When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  He winces. “Didn’t think ‘bout that.”

  “I’m not sure you’re thinking about a lot of things, Cowboy.”

  Tapping his finger to his temple, he murmurs, “Memories of us in that closet haven’t left much room up there. Add your irresistible beauty into the mix, I’m amazed I have any brain function left at all.”

  That’s it. My nerves are fried. Once again, Whit Devereaux has the upper hand. This time, I’m the one who groans, letting my head fall back against the seat. “What am I gonna do with you, Whit?”

  There’s a loud thud against the table from his forehead smacking the table, so loud even Ms. Ida stops what she’s doing to glance in our direction. For sure that’s going to leave a bruise.

  “You make it hard for a guy to behave himself, Simone. Workin’ Friday?” he asks without raising his head.

  “Yep. Late shift again. You’ll probably be asleep by the time I’m done.”

  “Doubt it. Don’t get a ride. I’ll pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Want to. Gimme your phone.”

  “Why?”

  He huffs. “Jus’ give it to me.”

  I dig my phone from my pocket, shoot Aunt Katie a quick text—OMW—then place my mobile device in his outstretched hand. Watch it disappear under the table, assume he’s called himself when I hear the Beastie Boys yelling about their rights from inside his jacket.

  He sits up, slides my phone back across the table. As expected, his forehead is beaming. “I need more than a middle name. I’ll be here by ten of Friday, wait outside ‘til you clock out. Forget arguin’ otherwise.”

  “Wow, a bossy phone hijacker. Awesome.”

  “Faster my way.”

  “Want ice for that?” I point at the angry cherry-red blotch that’s starting to look more than a little painful, but he declines. Only now do I remember his first request upon arrival. “Were you serious about the burger?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Talking can wait. You have a flight to catch first thing Saturday morning.”

  “Nah, I’m not goin’ on the trip.”

  “What?” He has to be. Otherwise, I’ve wasted every spare minute this week selling Ashley on the idea of rekindling the flame with her man so I can work on dousing the sweet agony that flares inside my chest whenever he’s nearby. “Yes, you are. Ashley—”

  “Already knows. Called her earlier. I’ve got other stuff to deal with. Now jus’ ain’t a good time for me to be gone. She needed to know my cancelin’ has nothin’ to do with what’s been goin’ on between us.”

  “And she believed you?”

  “Why shouldn’t she? It’s the truth.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He reaches across the table, caresses my chin with his knuckle. “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Once you start questioning what you know

  is common sense, it’s already too late.

  —Granddaddy on politics.

  Whit

  I’m so freaking wired, I may never sleep again. Going to Simone’s job? Stupid. Admitting I’m on the fast track to academic probation before I’ve even set foot on Yale’s campus because thoughts of her occupy every available spot in my temporal lobe, all because of a kiss?

  Brain dead.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Then, I go and damn near confess to criminal activity with all the unchecked tongue-wagging.

  I know where you hide.

  Shit Stalkers Say for $100 please, Alex?

  Don’t even get me started on the sweatpants and flip flops.

  Who the hell am I? Certainly, not the guy known for being level headed. Since when is impulsive behaviors my style? Be different if I’d negotiated some sort of resolution. Secured an honest-to-goodness date. All I managed was burning gas, getting a phone number I can’t freely use. Nearly cracked my noggin open, ensuring my imminent mental instability. Divine grace may be the only reason I didn’t knock myself unconscious.

  One thing’s clear, under zero circumstances can I go through with this. In fact, I need to track Simone down first thing in the morning, let her know she will need a ride home Friday night—from someone other than me. Being around her spawns these strange sensations inside my chest. Makes me feel weak. Out of control. Like those rare occasions when someone manages to knock my legs out from under me on the field. I’m Superman on a steady diet of kryptonite when I’m near her.

  I don’t like it.

