A Kiss Like This (17 page)

Abby:
I’m going to ignore that last part.

Abby:
((Sigh)) I really really like him. Everything was so great until everyone started banging on our door, screaming out our names in fake ecstasy once they found the door was locked. Allllll downhill from there
.

Cecelia
: Lol. I bet Jenna was the leader of that pack. #obnoxious

Abby:
Pretty much
…
his friends give him zero privacy. It’s rude
.

Cecelia:
Yeah. That particular group is bad.
Then throw OUR girlfriends into the mix. Chaos
.
So. What happens next
?

Abby:
Well, I asked him, “What next?” and he said, “Now I take you on an actual date
.”

Cecelia:
((sigh)) Abby, that is sooo romantic
…

Abby:
I know, right? My heart was beating so fast I thought he’d be able to hear it.

Cecelia
: I am SO HAPPY FOR YOU ((hugs))

Cecelia:
Oh, before I forget, did you ever end up finding your ring
?

Abby:
No :-( the search continues
…

CHAPTER 19

Caleb

Tonight is the night of my first date with Abby, and I’m nervous.

Fucking. Nervous.

As all hell.

I make the mistake of having my door open as I’m getting ready, and both Stephan and Weston walk by, back tracking when they see me in front of the mirror, fumbling with an uncooperative button on the collar of my polo shirt.

I’m finally falling for a girl, and it’s turning me into an awkward, edgy piece of shit.

“Dammit,” I huff, giving up on the stupid button.

My roommates both stand in the doorway, staring at me like I’ve started a tilt on the hockey rink and they can’t believe their eyes.

“What?” I ask irritably, finally slipping the white button through the small slit in my red shirt then straightening the collar.

“Nothing.” Weston gives me a shit-eating grin. “It’s just, we’ve never seen you look so pretty.”

That’s not true; we wear suits on the bus to every away game.

Stephan checks out my outfit and finds it lacking with a
tsk
. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I scowl at them both. “Fuck off.” Nonetheless, I run a hand down the front of my shirt self-consciously. What the hell is wrong with a plain polo?

Instead of retreating, they take my hostility as an invitation to enter and shoulder their way into the bedroom, collapsing down on my king-size bed.

“I hope for young Abby’s sake you practice better manners on your date.” Stephan flops on his side, watching me with—hey, is that a twinkle in his eye?

“Get out,” I grumble, turning toward them and leaning against my dresser with my arms crossed.

They ignore me. Obviously.

“Where are you taking your lover this evening?” Weston asks with a smirk as he makes himself comfortable against my pillows. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“None of your damn business.”

“Oh, come on now, don’t be like that.” Stephan snickers. “Give old Uncle Steve a little hint.”

My lips clamp shut.

Weston rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see. It’s already past dinner time, so I’m guessing it’s not dinner and a movie…”

“…and it’s too dark for the chap to take her yachting…”

“Ahoy, matey!”

“… and the last time I checked, they only allow douchebags at the bowling alley…”

“
Hey, Molly and I like bowling!”

“Yeah, I know,” Stephan snarks, snapping his meaty fingers together. “I’ve got it. You’re going to the butt-packing district.”

They both laugh, and I stifle a groan at their stupidity, regarding them stoically with only the barest hint of amusement on my face.

“Planetarium?” Stephan asks.

Weston shakes head. “Naw, too boring.” He looks me up and down. “Roller skating?”

“Roller derby? Now that would be cool…”

“Roller
blading
?”

I hold up my hands to halt their conversation. They’re making me mental. “Stop.” My demand comes out rigid and commanding.

They finally shut their faces.

For a second.

“So? Where are you taking her?”

~ Abby ~

I twist the bare ring finger on my right hand before sticking my soapy hands under the water faucet, giving myself a once-over as I rinse them off.

My dark brown hair is down, falling casually in glossy waves over my shoulders, my wide blue eyes lined in black liner, a heavy application of onyx mascara, and dusted with gray shadow—all compliments of Jenna.

I have a bronzy glow, and my full lips are a “very kissable” shade of deep berry.

Donning a pair of scored boyfriend jeans, I’m comfortable in a soft, low-cut but slouchy gray cotton tee, a few thin, delicate gold necklaces, and my feet are elevated in nude cork wedges.

