A Kiss Like This (20 page)

Tyler squints his weed-induced haze at Caleb. “Dude. Do I know you?”

Caleb shrugs his broad shoulders, and I stifle a groan, knowing that this whole run-in is going to get back to my Aunt Monica—and hence, my parents.

I can hear the conversation now: “
Tyler tells us you’re dating someone and that he is a
very
rude young man. Abby, your studies come first. First, you room with that inappropriate Jenna girl, and now you’re dating a hoodlum? This is so unlike you.
”

Tyler persists. “I know I’ve seen you before, I just can’t figure out where.”

Internally, I groan and shoot Tyler an exasperated look that says
knock it off
. “Well, you
do
throw a lot of parties over at the Kappa house. Maybe you’ve seen him there.” I give a tight-lipped smile.

“Maybe.” He’s unconvinced and looks down again at Caleb’s arm around my waist, staring long and hard enough to make me fidget. I wonder what he sees as he peers at us and what he could possibly be thinking, because I’ve never dated anyone on campus, let alone a hulky six-foot-something athlete. And let’s not forget the fact that I’m now partaking in PDA with the aforementioned hulky athlete.

“Abs, are you
dating
him?” Tyler asks me incredulously, jaw coming unhinged and gaping unattractively. “He looks like he could open a tin can with his teeth!”

Caleb’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken at Tyler’s insult. “I’m walking her home if she’s heading in that direction,” he interjects without ceremony or excuse, his voice low and gravelly. He shifts his mouth near my temple and continues for my ears only. “Want to join me?”

“Um. I… yes. Yeah. I’d like that.”

He raises a dark eyebrow above the black frame of his glasses, amused. I can almost hear him thinking,
Wow. That was almost as awkward as you trying to invite me into your house this weekend
.

“Tyler, I guess I’ll, uh… see you later?”

My cousin watches us for a few heartbeats, then says with a jerked nod, “Yeah. Alright.”

But he’s studying Caleb suspiciously, trying to place him. I can almost hear the rusty wheels turning inside that messy, bedhead-covered skull of his. A frightening thought.

Caleb steers me, his hand resting on the small of my back, to the curb, and we step down, crossing to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. When I risk a glance back over my shoulder, my cousin is still watching us, arms crossed, rooted to his spot on the sidewalk.

~ Caleb ~

Shit.

That was a close one.

Thank god that preppy little stoner couldn’t place my face.

I thought for sure that little fucker was going to rat me out—call me out about the day I demanded Abby’s information on his front porch. Threatened to bash his fraternity brother’s face in. Okay, fine—and threatened to bash
his
face in. Refused to tell him my name. Lied when I said I didn’t have her ring.

Her ring.

Shit, fuck, shit.

It’s stashed in my bedroom, on my dresser, where it’s been sitting, gathering dust since the day she showed up on the lawn next door, frantically searching the ground in between the houses—on her fucking hands and knees—because of its sentimental value, and coming up empty.

Because of me. Why didn’t I just give the damn thing back when I had the chance? There’s no way I can casually do it now.

I am so screwed.

God, why am such an asshole
?

I reach between us and clasp Abby’s hand, giving it a squeeze, desperate to ease my guilty conscience, worried that when she finds out I lied through omission that she’s going to be pissed. Worry that she’s never going to trust me.

Give up on me before giving me a chance.

Shit. What am I saying?

I look down at our entwined hands, then back up at Abby’s profile. Her lips are curved into a pleased smile. She looks so…
happy
that when her shining eyes meet mine, I stop walking, halting in my tracks.

She’s jerked back and her backpack slides down her shoulder from the motion, falling to the ground with a thud.

“Caleb, what…?” She looks up, startled.

We’re in the middle of the sidewalk, in the middle of our neighborhood, and only a few houses down from her shithole rental, but I don’t care. I do the only thing I really know how to do, the thing I do best—use my body to communicate. When I’m on the ice, playing hockey, I use my legs and hands to do my job, deflecting pucks and protecting the net. I can go an entire ninety-minute game without talking or uttering a single curse. The voices in my head are loud enough.

Now, I do the same.

Without using words, I loosen my own bag and lower it down off my shoulders, setting it on the ground and raising my hands to cup Abby’s face between my palms. Her expressive eyes are huge. Clear. Blue. Questioning.

