Kiss Me (6 page)

“Who is it supposed to impress then?”

“The kind of people that don’t care what season it is.”

She says condescendingly, “I don’t know where you came from, but
everyone
here cares what season it is.”

I see that Jake is just getting ready to walk by us. Here’s my chance to prove my point and piss her off in the process.

“I don’t think they do. Exhibit A.” I turn and tap Jake’s shoulder as he walks by. “Hey, Jake. Take a look at my dress.”

He seems to love the fact that I just gave him permission to ogle me. He looks me up and down, twice, grinning the entire time.

“So, Jake, do you know who designed this dress?”

He shakes his head and grins. “All I know, Monroe, is you look fucking hot in it.”

“Aww, thanks, Jake.” 

As he walks away, I raise my eyebrows at Whitney in victory.

She whispers, “I’ll destroy you,” and stomps away.

I think back to how I told Vanessa to destroy Mandy. And pray it’s just an idle threat.

I check my phone and see that it’s almost ten. So much for my dances with Aiden. Guess he’s not gonna show up. I’ll find Dallas, get out of this dress, throw on some sweats, and head to the cave.

I’m looking around for Dallas when someone comes up from behind me and puts their hands over my eyes. I know I should be worried for my safety in this situation, but I can instantly tell by the dreamy smell that it is the God of all Hotties himself.

I turn to face him. And, once again, he takes my breath away. He’s wearing a black Prada suit that drapes perfectly over his lanky frame. Underneath is a soft black cotton tee and on his feet, gorgeous black and silver cowboy boots. Boots!

“You finished with your dances yet?” he asks.

“Well, all except the ones with you.”

“Awesome. Come with me.” He takes my hand and leads me out the door. 

As in
outside.

“I thought you wanted to dance with me?”

“Oh, I do.” 

“Then where are we going?”

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he says sweetly.

I see that he’s leading me to his dorm. So, last night, I was irritated that he didn’t do anything more than kiss me. Tonight, I’m irritated because I’m pretty sure he wants to do way more than kiss.

Why else would he take me to his dorm room?

And that kinda pisses me off. 

I can’t figure this guy out. 

At all.

Maybe that’s his ruse. He acts like a nice guy. Like he’s not a player. Then a girl thinks,
Well, yeah, I know he’s a player, but he was so sweet to me, I must be different than all those other girls
, and then she falls in love with him and then he plays her. 

He’s sneaky.

I try to make conversation. Safe conversation.

“You always score so many points?”

“No. Never. Those were for you. I’m trying to impress you. Remember, I asked you to be my date and you  turned me down, so I had to come up with a new way to monopolize you.”

“And you’re gonna monopolize me in your dorm room?”

“Kinda.” He flashes me another blinding, powerful grin, and I just do as he says. He may also have the power of mind control. I’m not sure yet.

Outside his dorm room, he says, “Close your eyes.”

Okay, is it just me, or is this getting a little freaky? And what the hell does he have in there?

The line,
Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?
flits across my brain. I have a brief, panicked stalker moment and realize I do not have my purse with the pepper spray in it. I take a deep breath, decide to trust him, and tentatively close my eyes.

I hear the door open and feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me into the room. The door makes a gentle closing sound.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

I do. 

And what I see is not what I expected.

At all.

OMG!

The lights are off and on the ceiling he has strung a bunch of little white twinkle lights. He has a bottle of champagne chilling in a plastic bucket of ice and there are rose petals all over the floor.

It’s gorgeous!

I want to fall madly in love with him. Fall into bed with him. Let him give me about a million more of his soft, amazing kisses.

But then I remember Vanessa’s words and my pledge: To think with my head and not my heart.

I look again. See it all differently. 

And I know what it is.

A. Big. Elaborate. Seduction. Scene. 

I can’t imagine a boy going to this much trouble for anything else. No wonder he got so many girls last year. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for this shit?

Well, except for me. Because I know what he’s trying to do. 

All of a sudden, I feel disappointed. 

