First Kiss (2 page)

I shake my head, "No."

"Dude, it's like porn."

I frown, "Thanks for the warning." I know I will
have to Google it when I get home.
If I can get on the
computer.
If Mary doesn’t feel like smacking me
around.

Lune laughs and passes me her phone, “It’s still open in
YouTube. Just watch it—lord knows Mary isn’t going to let you watch that
trash at her house.”

I touch the YouTube app and watch the video as Lune pulls into
the driveway of the packed mansion. Every light is on inside making the
driveway feel darker. Sam Collins is rich, very rich. His parents’ house is
massive and they don’t care if we party here. They never have cared because
they never have been home. Sam has pretty much raised himself.

Lune takes her phone, “Slutty, huh?”

I nod, “I kinda wish I could just be like her.”

Lune rolls her eyes, “All girls do. Kesha is, like, taking no
prisoners. She is running her shit.”

When I get out of the car, the wind rushes me, as if grateful
it has caught up to me. I ignore it. Lune has parked against the curb of the
long driveway, under a huge tree. The leaves dump, as I take my first few steps
towards the house, and flit across the grass. I ignore them; leaves shouldn’t
fall in the spring and they shouldn’t chase me down the road like they're my
children.

"
We bringing
the guitar,
Lynnie?" Sarah asks as she rounds the back of the car.

I look at their faces and sigh, "Fine, but only one
song."

Lune squeals and pops the trunk.

Sarah grabs it and runs for the front door before I can change
my mind.

I glance at Maggie and frown, "You gotta sing backup,
k?"

Maggie nods, "Fine. Let’s get drunk first though, huh? I
hate it when they make you sing."

I grin, "Yup." I don’t actually get drunk, but I too
hate it when they make me sing. I don’t mind the stage but an intimate
gathering makes me feel funny, too close to them all maybe, considering they
all fear me or hate me, or both.

As we walk up to the door, Maggie looks up, "You ever
notice the way the leaves fall, even in the spring, around yo . . ."

I turn my face sharply and stick my finger to her lips,
"Shhhhhh. Don’t say it. Don’t acknowledge it."

Her eyes grow wide as she nods and walks through the door.
"You get weird sometimes," she mutters.

I whisper and close the door, "I'm normal. It's you all
that are crazy—and no—the leaves do not fall when I’m around."
The wind hits the door, making it rattle. I ignore it. She turns and notices
the way the door is rattling, like a horror movie. When she sees the desperate
look on my face, she turns, "Yup, totally normal." She leaves, as if
she doesn’t see it, and walks into the house.

The party is in full force with dancing going on in the living
room and drinking everywhere else. Shots are at the dining room table, so I
saunter that way. It looks like Fort Lauderdale, but it’s the sweater version.
Coldest June on record, I swear.

"Well, well, look what the devil dragged in. Did you miss
me all year, Lynnie?"

I grin at the boy taunting me. "Be nice, Sam." He is
always nice, as a friend. I can’t help but stare at his mouth when he talks and
wish he could be nicer.

He smiles, flashing the dimple in his cheek, “I missed you.
It’s been a hard year not seeing your face every day. We need to get you a cell
phone, for real. Then I can FaceTime you. Or better, you could just move to
Boston. I could show you around.”

I sigh and wish for a second that things could be different.
He runs a hand through his dark-blond hair, giving me a look that makes my
stomach instantly ache. Everything about him is taunting me with the one thing
I can never have—love. His sparkly blue eyes stare at my lips for the
briefest of moments as he points to the shots. "You want one?" He
seems so serious and weird. Sometimes when he gets drunk he gets like this,
maybe not as intense as this though.

I sigh and realize I too am staring at his mouth. He is so
tanned and stunning.
Golden skin, dark-blond hair,
bright-blue eyes, and strong nose and jaw line.
His football-player's
body is rock hard.
I've seen him in his swimsuit
,
it’s good
. He looks like a Calvin model. College has only
improved him. His body is even more taut and hard than last year. I almost moan
as I pry my eyes from his chest and sigh again. I drop into the oversized
dining room chair and nod, "I can do one shot."

