeah, I know, you’re right - who am I trying to kid? Matthew’s bossy, overbearing nature is what attracted me to him in the first place - and I’m confident that’s what attracted him to me, too: my sass, spunk, and sometimes overconfident disposition.
Behind me, I get jostled by a passing bar patron, and lurch forward a few feet, stumbling towards Matthew so that I’m standing even closer. Close enough to touch, actually. I blow the hair out of my eyes, grateful that I’m not carrying a glass - which reminds me - why the hell don’t have a drink in my hand?
I need one now more than I did before.
I turn my head and mouth to Molly (who’s watching us as intently as she watches Pretty Little Liars) ‘Get me another drink’ then tip my head back and make the universal sign for chugging a drink with my hand. She rolls her eyes but turns towards the bar, giving a shrill whistle to catch the Bartender’s attention.
Man, she sure is pushy when she wants to be... must run in the family.
Matthew eyes me up and down, beginning with my stocking clad toes. He takes in my sheer black panty hose, which elongate my legs, and my feet, which are buckled in to black strappy wedges. Those bright green eyes of his travel up... slowly, ever so slowly... hitting my thighs, resting briefly on the hem of my high-waisted shorts, before leisurely roaming over my tight white shirt, lingering on my breasts, then bare arms.
There isn’t a piece of me he doesn’t concentrate on.
It would be a tad dramatic to say I feel exposed, but... there it is in a nutshell. Him stripping me bare, in public, in front of all our friends.
Our eyes meet and his lips tip into a crooked smile. “How many times are you going to make me say it?”
I plant my hands firmly on my hips and smile back. “If you wanted to kiss me so bad, why did you have to invent a reason to do it? Jeezus. You are twenty-three years old. Aren’t we a bit old for games?”
“So you’re telling me I should have just done it?”
Jenna snorts behind me. “Duh.”
**Matthew**
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but... sometimes guys (especially twenty-three year old ones) need to be told what to do and given the green light to make a move. I thought for sure after miniature golf at Galaxy Golf World, Cecelia had Friend-Zoned me.
It also doesn’t help that she hasn’t been throwing out signals (basically like most girls I knew); she hasn’t been throwing herself at me, and she hasn’t been coy. She’s been being her bratty, sarcastic self, and it’s throwing me off my game. How do I know she won’t knock a gap in my teeth when I make a move?
And come on - what was with all the high-fives and fist bumps that night?
I have no idea where I stand with her - especially after the whole BJ thing no one is going to let me forget. Call me insecure, but no matter what any guy tells you, guys do need to know they’re not going to be rejected (see: Shot Down).
If Cecelia had a little green ‘Go’ flag, now would probably be a good time for her to wave it around a little bit...
Cecelia has her hands planted on her hips, smile pasted on her glossy lips. “If you wanted to kiss me so bad, why did you have to invent a reason to do it? Jeezus. You ar
e twenty-three years old. Aren’t we a bit old for games?”
“So you’re telling me I should have just done it?”
Jenna snorts from behind her. “Duh.”
“So what are you saying?” I ask slowly, confused.
Yes, I’m an idiot. Sue me.
Neve is behind Weston, his head bowed in disappointment, and Kevin has his lip curled at me like he’s just swallowed something sour.
Cecelia throws her hands up. “I’m saying what I’m saying!”
“Um....”
“You didn’t have to make a bet with me or make up an excuse to get a kiss from me.”
I fight the urge to scratch my head. “So what you’re saying is..?”
“Oh my fucking god man, shut the fuck up and just kiss her already!” We all turn our heads to see some random guy shouting at me. Around five foot seven, he’s wearing a white wife beater and jeans, waiting in line at the bar. He’s glaring at me, looking flagrantly disgusted. “I have completely lost faith in an athlete’s ability to get laid. You are a total disappointment, bro.”
Shaking his head, he pushes through the crowd and stalks off without even getting a drink from the bar.
