Kissed (7 page)

He
held up a second helmet.
 
“Don’t you
trust me, Bethie?”

Oh, not the pout…damn him.
 
She took the helmet and stuck it on her
head.
 
“If you kill me, I’m haunting you
forever.”

He
rolled his eyes.
 
“Hold on tight and
you’ll be fine.”

Hold
on tight, eh?
 
To
what
?
 
He climbed on the bike and looked back at her
expectantly.
 
She straddled the bike
behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Put
your feet on those little pegs,” he said.
 
She did.
 
He pulled her arms
further around his middle.
 
“Tighter.
You’ll fly backward when I accelerate with a grip that loose.”

“Okay.”

He
started the motorcycle.
 
She had a death
grip.
 
Oh-god-oh-god
…
 

When
he made it roll forward, she hid her face between his shoulder blades.
 
Air started moving very fast past her body.

Sorry, Mom and Dad
…

Chapter Five

When
they hadn’t crashed for several minutes, Beth dared to look at her surroundings.
 
Traffic was slowing as they got into the city
proper.
 
The whole left side of the road
thing was very strange.

“You
okay back there?” Jacob asked.

“Maybe.”
 

She
felt him laugh.
 
The slower pace wasn’t
so bad.
 
The buildings weren’t a blur, and
the wind wasn’t deafening.
 
She started
to notice how firm the body in front of her was.
 
Felt the definition of his abs through his
tee.
 
She inhaled the scent of his shirt
and relaxed.
 
He still smelled the same,
a mixture of fabric softener, cologne, and natural Jacob.

They
stopped at a signal.
 
He patted her hand.
 
“Not much further.”

“Okay,”
she yelled over the noise of London.

He
finally parked by an apartment building.
 
She handed him the helmet.
 
He
offered his hand to help her off the bike.
 
There’d been a lot of hand touching today, something he’d never done
before.
 
Didn’t know
what to think of it.
 

This
wasn’t a new building, but it looked maintained.
 
She followed him inside.
 
He held the door for her.
 
“The lift is out of order, so we’ll have to
take the stairs.”

“How many floors?”

“Two.”

“Yippee.”
 
She walked a lot back home, but not up hills
or stairs.
 
Nerds didn’t do exercise.

“Wuss.”

“Bite
me.”

He
tugged on a strand of her hair.
 
“Don’t
tempt me.”

Following
him upstairs meant she had a nice view of his butt the whole way.
 
“Doing this every day must be a good
workout.”

“Keeps
me from gettin’ fat,” he quipped.

“Oh,
yeah, I’m sure you’re in real danger of that.”

He
sighed, laying the drama on thick.
 
“No
one understands…”

She eye-rolled.
 
“You
are so full of it!”

He
stopped in front of 3B and fished his keys out of his pocket.
 
“Home sweet home.”

The
interior was a true bachelor pad.
 
One futon, one secondhand chair, and two game systems on the coffee
table in front of a large TV.
 
“Live
here by yourself?”

“Sometimes.”
 
He
dropped the helmets on the floor.

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah.
Sometimes a mate needs to crash. Sometimes I’m short
on rent.”
 

“Ah.
What about now?”

“Alone.”
 
He shrugged.
 
“Technically.”

“Meaning
you get visitors a lot?”

He
grinned.
 
“I’m a popular bloke, love. So,
bed’s
through there,
loo’s
over there, and everything else you can see.”

“It’s…nice.”
 
Translation: dusty, cluttered, and slightly
smelly.

He’d
walked into the tiny kitchen to grab a beverage.
 
“You’re welcome to crash after the gig.”

“You’re
not gonna take me back?”

He
laughed.
 
“It’ll be late, Beth.”

“Oh.”
 
If she knew, she’d at least grabbed a
toothbrush.
 
“You need to warn a girl
ahead of time
.”

“Spontaneity
really isn’t in you, is it?”

“If
you’re going to make fun of me, I can take a cab back to your mother’s.”

“I
was
teasing
.
Since
when are you so defensive around me?”

Oh, since my hormones reminded me my crush
never went away and he was even more gorgeous than I remembered
.
 
“Since when are you so
nosy?”

He
held up his hands, backing off.
 
“Maybe
some rest would be a good idea, after all.”

Feeling
guilty, she turned away from him and walked to the window.
 
“Sorry I snapped at you.”

“Already forgotten.
Take my bed, hmm? We can catch up over
dinner.”

She
shook her head and sat on his futon.
 
“I’m fine.”

He
sat down next to her, legs sprawled.
 
“Wanna play somethin’, then?”

She
set her bag on the floor.
 
“A video game?”

“Or cards.
Whatever.”

“Tell
me about your life here.”
 
She folded her
legs under her.

“Well,
the music degree is harder than I thought it would be. I can play and sing, but
they want a lot more than that.
A bloody lot.
The
memorization fries my brain,
then
I kill my voice at
another gig.”
 
He shrugged a
shoulder.
 
“But that’s why I don’t care
if it takes me five years to graduate.”

“If
you hit the big time before then, will you still finish your degree?”

He
tilted his head to one side, thinking.
 
“I don’t know. It’d depend on how things are in that moment, I think.
How much I had left, and how good the offer was.”
 
He tapped her knee.
 
“What about you? What are your big plans?”

“Well,
I’ve declared as an art major, but my focus is photography, of course. I might
have jumped the gun at accepting, though… I’m going to have to take some online
courses at the same time in order to learn what I should.”

“Why’d
you take UCLA if it’s not all you’re looking for?”

She
sighed.
 
“Because it’s close to home…and
maybe because Dad was so proud I got in. He’s a big fan of the basketball
team.”

