BEAUTIFUL BROKEN MESS (Broken, Series #2) by Kimberly Lauren
- One -
AUDREY - Four years ago…
To say it simply, my life is a broken mess. In the back of my mind, I often wonder if people are given a set number of obstacles they have to overcome before they die. If that were the case, then hopefully I’ve already hit my limit for this lifetime. Because no matter what I do or how I try to live my life, everything seems to come out wrong.
This catastrophe of a life was inevitable though. My parents began the cycle when they decided that getting high and not using condoms would be a stellar idea. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my mom made sure that it stayed a mess when she decided to resume her life of boozing and drugging while pregnant. Luckily, the only side effect resulting from her recklessness was that I was born with a low birth-weight. Her worst decision of all was deciding to keep me when she very well could have given me to a deserving couple, one who would have actually wanted me.
I often find myself daydreaming of what my life would be like now if she had just given me up, like her labor and delivery nurse quietly suggested. Would I live in an actual house? Would I have normal parents who go to normal nine-to-five jobs? Would I have siblings? Or my favorite one of all, would I have a real bed?
Considering the fact that my mom was such a horrifying parent a nurse actually advised her to look into adoption within the first twenty-four hours of delivery, I’m still baffled that they even let her leave with me. She loves to tell me that story too, only she revises it every once in a while by saying I was actually the horrible one, and that it was no wonder the nurse suggested it. But apparently, the enticement of a welfare check convinced my parents to keep me, regardless of the fact that neither of them cares anything about me.
When I was four, I realized that food costs money and I couldn’t wait for the day when I could leave the house and earn some of my own. From time to time I caught a glimpse of what money looked like, but it was usually in a back alley exchange or over the counter of a liquor store. When I was ten, I started mowing lawns and then at fourteen, people in our trailer park allowed me to babysit their children. I knew by then that if I earned my own money I could use it to buy food, which was few and far between at our house. I loved going to school because it was usually the only time I got a real meal.
I’ll never forget the first time I stepped into a grocery store with a pocket full of my own cash. I didn’t realize how the exchange worked, or how much food actually cost. I ended up walking out with only a bag of apples. I loved apples, and the only time I had ever had them was when they served them on occasion with lunch at school.
When the grocery checker informed me I couldn’t afford the apples and the loaf of bread, my decision was easy. I wanted the apples. I was so proud of myself for actually being able to buy food to take home to my parents. I just knew they would smile and maybe… just maybe they would finally praise me.
As I proudly walked through our old, creaky front door, my dad took one look at the bag and asked, “What the hell are those?” At that moment, I should have noticed the slurring of his words or the wobble in his walk, but I didn’t.
So I smiled and replied enthusiastically, “They’re apples. I bought them all by myself.” An intense rage shot across his face and my smile plummeted. Maybe he had misunderstood me.
“You spent money on some damn fruit? How the f*ck could you be such an idiot? We don’t need any shitty fruit,” he screamed at me, while ripping the bag from my shaking hands.
Every once in awhile, I think back on that day and every time, it plays like a slow-motion horror movie in my head. I remember watching the bag come toward my face and thinking when the first apple hit that it wasn’t any worse than his fist felt. Then the force of four more apples followed behind, pounding against my flesh, and it was worse -- much, much worse. Whack, Whack, Whack. Whack.
I also remember that I didn’t scream or make a sound. I learned early on that screaming only made the punishment last longer and he was going to do this regardless. I slumped down into my protective position on the floor and tucked in my legs, while trying as best as I could to cover my face. When the fruit wasn’t doing anything besides becoming a sopping wet mess against my body, he then switched over to his fists. I recall him screaming about wasting money and a few other unpleasant terms he created for me.
I lay on the ground and waited for the punishment to end, while fist after fist and a few feet continued their assault. I knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d worn himself out. Wham… my face, Wham… broken rib, Wham… my stomach.
Mercifully, once the pain reached an all-time high, the blackness engulfed me. The blackness was safe. Sometimes I wished I could just stay there.
When I finally came to, Mrs. Thomas, the next-door neighbor, was hovering over me, trying to get the swelling down by placing bags of frozen vegetables across various parts of my body. I didn’t even want to know the extent of my injuries. The bruises took months to heal. I wasn’t allowed outside of the trailer and my mom disenrolled me from school, informing them that I would be home-schooled. Yeah right. Unless watching her down an entire forty constituted homeschooling, I wasn’t learning much.