  This leaves me right back where I started. Well past any chance of sleeping the average number of daily recommended hours, alternating between staring at the ceiling, cursing my sudden onslaught of insanity, and shredding my muscles with one punishing set after another.

  “Still awake?”

  Damn noisy ass faucet. Knew I should’ve waited until morning to clean my contacts. Who cares if they’re my last good pair?

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  Coop hurdles my body—that last set zapped my energy, flattening me on my back—crashing onto my bed. The box spring grunts mournfully under his landing, having suffered years of such abuse. He makes himself right at home, grabbing the pillow I’d tossed to the bottom of the bed earlier, propping it under his head.

  “What’re you doin’ down there?”

  “Can’t sleep.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Figured. Plan on sharing what’s on your mind?”

  “More like who. Marnie Weber.”

  “That the girl you escorted into the nurse’s office?”

  “You saw us?”

  “Yep.” Cute girl. Has this whole rebel thing going on with the clothes and hair, the latter being blond, short and spiky, while the former probably warns guys off. Guys who aren’t Coop, that is. Like I said, we Devereauxs rise to a challenge. “Should I be concerned about that?”

  “Hell, no. I wish. Well, I don’t wish for what you’re thinkin’, but gettin’ up to bat would be nice. She won’t even lemme close enough to kiss her.”

  “Maybe she ain’t interested.”

  Maybe you should listen to yourself.

  Nah. I felt her pulse, saw the heat in her eyes. Simone’s interested, all right, she just don’t want to be. I should be the same way.

  I’m not.

  Which is why I need to abort this mission, regain my focus on things I can control.

  Begs questions about Ashley and me, for sure. Doubt we’ll be mending fences and simply resume where we left off. I want her, but I can’t dismiss everything I’ve heard since the start of this hiatus. Quiet nights with nothing, except my thoughts for company, I’ve found myself pondering a few, like, what if Ashley’s right about me not being ready to give her everything she wants? Marriage? Kids? Both, things we’ve agreed on in the past, yet lately, when I try to envision the two of us in the marriage with the kids? The equation don’t add up as neatly in my head the way it did before.

  “That’s the thing, though. I’m thinkin’ she is,” replies my brother, proving beyond a shadow of doubt we’re blood. “But it’s like she’s, I don’t know . . .”

  “Sending mixed signals.”

  “Exactly,” he exclaims, his voice rising two octaves. “One day, fire, next day, nothin’. Smilin’ at me, twirlin’ her hair, and shit. I try gettin’ somethin’ goin’? Wham,” he slaps his hands together for emphasis, “she damn near bites my head off. It’s like I can’t get a read on her. I’ve tried everything.”

  “Like what? And watch your language.”

  “You know.”

  I can hear his shrug. “Not ‘til you tell me.”

  Okay, I admit I’m asking for me. Suggestions might help. This thing with Simone has me so knotted, I can’t think straight. Pursuing her in any form or fashion is a recipe for trouble. Only, backing out now will only lead to neither of us having closure. Honestly, how do Ashley and I stand a chance of reconciliation if in the back of my mind I’m wondering what if anytime h
er friend is around? God knows I’m off to a crappy start.

  “Stuff girls like,” Coop begins, leaving off the dummy I hear loud and clear in his tone. “Tell her she’s pretty, or how I like the sweater she’s wearin’. We have some of the same classes, so I’ll carry her books whenever she lets me. She got sick last week—that’s when you saw us. We had this test in Trig the next day. Easy for me, nightmare for everybody else. She needed study notes. I wrote out fifteen pages for her.”

  Not a big deal, really. Coop does that for fun.

  “Today, I paid for her fu—I paid for her lunch,” he grinds out.

  Whoa. This really is serious. My little brother has a heart of gold. He’ll give someone the shirt off his back, if they need it. Shelling out his hard earned allowance, however, when he’s been saving every penny for a new engine he wants to drop in a rusted POS Impala he’s set on restoring? Means he really likes this girl.

