3:AM Kisses (19 page)

I stream a series of kisses up to his ear. “Do you have protection?” There’s not one part of me that believes he’s not into this.

“Not in the vicinity.” He pumps a dry grin. “And it’s a good thing, or I’d be unstoppable.”

Perfect. This is going to put my body and mind in a sexual paralysis without any hope for release. Bryson rolls on top of me and pulls up on his elbows until his lips hover just above mine. His breath holds the scent of minty toothpaste. He’s clean and mean, and I’m pretty sure I can’t take much more of this sexual depravation. Hopefully he won’t mind too much when I start dry humping him for the hell of it.

“I like you hot and bothered.” He grins from his aerial perspective. His eyes illuminate in the dim light and glow like that of a tiger. “When the time comes”—he bears into me in earnest—“I’m going to run my mouth over every single inch of you.” His finger traces the outline of my shoulder, down through my ribs, then my hips. He moves lower still all the way down between my thighs, and a small cry escapes my throat. My girl parts are ticking like a bomb, begging and
shouting
the only way they know how for me to get him the hell down there a.s.a.p. He rubs his fingers over my panties, hard, and I buck into him. “I’m going to sink a kiss right here.”

I hadn’t thought about Bryson kissing me anywhere but my lips, and now an entire world of possibility had opened, new fears were springing to life, and, not surprisingly, my vagina is weeping with joy. Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t dive into anything tonight. It’s becoming clear that a scalding shower and the business end of a razor are going to be mandatory for this new adventure with Bryson.

“Come here.” He turns me in his arms until my hips conform to his stomach, and we’re happily spooning. “Love you, Baya. Sleep tight.”

“I love you, too, Bryson.”

But I don’t get any sleep. I just revel in the fact that I’m in Bryson Edwards’ arms—in his bed, and I want to memorize how it feels.

Soon the weekend will be over, and all I’ll have is a memory.

In the morning, well, technically the afternoon, when we finally stop resisting the idea of spending all day in bed holding one another, we shower and dress.

Annie and her friend are already out of the house, and so is his mother.

Bryson and I decide to take in a movie in the late afternoon, then in the evening check out the fall festival that’s taken over the pumpkin fields down the street from his house. There’s a Ferris wheel and rides that are guaranteed to make you regurgitate your dinner—entire rows of carnival games that are rigged to suck the change straight from your pocket.

We watch as a boy effortlessly knocks down a pyramid of milk cans and wins a four-foot tall, hot pink giraffe. He kisses its nose before handing it off to the shy girl by his side.

“
Aww
,” I coo, gripping Bryson’s shoulder. “That was so sweet! Those things are impossible to do.”

“Impossible?” His head ticks back a notch. “Just let me know right now if you want a hot pink giraffe because, if you do, it’s as good as yours.” He gives my waist a quick squeeze.

“Oh”—a quiet laugh bubbles in my chest—“you think you’re that good, do you?”

“Oh, sweetie”—Bryson’s chest thumps as he comes in close with a dark smile—“I know I am.” He’s bedroom eyeing me, and I’m almost positive we’re not talking about pink giraffes anymore.

“I double dog dare you to prove it.” Both in and out of the bedroom.

Bryson digs out a couple of bills and starts in on a pitching adventure that seems to span hours even if it is only a few minutes. I laugh my ass off as he struggles to knock the bottles down, only managing to knock one or two from the top at a time.

“I think you should aim for the bottom,” I say.

“I am.” He looks bewildered that his technique is failing and so miserably at that.

“Here let me try.” I take one of the weighted beanbags from him, and the top bottle doesn’t even budge once I hit it. “Hey, this thing is rigged. I nailed that sucker. Those things must weigh forty pounds each. It’s never going to work. It’s impossible.”

Bryson pinches his lips together. He washes those sky-born eyes over mine and gives a tiny grin.

“You make everything possible, Baya.” He hands over another dollar and steps back with his ammo locked and loaded like he’s about to throw the most important pitch at the world series. “This one’s for you, girl.” He heaves the beanbag at the poor defenseless bottles, and all three of them explode backward like a nuclear detonation.

“You did it!” I squeal.

“
You
did it.” Bryson wraps his arms around me and lands a warm kiss over my cheek. My stomach flutters. It cycles up and down as if we were on the most harrowing roller coaster, and it feels like bliss.

The man behind the counter hands me an oversized giraffe that glows the most obnoxious color known to man—bright neon pink.

“I think I’ll put this in my old dorm, right on my bed. You think Jeanie will notice?”

“What? You can’t part with her. We’re practically parents now.” He gives my ribs a slight tickle as we head back down the midway. “We’ll have to take her wherever we go and get a sitter while we’re in class.”

A soft laugh streams from me as I slip an arm around his waist.

“We should name her.” I lay my head on his shoulder, and, oddly, I can feel his body go rigid beneath me. I glance up, and his eyes are fixed straight ahead, his face bleached out pale as a paper white moon. “I said we should name her.” I jostle him by the waist in an effort to pull him out of his trance. “Hey, are you okay?”

A tall, lanky guy makes his way over with a girl in spiked heels that dig into the dirt each time she takes a step.

“Well if it isn’t Bryson fucking Edwards.” His dark eyes look serious—no smile. He offers Bryson a knuckle bump, and he’s slow to reciprocate. “How’s it going?” His gaze drifts over to me. I can feel his eyes wandering over my features, sizing me up before glancing at the overgrown animal tucked under my arm. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite pinpoint it.