Really disappointed.

“I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to dance with me? Or did you have a different kind of dancing in mind? If you want to have sex with me, at least be honest with me and tell me that’s all you want.”

He looks around, panic on his face. “That’s not all I want. Shit. It does kinda look like that. Crap. I’m sorry. Let me start over.”

He holds out his arms. “All this is not supposed to be seduction. This is supposed to be me creating a dance. I wanted to dance all twenty-nine dances with you alone. I even have a twenty-nine song playlist on my phone if you’re ready.” He grins. “They’re kinda all slow songs. I want to dance slow with you.”

And then I feel amazing again. 

Like all is right in the world.

He turns on the music, pulls me into his arms, and sways with me. By song four, we’re barely moving, and my body is molded tightly up against his. 

It’s amazing to me how perfectly we seem to fit together. Like I belong to him. Like I’m a part of him.

We stare at each other, not saying a word. One of his hands runs lazily up my arm, then across my shoulder, then across my jawline, under my chin. And then, finally, across the back of my neck, pulling me toward his lips.

We kiss. Soft, slow, gentle. I seriously have never felt anything so intense. How can soft, butterflies-flitting-through-the-air kisses have so much power over me? 

I was right. For sure, his powers are in his mouth. And he is so using them against me. 

I’m but a mere mortal. I can’t resist. 

“Want some champagne?” he murmurs.

I don’t want to stop dancing, really don’t want him to let go of me. 

“I really don’t want to move from this spot,” I say dreamily.

Told you. I can’t lie to him. 

He gives me another soft kiss. “You don’t have to move.” 

He does though, pops the bottle, pours it into plastic drinking glasses, and hands me one.

He holds his glass up in the classic I’m-about-to-make-a-toast position, so I don’t take a drink yet. 

“‘
Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss
.’ Cheers.”

He clinks my glass and takes a drink. 

But I don’t. I’m frozen. 

Like oh-shit-what-just-happened-here frozen.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like champagne?”

“You, uh, you just quoted Keats,” I stammer, shell-shocked.

“You know that? It’s a great quote, right? I read it today and it reminded me of you. Of our kisses. How they make me feel.”

I put my hand up to my face, to the bridge of my nose, run it across my eyebrow. My hand shakes.

I look down at my champagne. And drain the fricking glass. “Can I have some more, please?”

“Uh, sure.” He pours me some more. 

I drain that glass too. I’ve never done champagne shooters before but, hey, there’s a first time for everything, right?

“More?”

“Okay,” he says, taking away my glass. “What’s going on? Why are you downing champagne like it’s a Jaeger bomb?” 

He pulls me back into his warm arms as my mind is replaying all my nights with Brooklyn. How he told me that fate would decide who I am supposed to be with. How fate would let me know. 

So what the fuck is fate trying to tell me? 

I know this is some kind of sign. But
what sign
?!

Is it a he-quoted-you-Keats-and-you’re-destined-to-be-together sign?

Or is it a you-should-be-with-the-boy-who-has-
always
-quoted-you-Keats sign?

Before I can think any more thoughts, Aiden starts kissing me. 

Really freaking kissing me. 

Still no tongue, but I don’t care. These are the kind of kisses I have been dreaming about. 

Oh my. Whatever the people who make the gods did, they did this one up right. But then, of course, he’s using his mouth on me. 

What else would I expect? 

Other than a few more, earth-stood-still, brain-shattering, meteor-showering moments. 

His hands are in my hair now. 

I can’t think.

Then he stops kissing me and slides off his suit jacket. 

His arms are so hotly jacked. I run my hands across his muscles and think, no, I never felt this way with Brooklyn. Or Cush, for that matter.

“Tell me the quote again,” I beg.

“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’” 

“It’s beautiful,” I say breathlessly.