There is a delayed reaction before everyone begins cracking up - Kevin hunches over, his loud, boisterous laugh echoing throughout the bar, while Neve grabs the wooden bar top to hold himself upright. Molly and Weston are, of course, laughing too, and Cecelia has tears streaming down her face.
“Oh my god,” Cecelia gasps, clutching her stomach. “You should see the look on your face right now.” More breathless laughter. “Oh man, Matthew. I should take a picture. I’m dying.”
Crossing my arms and giving them all the evil eye, I complain, “Yeah, that was real funny guys. And stop pointing your finger at me Kevin, it’s rude.” This starts another fit of raucous laughter, and they’re almost all keeled over, falling all over themselves in hysterical fits, still pointing at me.
Bunch of assholes.
Cecelia wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and reaches up to pat my shoulder. “I’m sorry but even you have to admit that was hilarious.” She bites her lip like she wants to add something else, but instead just says, “How random was that guy?”
“So random,” I deadpan, not even remotely amused. “Okay you dipshits, that’s enough,” I add, using one hand to shove Weston into a bar stool - which isn’t nice, but so what? It makes me feel better.
After everyone is done making the loud sighing noises you make when you’re just so utterly amused you can’t stand it, they finally get control of their wits. Ten minutes later: it’s about damn time.
**Cecelia**
At some point, a little voice inside your head (or maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder) whispers ‘What are you fighting this for? You want him to kiss you, admit it. Just let him do it already...’
Then there’s the intelligent voice shouting ‘Are you crazy? This guy is a dick. Do not let him touch your lips. He is moving away for six months!’
Regardless of the conflicting feelings I’m having one thing seems certain: at some point, I’m going to cave. It’s inevitable...
I mean: what’s the worst thing that can happen if I do?
Standing not two feet away, assessing me, is Matthew Wakefield; a guy who just will not go away... who drives me absolutely up the wall with his constant profanity, vulgarity, and yeah - his amateur stalking tendencies.
A guy who has, in a weird, twisted, messed-up way, actually become a friend.
Yes. It’s true: he has made me cry. He has embarrassed me. He drives me up the wall.... But he also makes me laugh. And blush. And just a look from him sends shivers up my spine. He’s big and imposing, and he makes me feel safe.
In a way, Matthew has wooed me with sweet emails and text messages, sort of like my own modern day Cyrano de Bergerac.
Alright. Fine. The emails and texts are not sweet in the least... In fact, they’re demanding, sarcastic, and wry - but they’re mine. They’re mine and Matthew sent them, and they... they make me feel something. Something that’s not a thesis paper, doesn’t have a deadline - something that makes my heart race. Something real.
And if these emails and texts had been written on actual paper I’d probably save them - fold them up like people did in the 90’s (before they had cellphones), and store the notes in a shoe box on a shelf in the back of my closet so I could bring them out years later and re-read them over and over.
Cause that wouldn’t be weird...
So honestly: don’t you think all the things about him that make me feel good outweigh the bad? The fact that he’s leaving for training camp? I mean... it’s not like he has a choice: it’s his job.
I’m almost twenty-three years for crying out loud - pretty sure I can handle a short-term relationship. Friendship. Whatever this ‘ship’ is that we’re in... can’t I?
I set down the apple martini Molly handed me earlier, and step forward, spreading my arms wide. “Alright Matthew. You want me, you got me. Lay one on me.”
Chapter Thirty
Matthew
“When I see lovers’ names carved on trees, I never think it’s cute. I always just think “how strange that someone would bring a knife on a date.” - Abby, via a witticism she saw on Pinterest
Lay one on her?
“That wasn’t the deal.” I stubbornly persist.
Cecelia crosses the arms that were just spread wide. “If you want me, you’re going to have to kiss me first. That’s the newly minted deal.”
“Fine,” I agree.
“Good.”
“Okay then.” I step forward.
“Super.”
“Oh my god, here we go again...” someone groans. It sounds like my sister, but I don’t turn around. Someone else agrees. “This is painful.”