Mrs. Thomas helped me heal everyday, but she didn’t want the authorities coming around any more than my parents did. So she never called for help. She had her own secrets to hide, only one of them being her drug-abusing husband. By the time the next school year commenced, I had to repeat the sixth grade. I also never ate an apple again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Shortly after my seventeenth birthday, I was hired to work in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant on the nicer side of town. For me, working in a restaurant was a dream. The hours were long and required me to stay late into the night. Perfect. The less time I had to spend at home, the better. Another bonus was that Chef Moretti, or Nico as he let me call him, favored me among the other employees. I think it’s probably because I worked the hardest, never wanting to go home.
Some nights when the restaurant was slow, he taught me how to cook a few of the dishes we served. I was constantly fantasizing about one day living on my own and being able to prepare authentic meals for myself at home. Food from plastic bags or cardboard boxes wouldn’t be allowed. I was excited at the idea of being able to bring home fresh fruits and vegetables. Except apples, never apples.
Nico doesn’t know how abusive my parents actually are, but I think he understands to an extent why I have to hide from them. When I started working there, I asked him if it would be possible to keep half of my earnings saved on the side. My reason being that my dad requires I bring home a paystub so he always knows how much I make, and how much he can take from me. I’m allowed to buy groceries and a bus pass, but any remaining balance goes directly into his hands.
Thankfully, one look into my pleading eyes and Nico agreed. I don’t know much about the tax system, but enough to know that what he’s doing could possibly get him into trouble. I’ve lost track of how much Nico has put away for me, but I know my balance is slowly building. One day, it’ll help me escape this town.
One Friday after cashing my paycheck, I head to the grocery store and buy all of the items my dad has pre-approved. My list mostly consists of ramen, peanut butter, and spaghetti. I also purchase the one item that will hopefully keep my dad’s hands off of me--a bottle of whiskey. While sometimes this backfires, typically it keeps him in a better mood. It’s a risky line I walk every day.
I recently made friends with a grocery checker named Oliver, who sells me the alcohol even though I’m underage by a few years. His smile creeps me out a little bit, but if a smile is all that he’s offering, I can return that. I always ask for paper instead of plastic. It’s harder to swing a paper bag around as a weapon, like you can with a plastic bag. I’m a fast learner.
After making my purchases, I walk down the sidewalk toward the bus stop, gazing inside the shop windows as I go by. I love admiring all of the items I can never afford to have, like books, new clothes, or even jewelry. Just as I pass by my favorite bookstore, a large figure carrying a giant box steps out of the door and slams right into me before I can get out of the way. I watch in horror as my bag of groceries crashes to the ground. My stomach plummets when I hear the worst sound of all…the whiskey bottle shattering inside the bag.
I suck in an enormous lungful of air and fall to my knees. “No, no, no…” I whisper through a sob. Tears well up in my eyes at the idea of going home empty-handed.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” I hear the stranger say, as he sits his box on the ground and kneels down in front of me. “Let me help you clean this up.”
“No, no, no…” I repeat, lost in the idea of how my father will react to this. I’m still not looking up at whoever just signed my death warrant, but I watch his strong hands as he scoops the shattered glass and the soaking wet boxes back into the torn paper bag. The spilt milk mixed with the smell of whiskey is nauseating.
“Damn, I think all of this is ruined. I’m really sorry,” he continues, with a hopeless apology that won’t keep the bruises at bay.
All I can do is stare at my shaking hands. Maybe I can go ask Nico for money from my side account to buy more groceries. Surely he can help me. But then I remember he left this afternoon to go up north for a visit with his mother, who has fallen ill. I don’t have a phone number to reach him, and I’m sure he won’t be able to help from long-distance anyway. This is it then. I have to face the music and go home empty-handed. I’ll survive. I always survive. I only have one more year until I can get out of this town.
A warm hand reaches out and forces my chin up. “Look at me,” a stern voice commands gently.
His glacial blue eyes dominate all other thoughts at the moment. The way he looks at me, I realize he must have been trying to grab my attention for a while. I slowly come back down from my panic.
“There you are…” he says softly, sounding a bit relieved. With one hand still holding my chin up, he wipes the tears out of my eyes with his other hand. I clear my throat, but I’m still unable to speak to this stunningly attractive person. Now that my vision isn’t clouded, I can fully take him in. His entire demeanor commands his complete attention. I don’t know why, but I suddenly crave the idea of allowing someone to have that control over me, to actually trust another person. I’ve never fully trusted anyone. I’ve never been given the opportunity to fully trust anyone.