“You’re beautiful. I haven’t told you that yet tonight, have I? How I didn’t even recognize you at first. I just saw this amazing body in a sinful dress and thought,
Wow, who is that?
Then I looked closer and realized it was you. Your hair is,” he laughs, “well, it’s looking a little messed up right now, but it looks even sexier. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

“Not really. So, last night. I thought, I mean, I really thought you didn’t like me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because we were completely alone in a room and all you did was kiss me. We didn’t even make out!”

“Is that why you cried?”

“No. I cried cuz Dawson kissed me, and it was gross. And my lips felt amazing from kissing you, and then they felt gross and it made me sad.”

“I fixed that, though. I kissed you again.”

“Yeah, you did. My lips are feeling a little gross right now.”

Oh, that sounded pathetic.

“Oh really?” he mutters, and kisses me more. 

But no matter how much he kisses me, no matter how long he kisses me, it’s like he gave me a love potion, and I can’t get enough. 

I will never be able to kiss him enough.

Song 18. 

“I’m tired of dancing.” he says, and pulls me down on the futon with him. I look over and see the keg of beer is still in his room. 

“You always keep a keg in your room?”

“We have to move it all around, so we don’t get caught. But, yeah, usually. Our dorm advisor thinks I’m a good boy, so he never checks my room. Do you want a beer?”

“Actually, yeah. That sounds good.”

He gets up and pours us each a beer. 

“So why did your face go completely white when I said that quote?”

I try to think of a good story, but I can’t come up with anything, so I tell him the truth.

“The guy I dated, hung out with—my best friend calls me Keats. He also loves old literature and quoted me Keats a lot. We had some pretty intense times.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I love him. We’ve been best friends for a couple years, but I don’t know if it’s, like, true love. Like, if you even believe in that. Like, soul mates and stuff.”

“I believe in that stuff. I told you that. I also told you that’s why I didn’t stay with the girls I dated for very long. I kept thinking it could be something, but then I just couldn’t make it be something, so we broke up. I’ve never done anything like this for a girl before. I’ve never quoted her poetry. You’re different, Boots.”

There we go, the
You Are Different
line. Player. Player. Player.

I giggle. “In other words, I’m weird?”

“Pretty much,” he laughs, and then pulls me back in for more kissing. 

I’m in heaven. Dreamland. Fantasyland. The Underworld. Mt. . . . uh, what is the mount where the Greek gods hung out? I can't remember, but I think I’m there too.

We kiss for days. 

At least, it feels like it.

But even though we’ve moved on to almost making out from just plain amazing kisses, he’s still being very, very good. His hands are in my hair, down my back a little, but that’s it. 

While his mouth is skillful, his hands and tongue are behaving prudishly. 

And all the guys told me Aiden has great hands. 

Maybe he’s saving them for soccer?

All of a sudden, the iPod blasts out a loud, booming rap song. 

“Shit, I think my twenty-nine songs are over.” He runs over and turns down the music and looks at the time. “So, it’s almost curfew. I should probably walk you home.” 

We walk hand in hand. “You having a party again tonight?”

“Probably. But I’m tired. I might just crash in someone else’s room.”

“Well, they’ll like the lights.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the lights might have to stay.”

“Tonight was amazing, really.”

“So, the intense times you had with that guy. Does that mean you slept with him?”

“Um, well, yeah. He was kinda my boyfriend. My first love, really.”

“So he’s special?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He frowns and says, “Well, here we are.” 

We’re standing outside my dorm. 

He pats me on the back of my shoulder and says, “See ya later, Boots.”

What’s up with that?

A pat on the back?

I’m not sure what happened between kissing in his room and saying goodbye, but I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me. 

Seriously, a pat on the back?

I get in my dorm and check my phone.

I have a text from Riley. One from Tyrese with the party info. One from Dallas asking if I’ll take him to the party.

I planned to lie in bed tonight and dream about Aiden’s kisses, but now I’m too confused by his actions. I need a mellow boy, one who will chill with me and not make my head hurt. So I text my mellow boy back.

Me:  I did get invited to the party, but I’d rather chill. Meet me at the Cave at 1?