“Dude if you don’t kiss her within the next five seconds, I’ll do it for you,” Kevin half jokes, shoving me into Cecelia from behind. I feel like a freaking eighth grader at a school dance.
“Well?” Cecelia taunts me.
But she can’t fool me. I can tell by the gleam in her eye that she’s excited as she stares me down, not self-conscious bone in her body.
A few more inches and our noses will be touching. “I’m giving you one more chance to be woman of your word, Cecelia Carter. It’s now or never. So. I’ll say it one more time... Canoodle.”
Cecelia moves a centimeter closer and leans in to whisper in my ear. “Canoodle. That is the single dumbest word I’ve ever heard coming out of a person’s mouth.” Her warm breath tickles my neck as she pulls away to look at me, one eyebrow raised defiantly.
“It’s your fault,” I whisper back, inching closer. “I personally would have chosen something like ‘dipstick’ or...or...”
“...snoz berries?” she finishes with a light giggle.
My jaw drops and I put a hand to my heart. “Dear lord. Are no memories sacred between me and my sister?”
Cecelia taps her chin, pretending to think about it. “Mmm, fraid not.”
I shoot Molly a hard glare. She obliviously stares back and gives me a ‘what did I do now’ shrug of the shoulders. “That little traitor. Always double crossing me.”
“Hey,” Cecelia nudges me. “Let’s get this over with. Everyone is waiting for some action; we’re like a side show in a circus.”
Slowly I reach for her, gingerly resting my hands on her shoulders before cautiously caressing sun kissed skin, the pads of my fingertips lightly skimming her bare arms, causing goose bumps to rise. My large hands snake their way over her ribcage, under her armpits, and pull her in closer. I lean down so my nose is nestled in her thick hair, drawing in a breath and relishing the close contact of our bodies pressed together. Sweat, fruity shampoo, and a soft musky cologne assault my senses - but in a good way.
Reaching around to brush a stray tendril away from her eyes, I cautiously bring my face down and brush my lips across her temple. “There.” I murmur, satisfied, backing away.
“What the... hell?” Cecelia mutters.
I can’t help it. I bust out laughing. “You said you wanted me to kiss you first. Doesn’t’ that satisfy the requirement?”
“You are a jackass,” Cecelia hisses, shoving me hard - but not hard enough to budge me.
I am a fortress of steal.
“Seriously bro? That’s the best you got?” Weston heckles, as if a spectator on the sidelines, while Neve cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Weak! So weak!”
“I’ve about had it up to here with you, Matthew Wakefield,” Cecelia seethes through white, clenched teeth, and tries to break out of my embrace in a huff.
How cute is she when she’s all pissy?
So adorable.
Undaunted, my arms are around her in a vice, hands clasped behind her back. I give her a good yank, slamming her retreating figure into my solid body and plant an open mouth kiss square on her surprised mouth.
Cecelia’s expressive brown eyes widen in shocked desire as my teeth nip at her lower lip before forcing her mouth open with my tongue, and I feel victory when her hands flirt with the waistband of my jeans, tugging the hem off my tee shirt up to slide her hands underneath.
“Asshole,” she hisses, even as her fingertips graze the skin of my abs.
“Shrew,” I counter, a deep rumble coming from my chest.
Then, in an apparent decision to throw all caution to the wind, Cecelia slants her head and locks her full glossy lips against mine, both of us emitting low moans of pleasure and pain and relief that this is finally happening, and, wasting no time, reach down to haul Cecelia up against my groin, squeezing her ass cheeks with both hands before reluctantly settling them at her trim waist. Suddenly we’re making out like it’s our job, sucking face and tonguing each other’s mouths like starving refugees and our lives depend on it.
Music blares above us through pounding speakers; Cecelia’s fingers somehow wind up in my hair, raking through the locks at the base of my neck, and pulling me closer. I oblige, bending slightly at the knees, aligning our pelvises and grinding into her, giving zero fucks that we have an entire audience.
Someone might have yelled “Holy shit that’s turning me on,” while another, “This is better than porn!”