Even though he’s crouching down in front of me, I can tell this guy has long, muscular legs. I’m five foot ten, so it’s hard to come across people who are much taller than I am. I like the idea of being able to look up into his eyes. He’s also fit. If the polo shirt he’s wearing with the logo of the local hotshot football team didn’t give it away, his large shoulders and wide chest would have.
Looking beyond his intense blue eyes, I notice the warm, dark brown color of his hair, and I’m surprised to see sporadic natural highlights spread throughout. With his free hand, he reaches up and threads his fingers through the strands and lets them fall haphazardly back down. The way the pieces fall perfectly in place makes it seem as if even his hair knows how to submit to his strong will. I begin to wonder how my body would feel under those fingers. Would it submit as easily as his hair?
He clears his throat, which pulls my attention back from the unexpectedly sensual thoughts I’m having. “You realize these are just groceries, right?” He slyly grins at me in question. I nod my head, but still can’t reply. “I’ll replace them for you. It’s the least I can do for knocking you over.”
As he helps me up to a standing position, I think about rejecting his offer. It’s not like he knew I was going to be walking in front of the door at that exact moment. Just because a measly bag of groceries brings me to my knees in a pathetic crying pile, that doesn’t mean he should have to buy anything for me. On the other hand, I’m not in any position to decline help. It’s either I save my pride and deal with my dad’s wrath or let this stranger, whom I’ll never see again, assist me. I choose the stranger.
“Thank you.” I meekly smile, while wiping the last of the moisture from my eyes.
When we finally extend to our full heights, I am excited to see that he’s at least a good four or five inches taller than me. Seeing the full package standing in front of me doesn’t hurt either… he’s gorgeous. I watch as he reaches down to grab the box he almost mauled me with and sets it into the back of a giant, four-door, black pickup truck. I don’t know much about cars since I ride the bus, but this truck has to be expensive. There aren’t any scratches on the paint and not a speck of rust on the rims.
Unlike me, he actually belongs on this side of town. I just work here. Our city is divided into two vastly different economic statuses, and I’ve never understood why they never just separated into two different cities. This side of town has the golden-child high school that receives all the funding for their state championship-winning football team and award-winning academic decathlon team. I think my school had ten girls get pregnant last year instead of twelve, which was the running total from the previous year. I call that progress.
The beautiful stranger comes over and scoops up my pitiful, ruined bag of groceries and begins to rifle through it before tossing it into a nearby trashcan.
“My brother is actually at the store right now, picking up groceries for my mom. Mind if I just text him a list of everything you had? That way you don’t have to go shopping again, and we can just go grab some coffee instead.” He nods his head toward the chic little café across the street.
“Uh… sure. I can tell you what I needed,” I reply.
“No worries, I remember everything you had.” He shrugs his shoulders while quickly typing out a list on his expensive-looking, touchscreen phone.
I nervously bounce on my feet, feeling uncomfortable with this favor. “Can you ask him to put my groceries in a paper bag, please?”
“Of course, they always put them in bags,” he says, only half paying attention to me.
“No, it needs to be a paper bag, not plastic,” I state adamantly, causing him to look up from his phone.
“Okay… no plastic, understood.” He eyes me curiously, but there is no way I’ll be explaining that one. As he slides his phone into his back pocket, he looks down into my eyes. “I’m Jace, by the way. Sorry about my earlier introduction,” he says apologetically.
When he wraps his arm around my shoulders, I smile inwardly at his forwardness. “I’m Audrey… Audrey Mills,” I reply. As we walk toward the café, I tease, “Are we just getting coffee so you can get out of shopping?”
He dramatically brings his free hand up to his chest and gasps, “Whatever do you mean? Me? A guy? Get out of shopping? Never!” He’s the one teasing me now.
A laugh bubbles up out of my throat. “Alright, alright, I get it. Boys don’t like shopping.”
When we approach the door, he reaches out and opens it for me. I’ve never been around someone who acts like a gentleman before. I didn’t know guys like this really existed. When I smile up at him on my way through the door, I silently thank him.
“If you want to go shopping, babe, I’ll take you right now. I figured I just met this beautiful girl and I’d rather get to know her instead of shopping at a lame grocery store,” he responds with a sly grin on his face.
I point my finger at his chest. “You’re a charmer, you know that? I should watch myself around you.” He winks at me and continues to pull us along toward the counter. This is another thing on my long list of ‘Never Have I Evers.’ I’ve never been in a café. There doesn’t seem to be a point in going inside when you can’t afford anything. I understand that a café sells coffee, but the menu board seems to have a thousand different drinks that I have never even heard of. I’m seeing words like ‘Frappuccino,’ ‘Macchiato,’ and ‘Americano,’ all of which are lost on me. I was already starting to doubt whether or not I fit in here, but this just confirms it. Quickly, I scan the board so I can just order something, anything.