He looks cocky as he sets up seven shot glasses in front of
me. He gives me a sideways glance as he pours seven different shots from the
bottles in front of him. "How about one round instead? You need to catch
up. Everyone else has had several shots." His eyes sparkle with mischief.
I want to read more into it than I should, but I remember who he is and who I
am. A year hasn’t changed anything. He will never be reckless enough to kiss
me, let alone date me. And I would never gamble with his life.

I lick my lips and lift the first glass, "To catching
up!" Everyone in the dining room is watching me, watching the freak. I
just want to be one of the normal girls for once. I still feel like the little
girl standing in front of the class, listening to the whispers as the teacher
introduces me as the new girl. She says my name, Lake, like it’s poison. It is,
but I was only ten; she didn’t have to say it so harshly.

Someone interrupts as I put the glass to my lips, "You
shouldn’t drink that many shots. It's too many for a small girl."

I recognize the voice; it’s deep and different and makes the
wind rattle the glass in the dining room next to me. His accent is something, I
swear, I have heard before, maybe on TV.
Maybe West Coast or
even European but really faint.

His eyes are the first
thing
I notice
when I turn around. They’re weird—grey. Grey like the weather in Maine.
Stormy maybe. He’s tall and lean, in a way that makes me think he plays preppy
sports like tennis or swimming. He isn’t solid and bulky like a football
player, like the boys in Maine. They fish, log, hunt, and are brawny.

He is posh and trim. My eyes roam his face, noticing the
chiseled jaw and soft-looking lips. He’s sexy, stuck up maybe, but sexy. The
way he leans against the wall, with a cocky grin and his grey eyes challenging
me from under his shaggy, light-brown hair, is smug. Smug is the word for
everything about him. It's like he hates me even before meeting me. It’s not something
new for me though.

"Who are you?" I ask.

He ignores my question and continues, "You weigh what, a
buck five, maybe ten? You drink those shots and we'll be taking you to the
hospital. This is a pretty sad little town, not the place I would want to spend
a night in a hospital." He sounds mean the way he speaks, like I am
nothing or a child.

Brandon, a huge football player I graduated with, slaps the
tall guy on the back. "This is my cuz, Bastion. He's here to hang with us
for the summer, get to know the family and all. His parents are away in Africa.
Doctors Without Borders.
We just met, never even knew
about each other."

Bastion cocks an eyebrow, "Super excited about it
too."

I offer a smug grin back, “You have to stay with your cousin
while your parents are away? Aren’t you also nineteen? You can't stay on your
own?”

He nods, “I’m old enough, and yes, I can.” He isn’t bothered
by the fact I’m mocking him, and he doesn’t offer an excuse. I like that, I
just don’t know why.

I meet Bastion's stare as I lift the first shot to my lips,
accepting the challenge in his eyes. I lift it like I’m saying cheers to him
and shoot it back. It makes me shiver when I swallow, "Yuck. Nice to meet
you, Bastion."

He shakes his head like he’s unimpressed. I slam back the next
shot and smile at the face he’s making.

Lune slinks into the room and slides up next to me, resting
her arm on my shoulder. "Where you from, Bastion . . . not Britain is it?
You sound like you have an accent." Lune asks, sitting at the table next
to my shot glasses. She drinks one, all the while watching him, waiting for his
answer.

His eyes narrow, "I'm from, er . . . Oregon."

She crosses her legs, flashing her bare skin. He glances at
her legs, running his eyes down to her silver platforms. His lip twitches. I
watch him, feeling a cheeky grin crossing my lips. No one can resist Lune. Deep
inside of me I wish he would look at me like that.

She drinks a second shot from my lineup and puts a hand out,
"Lune."

He frowns, taking her hand, "Lune?"

She grins, "Luanne, but nobody calls me that. This is my
girl, Lynnie."

When his gaze meets mine, it doesn’t stray from my eyes.
 
His gaze doesn’t travel beyond mine and
it definitely doesn’t look at my legs. "Lynnie and Lune?" His tone is
mocking. I don’t think he has any other tone.