  “Asked her out yet?”

  “Course, dumbass. That’s the first thing I did.”

  “No need for name calling, just asking.”

  Coop groans. “You can’t understand.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like wantin’ a girl you can’t have.”

  Oh, he’s jumping all over the funny button with that one. I laugh so hard, I’m crying. Coop leans over the side of the bed, and even without lights, I can see his incredulous expression, which triggers more laughter. I swear my sides ache like I’ve done a few hundred crunches. Come to think of it, I may have. Wanting Simone has me so wound, I’m literally doing push-ups in the hallway when I so much as catch a glimpse of her. All the guys think I’m doing them to attract the ladies. They’re almost right. Attraction is the catalyst.

  Word is out about “the break” with Ashley and me. Girls have been slipping their numbers inside my locker—two of them are on Ashley’s squad. Somehow, hearing about that was perfect incentive for my boys, everyone except Ryan, of course, to drop and join me for a set of twenty. We’re a regular exercising flash mob.

  Too bad I didn’t kiss Simone at the start of football season. We might’ve earned ourselves a championship.

  “Believe me, Coop. I know,” I assure him with a healthy dose of self-deprecation, swiping at the tears streaking over my temples.

  “That why you ain’t sleepin’? ‘Cause of whatever’s goin’ on between you and Ashley?”

  “Sort of.” The partial lie rolls smoothly off of my tongue in a sure invitation for more questions I’ll have to evade.

  “Someone else?”

  “Thought you came in here to talk about you?”

  Coop sighs, “I did,” he mutters without calling me on my deflection. “What happened to your head?”

  “How’d you know something happened?”

  “Ice pack.”

  “Long story, involved a table.”

  “Not sensin’ you had fun doin’ it so spare me the details. Any advice on Marnie?”

  “Really like this girl?”

  “Yeah.”

  Truth? I got nothing. Nothing useful, anyway.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing. Girls think you only want one thing when your attention’s not consistent. Slow down, get to know her. Let her know you.”

  That’s the plan I’d figured on using with Simone. See how well it’s working for me?

  “Slow down anymore, we’ll be complete strangers by final bell tomorrow,” Coop mutters.

  Too funny. I’m gonna miss this guy come fall. “Give her a little more time, Cooper.”

  “No offense, bro, but your advice sucks tonight.”

  His heavy sigh reminds me of when we were younger. Cheyenne had just started growing in Mama’s tummy. Some kid at Coop’s school had dropped the dime on Santa. Coop was a diehard for the white-bearded fat guy dressed in red. Mama, Nana, and Dev all punked out on the truth, recalling his furious reaction to the skinny on the tooth fairy.

  In the end, it took a mason jar full of worms—those aren’t easy to unearth while the ground is cold—as I spilled every truth I could think of while he hooked fish from the edge of Mr. Sam’s pond. In the end, he thanked me like a man, deflated but grateful for my giving it to him straight.

  My advice tonight seems to have reaped the same effect. “You’re welcome, ingrate.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’ll have to chance it, if that’s the best you got.”

  “So, Dev’s drinkin’ the real reason you’re skippin’ the trip?”

  Another topic of conversation I’d rather avoid.

  I expected the question after my earlier announcement that I’d sold my tickets to Adam Goldberg—information I neglected to share with Simone. I could tell by the look in her eyes she jumped to another conclusion, one not entirely wrong, all things considered. Adam couldn’t afford the inflated last-minute ticket prices. Ashley and I bought ours ages ago at a price he could swing. Selling him mine was a win/win.

  Mama believes I canceled because of the crap with Ashley and me.

  I didn’t contradict her assumption, but Coop has my number. Dev’s bingeing has me nervous. Hard as I’ve tried, I can’t stomach the idea of being at the mercy of an airline should anything jump off.

  “Need the cash, anyway.”

  “Why? School’s paid for and we both know Dev’s gonna hold you to that promise to work with him this summer.”