“Bethie…”

“I
know
,
I should’ve cut the apron strings. He doesn’t
get that I don’t need to be protected anymore.”
 
She ran a hand through her hair.
 
“To him, I’m still a little girl. You know how I’m really here? He
refused to let me go alone even though I offered to pay part of it, so I went
to your mom and convinced her to bring me along. By the time he got back from
his trip, tickets were bought and Mom had approved me going, so all he could do
was grumble. He’ll probably be a bear when I get home.”

“Hell
bent on
seein
’ me, huh?”

“You’re
only an excuse. I’m really here for the fish ‘n’ chips,” she deadpanned.

“Why
you—”
 

He
attacked her with tickling fingers.
 
His
fingertips dug into her ribs and she almost jerked off the couch.
 
She tried to scramble backward from his
hands, but the metal armrest cut off her escape.
 
He went for the soft flesh of her
middle.
 
She shrieked and tried to roll
off the futon.

He
wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled me back.
 
“Not gettin’ away that easy. Now, admit you
missed me and couldn’t live without my presence.”

“
Puh
-lease.
”

He
pressed his fingers into the most vulnerable spot of her abs.
 
“Say it,” he sang.
 
And tickled her.

“Gah!
No more.”

“Say
‘Jacob Lindsey’s the best reason to come to London’.”

“I’m
not—
Aaaah
! Okay, okay.”
 
She glanced back at him.
 
“Please stop.”

He
grinned in triumph.
 
“Give me what I
want.”

Anything
, her hormones said.
 
This close to him, her back against his chest
and the room hot from their war, she remembered how much she’d wanted him to
kiss her for four years.
 
Her face was
close enough to his to do it, but she froze, knowing she couldn’t take it back
if she made the move.
 
They sat staring
at each other for who knew how long.

He
swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally looked away.
 
“What time is it?”

She
looked at her watch.
 
“Almost
one.”

He
let go.
 
“Hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

“Okay.”
 
He stood and walked into the kitchen.
 
“I’ve got soda, energy drinks, beer, and water.”

“Gee,
how health conscious of you,” she teased.
 
Her pulse still raced.

“S’posed to eat crap in college.
I miss that place…the
burger joint by the high school?”

“Tommy’s.”

“
Right
.”
 
He rubbed his belly.
 
“Heart attack wrapped in paper.”

“I’m
so
gonna out-live you.”
  

He
tossed her a bottle of water.
 
“Maybe.
Maybe not.”

“Huh?”

“Most
accidents happen in the home, Miss Homebody.”
 
Back to the banter.

“Whatever.”

He
grabbed a bag of “crisps” and turned on the TV with the remote left on the
counter.
 

She’d
never seen British television before.
 
“What are you doing?”

“Checking the football score.”

“Summer’s not football season, Jacob.”

“Not
American football
!”
 
He shuddered.
 
So melodramatic.

“Oh, soccer.”

He
muttered something that sounded like “bloody Yanks”.
 

She
got up to use his bathroom.
 

Gross!
 
Did he ever clean in here?
 
She rinsed her hands—there wasn’t any soap
visible—and shook them dry.
 
Seriously,
would it kill him to use some Comet or bleach in here once in a while?
 
The shower had a ring of soap scum at the
bottom, the toilet was no longer porcelain white, and the sink had shaving
cream residue in the basin.
 
The only
remotely clean spot was the mirror.

“You
are a pig,” she said when she walked out.

“
Pig
?”

“That
bathroom is totally gross! They don’t clean themselves, you know.”

He
shrugged.
 
“I’ll get to it.”

Beth
folded her arms over her chest and gave him The Look.
 
“In the next millennium?
You’re about to have old stuff growing new stuff.”

He
turned back to the sports channel.
 
“It’s
not
that
bad.”

“
Men
.”
 
She felt better, getting a second wind now
that breakfast had digested some.
 
“Come
on. Play tour guide.”

“Thought
you were tired?”

“Was.
Now I’m not. Take me somewhere!”

“I
have a gig tonight.”

“So?
That’s hours from now. Please?”
 
She rocked
on her heels, wanting to get
outside
.

He
didn’t move from the futon.
 
“Need my energy
for tonight, Beth. Not going to run you all over town.”

She
stood in front of the TV, blocking his view.
 
“Doesn’t have to be ‘all over town’.
Just one place.
Come on… I came all this way. Can’t you
indulge me a little bit?”
 
She could
pout, too.
 

When
he sighed and started shaking his head, she knew she’d won.
 
He turned off the television, rose to his
feet, and grabbed his keys.

“Forgetting
the helmets?”

“We’re
not
takin
’ the bike.”

“Oh.”
 
Okay
.
 
An afternoon stroll was alright, she guessed.
 

People
didn’t often think of it, but each city had its own smell.
 
Downtown L.A. at night, for instance, smelled like
urine.
 
In London, she immediately felt she was someplace
really old.
 
The history was tangible,
like the memories long-past were still floating down the streets.
 
And oh-my-goodness English people talked
fast!
 
Someone passed her talking on
their cell phone and the blur of sound made her brain say “what?”

Jacob
had this odd smile on his face.

“What?”
she asked.
 
“Am I gawking?”

“Little
bit.”

They
kept bumping shoulders—just a brush that said
hi, I’m still here.
 
“Sorry.
I don’t mean to scream ‘tourist’. You have an interesting neighborhood.
Good-interesting, not
interesting-is-code-for-I’m-afraid-for-my-purse.”

He
smiled.
 
“I get it, love.”

“Okay.”

They
walked a while, in no rush.
 
She smelled
fried food and felt her mouth water.
 
He
grabbed her hand to pull her into a shop.

“Fish
‘n’ chips?”

“The
best on this side of London,”
he said.