As I stand, lost and confused, I feel his warmth as he comes up behind me. “Let me pick your drink. I see an open leather chair over there you should go and snag,” he says, as he points over to the crowded seating area.
“Am I that easy to read?”
“I’ve got you covered. Now go grab that seat,” he says with a wink, avoiding my question. It’s embarrassing that he can tell how out of place I am here, but I delight in the idea of him taking control of the situation. I can let him do that.
I sidestep through the crowded café. A study group takes up the only section of tables and chairs. The rest of the room is filled with leather chairs for lounging. I assume that all of these people attend the local community college because they have advanced textbooks and laptops out. Not to mention, the high schools aren’t back in session yet.
When I get to the leather seat Jace had pointed out for me, I realize it’s the only seat available. I stare down at it, wondering if I should sit in it or let him have it. I mean, he’s already paying for my mystery drink and groceries.
“You realize that’s just a chair, right?” he whispers into my ear from behind, mimicking his earlier comment about my groceries.
“You should have it,” I gesture toward it. “I’m alright standing.”
“Sit,” he softly commands and I obey, slightly bemused by this hold he has on me.
He pulls the wooden coffee table across the tile floor to the front of my chair and sits on it, facing me. I’m surprised the small table can handle his large frame, but it seems to be holding up well.
I’m keenly aware of how close he’s sitting, and even though this place is packed with chatting people, I feel like it’s only him and me. His knees brush the outside of mine and he squeezes my legs together between his. When I look up, I see he’s watching me as I observe our legs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not new to this flirting game, but with him it’s actually exciting.
We sit there staring at one another and shockingly, it isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It’s as if we’re having a silent conversation, getting to know one another in this intimate, inaudible way. His eyes seem as if they’re peering into mine, trying to discover all of my secrets that are hidden in the darkest of depths. I hope he never has to know those secrets, although I would love to be comfortable enough with someone to finally divulge all of my thoughts. It sounds quite freeing, to be honest.
Jace smiles perceptively, and when the waitress brings our drinks out, his eyes finally leave my face. He reaches up to her tray and brings a mug and a water bottle down in between us. When he hands me the mug, I stare at the caramel-colored drink that has a frothy-like white top. It still feels a bit too warm to drink, so I place it on the table next to Jace to allow it to cool down. I look up when I can practically feel him laughing at me.
“It’s a chai tea latte.”
“I know,” I lie to him.
“No you don’t.” He laughs again. “You’re a coffee house virgin, aren’t you?” When I don’t respond, he gives me a sweet smile. Not one that is meant to ridicule, but just one that shows he’s trying to figure me out. “That’s cool, I’m glad I could be your first.”
My eyes bug out at his innuendo and I finally begin to laugh at myself. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I mean, who has never been to a coffee house?”
“Not at all, I’m finding you refreshing.”
His comment makes me blush, so I decide to change the subject. “How old are you?” I’m assuming he’s in high school because of the shirt he’s wearing, but it could just be from a past year. I watch as he takes a long pull from his water bottle and for some reason, the up and down movement of his throat as he swallows continuously mesmerizes me. Would it be weird to put my lips on his neck right now?
“Eighteen,” he replies. “You?”
I nod my head. “Just turned eighteen last week.”
“No shit? So did I. What day?”
“The fourteenth.”
He points to himself and says, “The thirteenth, beat you by a day!” His smile is infectious. “So what’s a gorgeous, eighteen year-old girl like you doing buying whiskey?” he asks, smirking.
I make a disgusted face. “I don’t drink, it’s for my dad.” I resolve to leave it at that. Telling him that I buy my dad liquor in the hopes that he won’t beat the crap out of me is not something I plan on sharing.
“You don’t drink? Seems like every high school kid around here does. I like that. I don’t touch the stuff either,” he says with a smile.
I’m assuming that we don’t indulge for vastly different reasons. I don’t drink because I’ve seen what it can do to a person and I’ve smelled the horror on my dad’s breath one too many times.
Fortunately, he doesn’t dig any deeper, instead asking, “So, did you just pay Oliver off like everyone else?”
“Pay him off? No, he doesn’t ask me to pay him,” I reply, confused.