“It’s going.” Bryson loosens his grip over me until his arm falls to his waist.

The boy holds out a hand in my direction. “I’m Grant.”

“Baya.” I offer a firm shake. He holds my gaze, heavy as anchors, until finally the hint of a tragic smile breaks through.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Baya.” His eyes sweep the ground a moment.

The girl at his side picks at the cotton candy in her hand, and, for the most part, ignores the entire exchange.

Grant cuts a look to Bryson that says something just beneath the surface. “It’s nice you’re doing good—moving on with your life. Not everyone gets that chance.” He shakes his head as they make their way into the crowd.

Bryson blows a breath through his cheeks as if he had been holding it the entire time.

It hits me why he looks so familiar. “That was about that girl in the picture, wasn’t it?” He had the same dark hair, same serious eyes.

“That was her brother.”

Bryson and I head to the truck.

He doesn’t say anything all the way home.

By the time we get back to the house, there’s a seam of tangerine sky melting over the horizon. I decide not to push anything on the subject of what I’m presuming is his ex-girlfriend. Something tells me she was never a notch on his wall. But a part of me wonders if he’ll ever be ready to talk about her—if deep down I really want him to.

His phone buzzes as soon as we hit the house, and he examines it with a widening grin on his face.

“You win the lottery?” I tease, landing the giraffe on a stool in the entry.

“Something like that.” His eyes lower to mine. A fire burns in them, and it’s all for me. Bryson holds up his phone victoriously. “My dad had an emergency at the Ice Bar, and my mom is graciously spending the night up there to help out with the details. Refrigeration unit is down. The place is literally melting.” His chest rumbles at the thought.

“Do you have to go?”

“And miss out on us having the house all to ourselves? Not a chance.”

My heart thumps so loud I can practically hear it reverberating off the walls. “What about Annie?” There’s a slight rise of panic brewing in me. Tonight might be the night, and, now, all I can think about is how I’m going to sneak off and shave my legs—not to mention more intricate and delicate places that he talked about landing those lips on. Those kisses he talked about last night made my skin flush and my toes curl in every good way. I can’t imagine doing that with Bryson. It scares and exhilarates me all at the same time.

Bryson leans in. His hotter-than-hell smile takes over for just a moment.

“Annie is spending the night at Kaya’s house.” He brushes his finger over the side of my cheek, and an electrical current races through me.

Holy
shit
.

“What do you think we should do?” My voice shakes as I ask the question. My mind races with all kinds of deliciously pornographic possibilities. My head feels light and fuzzy, and suddenly it feels as if I could pass out if I wanted.

Okay. Don’t panic. If he green-lights operation deflower-power I’ll simply jump in the shower. Then I’ll put on my Whitney Briggs shorts—no wait, I wore those last night. I think I have a pair of thongs, but then I might as well be naked, and, for sure, I don’t have a decent bra for him to see me in. Crap. This is never going to work. Wait, people don’t wear clothes while having sex, so all of the aforementioned fashion blunders aren’t even necessary. My body pulsates like one giant heartbeat while my girl parts pound against my brain trying to get me on board with the idea of sleeping with him tonight.

“What do you think we should do?” He tucks his head back a notch, and I can tell he’s holding back the urge to smile.

“I think I should shower.” Did I just say that out fucking loud? He’s going to think I’m gross—that I
smell
. “I mean shave.” Shit! Shit! Shit! He’s going to think I have an entire Canadian forest tucked between my legs, God only knows he’d be right. “I mean, I guess—we should change into our PJs and maybe we could eat cookies.” PJs?
Cookies?
Perfect. Let him know you have the dress code and diet of a three-year-old—that ought to turn him on. NOT. Way to show him you’re not Cole’s kid sister.

“Hmm.” His cheek cinches up one side while I boil in a vat of self-inflicted embarrassment. And, worst of all, I can tell he’s enjoying this. “That’s quite a hygienic, albeit nutritiously deficient, agenda you have mapped out.” Bryson wraps his arms around my waist and sways me as if we were dancing. “Why don’t you put on your bathing suit?” He sears a kiss over the rim of my ear. “I’ll whip us up something to eat, and we can hit the hot tub. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds more than good.” At least he’s able to think intelligently under the circumstances unlike me who’s reduced herself to a walking ball of hormones on fire. Then again, he’s done this a million times. Of course he’s going to be way more casual about the whole thing. Food then sex. He’s had a steady diet of both for the last few years. I’m just too much of a dumbass to realize the fact that’s how most people round out their day.

God, that’s going to be my new routine with Bryson!
Gah!
I just want to scream and shake people. Well, not Bryson,
other
people who don’t seem to realize how fucking fantastic the rest of my life is going to be. I should call Mom! No wait, ixnay on the calling of the mother. Although, one day, in a land far far away, she’ll be ecstatic for me.

I scoot upstairs with my thighs quivering every step of the way and jump into the shower, attacking every part of me below the neck that has hair with a razor as I try my best to banish and sculpt. After several nicks and close run-ins with a few surface veins, I dig through my bag and pull out my red two-piece that I had no idea I would even be needing, but, since, I have my entire existence in this bag, here it is. I toss a long sweater over it and head back down, barefoot.

“In here.” He calls from the dining room, and my private parts quiver as if telling me to hurry the hell up and get that boy on top of me already. Bryson has a series of candles set out and two plates brimming with what looks like ramen noodles.