  One promise I can assure was issued under the most extreme duress. Compliance, or lack thereof, determined whether I’d arrive on campus in a rusted Fiesta or my Jeep on the first day of school. Dev knew he had me.

  “You’re welcome to join me at the job.”

  “No, thanks. Got my sights set higher. Saw a hirin’ sign for baggers over at Duff’s.”

  “I’m jealous.”

  “I can handle things around here, you know? You won’t be ‘round forever.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, knucklehead, and don’t get all bent outta shape. I know you can hold down the fort. I really do have some things that need tending. Sticking close is the only way I can see to ‘em. Besides, you’ll be on break, too, which means you won’t wanna be stuck here all day. Hopefully, neither of us will. Think of it this way, my staying in town means you don’t have to rely on Mama to drop you everywhere.”

  “Guess there’s that,” he finally concedes. “Your phone’s vibratin’ under my head.”

  Probably Ryan harassing me for an update.

  “Toss it to me.”

  “I’m goin’ to bed.” He rolls off the mattress, drops the phone on my chest on his way to the door.

  “Night.”

  “Mornin’.”

  I look at my screen. There’re two new text messages.

  My adopted mother’s name was Elizabeth. Before that I didn’t have a middle name.

  What else do you want to know?

  Oh, man. Forget what I said.

  Going to Simone’s job? Freaking genius.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Simone

  The sound of thunder rouses me into an upright position.

  What? Where?

  I open my eyes wide. Squint. Concentrate on the ethereal glow outlining the ridiculously fit guy standing next to me, rubbing the source of thunder together.

  Must’ve fallen asleep. Not light dozing, either. Light dozing doesn’t result in this much slobber. Two nights of tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning prove two nights too many.

  To think, Whit believes getting to know me won’t lead to more trouble. How in God’s creation can he think one night of “Friendship Boot Camp” will undo the damage of that kiss?

  “Baby keep you up last night, Miss Bruckner?” Mr. Kelley deadpans. Our long haired, Harley-riding Health teacher points down at my uncovered “flour-child.”

  I take a surreptitious swipe at the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, do a quick inventory of the dusty bundle of academic torture lying inside the repurposed basket, glad t
o see the bottle and diaper I stuck in there is visible. I’m already to blame for us losing our first five points.

  “No, sir.”

  “Comfy as these desks may be, I’d appreciate you not napping in my class.”

  Carmen Reed laughs like our teacher is one joke away from becoming the next big comedian. Carmen and I used to be cool until Carmen and Chloe became BFFs.

  “Sorry, Mr. Kelley.”

  TV shows and movies portray Health teachers as anything except healthy. Not so with Mr. Kelley. The guy’s all zero body fat and rippling muscles. About the only unhealthy habits anyone can pin on him is his love of all things extreme sport and an unnatural obsession with knocking up his wife. I swear they’re on, like, baby number seven. He claims seeing her all swole does something to him.

  Well, the words he used were a tad more poetic, but whatev. It’s still TMI.

  “So, where were we?” Mr. Kelley arches a brow, gives my “baby” one last inspection. “Oh yeah, endocrines!”

  Thankfully, he moves on down the aisle, oblivious to the blatant lust-filled stares from every other girl in our class.

  “Say the word, I’ll come over and help you out.”

  A funky whiff of corned beef and mustard assaults my nostrils, precipitating a storm in my tummy. Man, I hate Rueben day. They may taste all right, but they turn some people’s mouths into a bio-hazard. Case in point: The current singeing of fine hairs from my nape.

  Thank God I’ve only had an apple today.

  “I’d never ask you to do that.”

  With far less than the necessary eight hours sleep my body needs for proper function on any given day—how do other people manage to form coherent sentences with anything less?—my dangerously close to polite retort is practically a gift for my Second Biggest Regret.

  I should explain.

  I’m ashamed to admit this, but, well . . . Beckham and I have history.