Shit. What I’m doing? I can’t kiss her in the middle of the street.

Ugh! Fuck!

I release her and bend down, grab both our book bags, swing them easily onto my shoulders as if they weigh nothing, and keep walking. Abby doesn’t say anything as she falls into step beside me, giving me a confused sidelong glance but grabbing my hand again.

I give it a squeeze and hold on tight.

***

Cecelia:
What do you mean he just stopped on the sidewalk and stared at you? That’s kind of weird
…

Abby:
Well, it was kind of weird, but he looked like he wanted to say something. Like it was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t get the words out
.

Cecelia:
Like he wanted to declare his undying love for you
?

Abby:
I wish! What was it like with you and Matthew
?

Cecelia:
Well. He said ‘I love you’ after only like, 2 months. But it’s like I always say, “When you know, you know.” You know? lol

Abby:
Yeah, I do. I just… He’s so hard to read. I wish he talked more.

Cecelia:
You do?!?

Abby:
(sigh) No. I don’t wish he talked more. He’s perfect the way he is. I just wish I knew what he was thinking.

Cecelia
: Um, you probably don’t. Knowing you, you’d be scandalized. He probably wants to rip your clothes off. Trust me, those hockey boys are walking, raging hormones.

Abby: Well, that’s not likely to happen. A guy like that isn’t going to wait around for me, and you know I don’t sleep around.

Cecelia: Oh, you’re talking about “No sex before monogamy…” Are you still watching that damn Millionaire Matchmaker?

Abby: Yeah, so?! Besides, I don’t know if you’ve seen Caleb lately, but he’s like… incredible. Girls are all over him. Why would he want to be with me when he could have any girl on campus?

Cecelia: Gee, I don’t know—because he LIKES YOU??????? Maybe he even loves you? Because he’s not a manwhore? Trust me. I asked around on your behalf. You’re welcome.

Abby: I wish I were better at this. If I blush at him - or the thought of him - one more time, I’m likely to self-combust

Cecelia: Well whatever you’re doing, just keep doing it. And Abby?

Abby: Yeah?

Cecelia: He’s the lucky one here. Remember that.

CHAPTER 22

Caleb

I’m putting the last of the caulk on the trim by the kitchen sink when I hear the sound of the screen door off the pantry open, then bang shut shortly after. I turn to the soft sound of feet trudging up three stairs and a clearing of the throat.

Holy. Shit.

“Dad? Hey.” I set the tube of caulk down and grab a dishrag, wiping my hands clean before moving into my dad’s embrace. He pounds me on the back a few times and steps back to look at me.

“Hey. kiddo. Working on a project?”

“Um, yeah. The trim on the undermount was peeling.” I glance out the window, tapping my middle finger on the wood-grain kitchen countertop. “Is Mom with you?”

“Yes. She’s grabbing a few things from the car. Blaze is giving her a hand with some groceries.”

“What are you guys, um…”
doing here
? I want to ask but don’t, because I don’t want it to sound like I’m being rude or disrespectful. Don’t get me wrong; I love my parents, and they’ve done a ton of shit for me and my hockey career, but they live two hours away.

They never just randomly show up without giving me a heads up first.

“Just a Sunday drive.” My dad laughs, clamping his hand solidly down onto my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Mom misses you, bud. We thought we’d drive down and take you for an early dinner. Is that okay, or do you already have plans?”

“Nope. No, that sounds great. No plans.”

Just then, Blaze comes through the door, holding three paper grocery sacks and a blue IKEA bag, propping the door open for my mom with his foot, the only thing in her arms a six-pack of paper towels.

She pats him on the face as she passes. “Good boy.”

Blaze grins. “This is why I love your mom, Showtime. That, and she’s a MILF.”

“No, you love her because she brings you food,” my dad says with a laugh as my mom starts taking food out of the grocery bags and setting them on the counter closest to the pantry. “I draw the line at letting your mom unpack everything. Wendy, let the boys do it.”

My mom ignores him.

My dad rests his hips against the counter and folds his arms at the same time my mom hands him a box of garbage can liners without giving him a second glance. “Here. Go put these under the sink.”

Dad unfolds himself and puts the garbage bags under the sink.