I slam back the next shot and let the shiver warm me as I
continue staring at him. The tension is thick but fleeting.
It’s
broken by warm hands touching down on my shoulders
. I can feel the heat
of them through my sweater, but they are nothing, compared to the whispered
breath that hits my ears next, "Lune keeps stealing your shots, Lynnie.
I'll have to pour you two more." Sam starts to massage my shoulders. The
contact is making Bastion and me uncomfortable, though why he is bothered is
beyond me. His eyes watch Sam's hands with emotion, anger maybe or disgust. It
makes me feel dirty either way, like he knows about the curse. Or he just hates
me.

Sam never touches me. Guys don’t ever touch me, beyond a slap
on the shoulder or a light shove.

Ever.

I wonder how pathetic I would look if I closed my eyes and let
myself savor the moment, because I know it’s innocently done. If I closed my
eyes, I could pretend we were somewhere else, and I was someone else. I almost
hate that it's Sam touching me. I have missed him more than anyone. I've missed
staring at him and daydreaming about the things we might do if I weren’t me.

Glancing back, I realize I haven’t missed setting him up with
other girls. That was always the worst—watching him be with girls he
could actually touch.

Instead of savoring it, I nod at the glasses Lune just drank
from, "Just reuse them. We share everything else." I look back at
Bastion and grin, "I weigh a buck twenty-five, for the record."

He laughs, "Not a chance."

I shrug.

Sam leans over me and pours more drinks. Lune gets up from the
table and brushes past Brandon and Bastion, as if it is nonchalantly done, but
she has a plan. She looks up through her lashes and smiles as she slides
between the two large guys. Her chest presses against Bastion's abdomen. He
looks lost for a moment. It bugs me that she’s flirting with him. It bugs me
that she can. I don’t even know him, nor like his smug attitude, but I wish I
could torture him that way. He looks like he deserves to be tortured, like he's
stuffy and haughty. I almost wish she would do to him what she does to all
boys—love and leave them in a public display that rips their hearts out.
I almost wish it, but something about him guts me. I hate that his eyes wander
her body and his lip fights a twitching grin. I want him to look at me like
that. It’s a bizarre feeling to be so conflicted.

My agony is interrupted by a voice, "You gonna sing,
Lynnie?"

I glance over at Brandon and shrug, "I guess."

He smiles wide, slapping his 'cuz' again, "You're in for
a treat. She's our very own star. She sings every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday
night at the local bar. She packs the house. Been singing there since we were
kids."

"Down boy!" I blush.

He laughs, "I’m surprised you never went to LA or Nashville,
or somewhere with a wicked music scene."

I shrug, "I had to work for the year to save up money
before I could leave. My dad’s inheritance only comes to me if I stay with Mary
till I’m nineteen. I don’t have parents paying for everything like you
guys." I frown at the overshare and suck back a shot. It makes me shiver
as I breathe through the fumes, glancing back at Sam, "Ouzo? Really?"
I can barely talk through the twitching.

He laughs, "Just thought I'd mix it up."

I gag, "Don’t do that again. Sick." I shoot the next
shot to rid my mouth of the taste.

Bastion's grey eyes sparkle like stars, "You really that
good?"

I shake my head, "I don’t know. It's not exactly like
Nashville's music scene here. We don’t have a lot going on." I quiver from
the drinks.

"You want to drink all of those before you sing?" He
sounds like he could be my dad, if I had one.

Sam grips my shoulder, "You seem pretty bothered by her
drinking, dude. You got a problem with her having some fun? Poor Lynnie's been
here all year waiting for us to get back." He is touching me again.

Bastion's eyes gleam, "I just think drinking to the point
of passing out is pretty immature. We aren’t high school kids."

I snort, "I don’t get drunk, Bastion." It’s true. I
don’t. They blame the curse, I blame the practice—we used to drink every
weekend.

"She's a beast. She can drink all night. She can
out-drink every linebacker on the team, including Miles over there who weighs
in at 285 pounds." Sam slaps me on the back, like a friend.
Because we are friends—and never will be anything but,
regardless of his touching my shoulders.

Bastion folds his arms and watches me. I slam back the last
shot in front of me and cough a little. It tastes like death in a glass. My
right eye won't open from the shudder that rips through me. I wince when I’m
finally able to, "What was in that one?" The group around me laughs.
I see Miles make a face from the corner, "He conned me into that one too.
Damn dude, she’s a girl."