If I had to pay the guy any more than what I already spend there, I wouldn’t be able to afford anything besides the whiskey. Without thinking, I reach into my purse, grab my cherry-vanilla chapstick, and spin the bottom. As I slide the balm against my lips, Jace’s eyes follow the trail.
“That jackass makes everybody pay him…” I watch him pause as I rub my lips together and he begins to study me. “Well… I guess you would be an exception.” His legs squeeze mine a little tighter.
Together we sit and talk for what seems like hours. We talk about future college plans and how boring high school is. We even have a debate over whether reading an actual book is better than reading from a device. I was rooting for the actual paper and spine book, but he trumped me by pulling out his smart phone and showing me how he had over two hundred books right in his back pocket.
Who would have thought a guy in high school would actually enjoy talking about books? I almost reach to grab his face in that moment, so I grab my drink instead and take the first sip.
Oh, that’s nice. I’ve never tasted anything like this before. It’s definitely not that black sludge my dad brews every morning. Although it’s long since cooled to a tepid temperature, the flavor is sweet and slightly spicy at the same time. Now I wish Jace hadn’t introduced this to me, because I’ll be lusting after this drink every time I pass this place in the future.
“This is fantastic!” I think I’m a little too excited over a drink, so I try to tone down the enthusiasm. “Great choice,” I say and smile up at him.
He watches me intently again. “Must be a chick thing. My mom always gets me to pick that up for her when I’m down here. I’m sure she’ll be proud to know it helped me pick up a girl.”
“Oh, is that what this is… a pick-up?” I ask, while trying to tamper down my obnoxious smile.
“Damn straight.” He leans down so our faces are only inches apart, and I can feel his breath lightly teasing my lips. In a low but firm whisper, he says, “I like you, Audrey. I plan to take you out and kiss you goodnight over and over until you agree to let me do it all again the next night.”
Floor. Puddle. Me. Holy hell.
I stay there, not daring to move an inch, in hopes that he’ll lean in and put me out of my misery, because his lips are entirely too tempting to be that close. I silently implore him to show me just one of those kisses he’s talking about. As if on cue, a loud buzzing begins to vibrate between us and I jump back, startled.
“Easy, gorgeous…” he says, his voice sounding a bit breathless. Maybe I’m not the only one affected here. “It’s just my phone.” He pulls it out and I watch as his fingers slide and tap continuously on the screen. “My brother put your groceries in the truck. He had to go into the bookstore.”
“I should really get going anyway. My parents are expecting me, and I don’t want the milk to get warm…” I trail off because I can feel the start of my nervous rambling, and let’s be honest, my parents are never expecting me.
JACE -
I nod my head and stand. Will I ever see her again? Does she want to see me again? Hell, I already sound like a whimpering, lovesick puppy. You would wreck this girl, Jace. She just seems so fragile, yet deep in her eyes I can see fierceness, and damn if I don’t want to unleash that.
When I grab her hand and lace my fingers through hers, she stands without hesitation and allows me to lead the way. I can’t even remember the last time I held hands with a girl. She seems to like when I take control though. I walk her back out to my truck, quicker than I mean to. I need to drag out this time I have with her.
“Do you need a ride home?” Please say ‘yes.’ I click the key fob and open the back passenger door, and then she reaches in to grab her paper sack. I want to ask her so many questions, like why paper? Is she an environmentalist? Does she not want to clog our landfills with more plastic? Because she seemed so adamant about it, almost as if she was frightened, and that’s the only conclusion I can come to right now.
“No, I’m just around the corner.”
I have to keep touching her, and I am not a touchy-feely guy. Who the hell is this girl? She has to be a witch. That has to be it. She must have cast a spell on me, because it’s the only way I can vouch for my actions around her. Christ, stop touching the poor girl! I can’t help myself, so I place my hands on her shoulders to keep her from leaving just yet. Shoulders are a safe-zone, right? I’m pretty sure I can still touch her here and it isn’t inappropriate.
“Can I have your number?” I ask, trying to recall the last time I actually had to ask a girl. Probably never, and even if I did, I sure as hell never called them. But she’s leaving and I’m panicking.
“No, but can I have yours?” she counters and smiles confidently up at me. F*ck, I’ll bet that smile gets her anything she wants.
I’m puzzled as to why she won’t give up her number, but I realize I have to go slow with this one. ‘Approach with Caution’ should be taped across her chest. Wait… screw that. Nobody better be touching that chest, except for me.