According to Jenna, I am irresistibly cute.

I give my hair another fluff after drying my hands and walk back into the quaint little studio that Caleb’s chosen for our date. Several couples and a few groups of friends sit around on stools, wine or beer glasses and canvases set on the tables in front of them. Soft music filters in from the ceiling, and there are paintings of every variety hanging on every square inch of wall, some of them amazing, some of them… not so much
.

As I approach my date—can I say that again? My
date
!—the sight of him waiting there, waiting there for
me
, has me stopping briefly to admire him from behind, his broad back and sexy shoulders hunched over as he waits for my return. For once, he’s not wearing a baseball cap, and as I brush past him to climb on my stool, I trail my fingers through the hair at the base of his thick neck.

His mouth crooks into a pleased smile that reaches his hypnotic eyes. Forget the wine; I’ll just stare at Caleb all night.

As we’re choosing which painting we want to work on—a sunset landscape—the door to the studio opens and two more couples walk in, and I startle as I recognize them.

Next to me, Caleb begins coughing on the beer he’d been about to take a swig of, like it’s gone down the wrong pipe, and I pat him on the back gregariously. Sputtering, his beer glass clangs on the table as the new arrivals approach us.

“Chelsea! Molly! What are you guys doing here?” I ask, rising from my chair and hugging them in greeting. Caleb turns to glare hostilely at Weston and Stephan.

“Yeah, guys, what are you doing here?” His voice comes out in a clipped, angry tone, and his now thundering eyes are narrowed into murderous slits.

He’s so pissed.

The entire group moves past us, and I hear Caleb hissing under his breath, “You dickwads did this on purpose.”

“Yup.” I hear Stephan chuckle as he strolls by with his cocky gait.

The group moves to the service counter. They register, order drinks, then move across the room to the sink area to get their painting supplies. I run my palm over Caleb’s tense shoulders to soothe him, and his body retracts, relaxing instantly from my touch.

“Hey, it’s fine. Let’s just pretend they’re not here.” Resisting the urge to kiss him, I hop back on my stool and grab a paintbrush.

“They knew I was bringing you here,” Caleb mutters with what looks like a pout. “I should have known this would happen. They’re never going to let me get you alone. I have no privacy.”

Poor guy looks miserable.

I look back to our group of friends in the back of the room and swallow my snicker. They’re goofing off, and it’s pretty hilarious. Stephan is holding a wine glass, his pinky finger sticking in the air, overdramatically oozing class while Chelsea smacks him in the arm repeatedly, already lecturing him to “grow up.” My eyes also catch Weston smacking Molly in the butt, shouting, “Hee Yah!” before taking a dry paint brush and whisking it around her face, leering at her with a loud, “Just be glad it’s not my pee pee.”

She slaps him away with a loud laugh.

Oh boy.

Bravely, in a show of solidarity, I scoot my stool closer to Caleb’s. He immediately spreads his thighs so our legs touch and flexes his fingers over my thigh, rubbing his palm up and down over my jeans. We automatically—as if compelled by gravitational force—lean into each other, our lips touching briefly.

All I can say is
wow!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Moving a little fast for a first date, don’t you think? Better slam on those brakes. And keep your grabby mitts where I can see them.” Stephan stands behind us, holding a wine glass, a beer, and a can of paint, his remarks directed at me. My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline as he leans in to say, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, Ms. Grabby Hands.”

I want to die.

Chelsea walks up, mortified. “Oh my gosh, I’m so,
so
sorry, Abby. Stephan, go back to our chairs and leave them be.” She grabs him by the arm and drags him to a nearby table.

He casts a glance over his shoulder at me and winks.

When Molly and Weston walk by with their supplies, Weston leans over and pokes Caleb in the nose with the tip of his paintbrush. “Boop!”

I can’t stop it; a burst of giggles bubbles up from deep inside and sneaks out.

“You think that’s amusing, huh?” Caleb mutters, watching me squirt some blue paint onto the pallet we’re sharing with a huge grin on my face. I add green, red, then white, before dabbing my brush into the water jar, blotting it on a rag.