Well, I guess we know who wears the pants in
that
relationship.

Blaze snickers. “What are the Lockharts up to this afternoon, besides checking in on their baby boy?” he asks, taking the paper towels from my mom and unwrapping each roll as I get handed a ten-pack of spaghetti noodles from Costco.

“Maybe just an early dinner,” Mom says, grabbing the Clorox Bleach spray and wiping down the kitchen counter. “If we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to end up scrubbing this entire place clean.”

“None of the guys would mind finding you down here cleaning, Mrs. L. You’re a total MILF.”

“Hey, cool it with the MILF talk already,” my dad warns him with an exaggerated scowl as he grabs an apple out of a nearby bowl, peeling the little sticker off and taking a bite.

My mom giggles into the washrag, her dark brown eyes gleaming with delight at being called a MILF like it’s a goddamn compliment. You know what a MILF is, right? A “Mother I’d Like to Fuck.” Yeah. And my mom
likes
it. How sick is that?

Dad swallows his bite of apple. “Blaze, you boys are welcome to join us. We thought we’d just hit The Brewery downtown. Grab a few beers and keep it casual.”

Blaze looks at me. “Are you bringing Abby?”

My dad’s eyes widen. “Who’s Abby?”

Shit. Seriously?

“His new girlfriend,” the traitor says casually over his shoulder, stacking some cans of Chunky Soup into the cabinet above the microwave. I want to grab him by the scruff of his black polo shirt and shake the living shit out of him.

Mom sets down the washrag and pivots on her heels to look at me. “Girlfriend? Caleb, how long… We’d love to meet her, of course.” My mom’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the excitement in her dark, expressive eyes. She’s holding back a million and one questions and clamps her mouth shut to prevent anything more from spilling out. You know, so she doesn’t spook me.

Fucking. Blaze
.

I dig deep and shoot him the nastiest glower I can conjure up, my eyes practically sealed shut from squinting at him. Running my fingers through the hair under my ball cap, I exhale slowly.

“She’s
not
. Abby isn’t… Ugh, we’re just. Shit,” I mutter to myself, running my fingers through my hair under my ball cap. “I mean, it’s only been a few dates.”

“And by a few, he means one. As in
uno
,” Blaze helpfully adds, holding up his index finger to indicate the ‘one,’ and I want to tell him to shut his fucking face. “We did, however, catch them dry hum—”

I give him a quick jab him to the ribcage. With my fist. “Dude, I swear to god…”

“Damn, bro, someone is sensitive.” He laughs as he rubs his side. My parents look on, both fascinated and confused. “But seriously. You should text Abby. Your parents would love to meet her.” He looks at my mom and winks. “
Great
girl, Mrs. L. She’s a peach.”

I’m seriously going to kill this kid.

My dad levels me with a stare after Mom shoots him a hopeful glance full of expectation. I’ve see this look on my mom before; she expects my dad to step in and “handle me” to get what she wants. Since I know he’ll do anything to make my mom happy, and what she wants is for me to call Abby, I’m not the least bit surprised when he demands, “Well. What are you waiting for? Go invite the girl to dinner.”

Seething, I excuse myself, dragging my heavy legs upstairs to the privacy of my bedroom and all but slamming the door behind me. It might be a simple text, but this will be our first, and I need a minute to collect myself. She doesn’t even know I have her number.

Fuck
.

I hit COMPOSE on my phone and find Abby in my contacts list.

Taking a deep breath, I punch out a text, grateful that I can’t stutter or sound like a fucking idiot via text. Right?

Me:
Abby, it’s Caleb. How’s it going
?

A few minutes go by that have me pacing the hardwood floors the length of my bedroom, and I wonder briefly if they can hear my nervous footsteps down in the kitchen.

Probably.

Abby:
It’s good! How about you
?

Exclamations are a good sign, yeah? I wipe my sweaty palms on the leg of my jeans before hitting REPLY.

Me:
Good
.

I pause, wanting to type,
Um
. Shit. This is harder than I thought it would be.

Me:
Good
.

Dammit. I just texted her ‘Good’ twice.

Me:
Listen. My pants are in town, and I was wondering… they were wondering if

Accidentally hitting SEND before finishing the sentence, I groan after realizing it autocorrected parents to pants.