She continues smiling at me while I give her a half-cocked, questioning look as if to say, ‘What are you up to?’ I decide to let her have her way, reaching behind her into the truck to grab my notebook that has a pen tucked inside the metal spiral. She watches as I write my seven digits onto the lined paper and then tear it from the binding.
After I fold it into a small square, I think of another way I can touch her. Pathetic, I know. She’s still glancing at my hands holding the paper when I reach down and slowly slide it into her front jeans pocket, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric. Damn, so close yet so far away. When my hand slips from the confines of the pocket, she releases a trapped breath. I’m willing to bet she liked that about as much as I did.
I instantly cup her face firmly in between my hands, because I need her full attention. “You don’t get to ditch me. I want to see you again.” I hope that the sincerity of my statement is getting through to those beautiful brown eyes.
“I won’t,” she whispers back.
I know that I must have a cocky grin on my face, but damn it’s nice to know how much I seem to affect her. “Well, I guess I’ll be the pitiful guy at home, waiting for a girl to call him,” I say, winking. “Bye, Audrey.”
She needs to walk away now before I kiss her. If I do, I’ll kiss her so hard her lips will bruise. She needs to walk away, but instead, she’s just staring at me with that hopeful look on her face. Then all at once, the look dies and she says, “Bye, Jace.”
Was she hoping that I would kiss her too? Before she can get out of arm’s reach, I pull her back in front of me. I need to know that I’ll see her again. “You know that party Cole West throws every year before school starts?” I ask, throwing out the first thing I can think of.
She doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I start to think about what I asked. It doesn’t seem like a hard question. Everyone knows about Cole’s parties. People in town gossip about them for weeks afterward. Every August around this time, his parents fly up to DC for business purposes and that giant house of his just begs for a party. I can picture Audrey now, wearing a bikini and all wet from swimming. Shit, she needs to answer me so I can divert my attention away from thoughts of tiny bikinis, water, and her body. She nods her head.
“You’ll be there tonight, right?”
“Uh… if you want me to,” she replies.
“I want you… there.” I mostly just want her, but I also want her at that party with me.
“Okay, I’ll come. Where is it?”
This girl is hard to comprehend. Cole’s parties never change their venue. I cock my eyebrow up at her and ask, “You’ve never been?” When she shakes her head, I’m floored. Cole is everybody’s friend, he knows no stranger. How has he missed this one? And thank God he has, because she might have been the one exception to the bro-code of not hooking up with your buddies’ girls, current or past. “It’s at Cole’s house, which is the biggest one on Lincoln Court. You can’t miss it.” It’s a monstrosity. Way too big for three people.
For a fraction of a second, I see her face fall, but she quickly picks it back up and says, “Wow, okay… I’ll be there tonight.”
I can tell she’s uncomfortable about something and that she’s only agreeing to go because I want her to. Problem is, this girl even looks cute when she’s uncomfortable. I can’t hold out any longer. I reach out and situate her bag of groceries on the passenger seat again. Then before she even realizes what’s happening, I grab her arms and pin her against the side of the truck.
I can feel her heart beating wildly against my chest, so I lean down and press my lips against hers. Damn, she’s sweet. I shouldn’t have started this, because how the hell can I stop kissing a mouth that tastes like honey? With a little bit of persuasion, I coax her lips open and instantly my tongue is slowly dancing with hers. I still have her arms in a tight grasp against the truck, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s letting me control this.
My right hand slides away from her arm and over her waist, and I have to hold on tightly, afraid this enchantress will disappear. When my other hand leaves her arm, she instantly laces her fingers through my hair, which pulls a moan from my mouth. Our kiss deepens, both of us needing more. Then, damn it all… she lifts one of her legs and wraps it around my waist. I can’t stop myself from shoving her back further into the truck and grabbing the warm skin on her thigh to hold it in place. She fits me perfectly.
After a couple of heated beats, I realize that I’m about to rip this girl’s clothes off in the middle of the parking lot. My mom might be the coolest parent ever, but she would kill me if she heard about this from the old lady gossip in this town. So reluctantly, I break the kiss. Her eyes remain closed and she’s trying to catch her breath, as am I. Who knew making out could be so damn hot?
“Holy hell…” I breathe.
“Wow…” she says in the same moment.
“You’ll be there tonight.” It’s not a question anymore.
She nods her head and I hand her back the groceries. Without another word, I watch as she walks away carrying her paper bag, even though everything within me is saying she shouldn’t go. Call it the ‘White Knight Syndrome,’ but there’s just something about a beautiful damsel in distress, and I sure as hell want to be the one to save her.