“Oh, it was definitely amusing.” I beam up at him. “The look on your face was like a surprised dog getting his nose batted by a kitty cat paw.” I swipe at him and hiss. “Meow.”

Then something remarkable happens. Wait for it. Wait…

Caleb’s eyes crinkle, his head tips back, and a peel of laughter bursts out of him.

Laughing—he is
laughing
.

I can’t even do the sound justice. It’s an unhindered reaction; the baritone notes rumble out of his chest and are rich with emotion.

Caught off guard, I stare wide-eyed like deer in headlights at the long column of his corded neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he chokes out the deep roar, and his shoulders shaking. I catch glimpses of his gap and gleaming white teeth before he bites down on his bottom lip, and I want to tackle him off the stool, to the ground, and do naughty, naughty things to him.

Did you hear me? To. The.
Ground
.

Naughty, naughty things.

And this is
me
we’re talking about here.
Ugh
.

I look away to hide my furious blush, clearing my throat to disguise the fact that my thoughts have gone from only slightly lascivious to downright dirty. My nerves are creating absolute chaos to my lady parts. My body and mind are completely and utterly messed up—just from the sight of his unexpected laughter!

I
love
his laugh. It’s rich and full and sincere.

I love his frown. It’s real and thoughtful.

I love…

I…

I frantically dip my paintbrush back in the water, swirl it around for a few seconds, buying time as I select my paint color. Giving him a sidelong glance, I attempt to not undress him with my eyes.

Epic fail.

My blue eyes cannot help it; they are powerless against this side of him he only reveals sparingly, and if he were a smart person, now would be the opportune time for him to try and get in my pants.

I give him a feeble smile and gingerly take the wine glass in front of me by the stem, bring it to my lips, and take a teeny tiny sip.

Setting the glass back on the table, I consider what I’m about to say next, because it truly must be said. Inhale.
Exhale
. “That smile of yours… phew! It could get us both into big trouble.”

He bites his lip again and his brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

I weakly smile at the ceiling, unable to look directly at him. “I mean, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

There. I said it.

I said it, it’s out there, and I can’t take it back.

When he doesn’t reply, I add, “Oh, please, don’t act so surprised. You know how irresistible that gap is.”

Nervously I slap more yellow on my canvas, aware that my painting has way too much yellow on it, dabbing it in circles like the instructor in front of the room is doing with small strokes. Only hers looks nice. My canvas is beginning to look like it’s been painted by a blind elephant at the zoo.

“It’s my kryptonite.”

Caleb’s brush hovers over his white canvas. “Huh?”

I pause and turn to face him, swiveling on my stool. Our knees knock and I lean forward so he can hear what I’m about to say, loud and clear. “I am
mad
for that gap. So stop hiding it.”

He props his palms on my knees and moves in. “I’m…uh…” He looks away, bites his lip with a frown, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’m…”

“Yes?” I breathe out the question in a whisper.

We’re interrupted then by Molly—as in
Molly with the World’s Worst Timing
—who stands over us, clearing her throat. “Whoa, you two are looking pretty chummy over here.” She glances at our canvases and starts a litany of questions. “Shouldn’t you be halfway done by now? What are you doing? Just sitting back here gawking at each other, or what?”

Yeah, pretty much.

“Yes,” Caleb answers her seriously.

Molly looks at my painting, eyes wide. “
Umm
, what’s with all the yellow? Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She shakes her pretty hair and titters. “I just got up to grab a bottle of water. You want anything while I’m up?”

We both give our heads a shake. “No, I’m good. We both have something to drink.” I point to my wine and Caleb’s beer.

Molly stalls a few more seconds. “Okay, just thought I’d ask. Hey. You guys wanna come out with us when we’re done, or…” Her question trails off.

“Any idea where you’re going?” Caleb wants to know.

“Best guess: Lone Rangers. You know, loud music, bad food, too many drunk undergrads with too little clothing.”

Lone Rangers is a college bar down on State Street, and is the establishment most frequented by the Wisconsin Badger Hockey team. In other words, it’s always packed. From regular students hoping to rub shoulders with the college athletic elite, to the athletes themselves, Lone Rangers is
the
off-campus place to be.