“I—I’m glad you’re here.” Kinley’s voice wavered. What was wrong with her? How could she be so cool during what happened Friday and lose it during this?
It was like that hadn’t been her. It was like a cooler, more suave, better Kinley had taken over, and now she was back to awkward perfectionist. Daddy’s little girl.
Who really, really wanted to kiss Tyler again.
What was wrong with her? Had being completely devoid of a boyfriend made her totally desperate?
She moved toward him a step, tentatively, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He flipped it open and drew a long, pale cigarette out with his teeth.
“You aren’t smoking that in here,” Kinley said. “I mean, are you?”
Tyler lifted a shoulder. “Does it bother you?”
It did.
“No. I just . . . I think that maybe . . . with all the trouble we’re in . . . could we be . . . We should toe the line, right?”
Tyler smiled, and the cigarette pointed up in his mouth. “No.”
“No?” Kinley took another step toward him, and felt her body heat spread from her chest to her neck. She thanked God she wasn’t born white and pale. Her blush would have been so much more obvious.
“Don’t you think we need to act like ourselves more than ever?” Tyler said around the cigarette.
Kinley reached out and plucked it from between his lips. “Why?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, reaching out and sliding a hand along her elbow, “if you start dressing in black leather and doing hard drugs, you might get some extra attention, right?”
She nodded.
“And if I become a choir boy and swear off all the things I love the most, well, that’ll make me look suspicious, right?”
A giggle rose in Kinley’s throat. “You’d make a terrible choir boy,” she said. “Can you even sing?”
“No,” he said. “But I can do this.”
What he did next had absolutely nothing to do with being a choir boy.
He slid one hand down the small of her back. And he kissed her. He kissed her hard. And pushed her back onto the bed.
She bounced once, and she felt her hair spreading out around her, and suddenly he was on top of her, kissing her with such intensity, she could barely stand it. And then her hands were on him before she realized was she was doing, rubbing over him, reaching for the gap where his shirt had ridden up. His skin was smooth and warm, and she wanted to touch more of it.
And then she pushed him away and sat up quickly, wiping her mouth on the neck of her T-shirt.
“What?” Tyler asked, squinting at her.
She was panting, heavily, sucking in breaths like she couldn’t get enough air.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Tyler
Sunday, June 14
He stared at her.
God, he wanted her.
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to jump back on top of her and rip her clothes off and make her beg for him. He wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Tyler Green liked Kinley Phillips.
Weirder shit had happened.
“Is that okay?” Kinley asked, drawing her knees up to her chest like she was trying to put a barrier between them. Tyler stepped back.
“Of course.” His voice was soft. He wanted her, but he could wait. “It’s whatever you want to do, okay? No pressure here.”
Of course, he’d just thrown her onto the bed and tackled her like a linebacker. Maybe that could be considered pressure.
But he’d needed a distraction. Something to turn his mind off. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. When his parents tried to speak to him, he couldn’t even remember how to answer.
He couldn’t think of anything but that.
He’d needed Kinley.
He sat down in her desk chair and watched her from across the room. Her hair was frizzed around her. It looked beautiful. She looked like a queen.
“You okay?” he asked.
She relaxed her legs a little. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m not used to”—she motioned between them—“this.”
Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it.”
He didn’t want to get it. He wanted something else. He wanted to be an asshole. His eyes traveled to her neckline, and then below, and then he looked away before he tackled her again.
Her room was like a museum. It was cluttered, sure, and kind of small, but it was absolutely perfect. Every trophy was perfectly spaced. The countless ribbons created a strange tapestry against the wall.
Where there wasn’t evidence of Kinley’s academic perfection, there were books. Lining every wall. Overflowing bookshelves. The extras were stacked, knee high, in perfect piles, largest to smallest, near her bed.
On her nightstand was her psych book.
He averted his eyes quickly. He couldn’t think about that. If he thought about it too much—
“Are you okay?” Kinley’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Tyler started at the question. It had pierced right through him. “Yes.”
It sounded like a lie, even to him. Kinley cocked her head, considering him.