Lucky Kisses Page 2

  He inches back as if I just slapped him, and he’d better believe that five-fingered show of affection is the next thing on my list.

  “I don’t have to insinuate anything.” His voice dips down to its lower register. “That look on your face says it for the both of us. By the end of the night, you’ll be begging for a road map to my bedroom, and if there’s a venereal disease in it, just know it wasn’t there before you showed up.”

  A dull choking sound emits from my throat. I’m so locked up in a fury I can’t catch my next breath.

  “I’m teasing.” He holds his hands up. “It doesn’t feel so good to have your purity challenged, now does it?”

  “I seriously doubt anything pure applies to you.” I’ve heard rumors—seen evidence of Lawson’s rather unlawful trysts. Honestly, I don’t want to know any of it. “Don’t hold your breath. I won’t be begging for a road map anytime soon. How did you ever get that big ego of yours through the door, anyway?” I smirk into the crowd. Good God, of all the people in this damn place and I’m stuck with the dust mite.

  He leans in and looks off in the direction of my gaze at a group of dancing sorority sisters. “Oh, I get it. You’re into the fairer sex. I can’t blame you. The fairer sex does have a lot to offer.” You can practically see the condoms swirling in his eyes.

  “Would you stop drooling?” I smack him in the gut. “It’s not a good look. And no, I’m not into the fairer sex. I’m into boys, if you and your overblown ego must know—just not you. So scat, go run headlong into the first gaggle of girls you find and see which ones stick to you like Velcro. I’m sure your mattress is already missing the depraved gymnastics that take place on that thing.”

  “Excuse me?” He looks genuinely confused. I’m sure the kind of girls he’s used to utilize far less sentences to communicate—syllables for that matter, too. “And what do you mean you’re not into me?”

  It’s clear he’s affronted by the idea, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’m not into you,” I’m quick to reassure, forcing my gaze anywhere but on those oversized emeralds he calls eyes. I spot Rush with a group of guys and nod in their direction. “And would you relax? I do like you—in a mentor kind of way.” That should quell his ego. I’d hate to be the mental road bump that keeps him from getting laid on the night of the big Black Bear mixer. Half the girls in here are ogling him, just waiting for me to shove him back out to pasture so he can plow their fields.

  “Mentor?” Lawson blocks my view with his behemoth chest, and I not-so-gently shove him out of my way.

  “Yes, mentor. I’m the female version of you, only I choose not to bum-rush the bedroom.” I smack him in the gut once again. “That’s disgusting, by the way. I’m into serial dating. You know—test driving the prospects and actually going somewhere with them rather than revving their engines and leaving them to idle.” I glance up and can’t help but note he looks more than impressed by my vehicular analogy. “Brace your ego because I plan on dating all of your fraternity brothers one at a time, with the exception of Rush and yours truly. Try not to get your boxers in a bunch, sweetheart.”

  “So, you plan on sleeping your way through Beta house?” He gives me that disbelieving look as if calling bullshit on my monogamous yet slightly salacious scheme.

  “That’s right. I’m no Ava.” I glance toward the barren exit. “There is no Grant Jones in my future. I’m a love ’em and leave ’em kind of a girl. I’m at Briggs to play hardball.”

  His chest thumps with a dry laugh. “You mean blue ball.”

  “You wish.” My blood hits a boiling point. Who the hell does Lawson Kent think he is practically calling me a tease? He’s certainly not God’s gift to the women of Whitney Briggs, like the evil spirit haunting his mirror mistakenly leads him to believe. It’s about time someone put him in his mediocre place. “I don’t blue ball.” What’s the opposite of blue ball? “I wiffle ball.” Crap. I have a feeling it’s only a pubic hair above blue balling, and honestly, I’m only vaguely familiar with the colorful phrase myself.

  “Wiffle ball?” He leans in once again as if gauging my sanity, and at this point so am I.

  “Yes, you know, have fun with the boys the way nature intended. The last thing I do with any of my dates is leave them staggering with frustration. I’m not a tease.” Of course, I’m not a tease because I’ve no more than kissed a guy—yes, guy as in singular. No tongue at that. And why am I suddenly finding the need to lie to Lawson-I’m-A-Walking-Wiffle-Ball-Kent? I couldn’t care less if he knew the truth about me.

  “You’re lying.” His shoulders relax as if my ability to bend the truth to his face actually brought some comfort to him. “You’re not a player, and you’re probably still a virgin.” He knocks back the frosty looking near beer in his hand, and I take that as my cue to leave.

  Lying. Who is he to call me a liar? I am one but still. It’s the principle here that counts.

  “Hey.” A pair of strong arms pulls me in, and I look up to find my faux big brother, Rush. He’s so tall and vexingly handsome that a handful of girls have taken to following him around. Lucky for them Rush is totally down with having a stalking posse. He refers to them as the pussy patrol—his vulgarity, not mine—and encouraging them by giving the false impression he might actually be interested in something more than a one-night stand. Rush Knight is the crowned king player of all the STD-infested players that WB has to offer. “The party’s right here. What’s got you twisted like a pretzel?”

  “Ava and Grant left.” More lies. I’m actually happy that Ava left with Grant. Ava deserves all of the happiness in the world, and he genuinely seems to bring it, so hurray for them. I scowl at the thought.

  “I know. They’re sick. Can they get a room already?”

  “That’s what I said.” I laugh for the first time all night, and as quick as my glee comes, it goes as Lawson makes his presence known once again.

  “Dude, don’t come into my room tonight.” Rush wraps his arm around my shoulder as if we’re about to get busy. “I’ve got a hot prospect just waiting to meet my mattress.” Rush slaps him over the shoulder, and Lawson’s eyes round out as he looks us over.

  “Isn’t she your little sister?”

  “What?” Rush backs away from me as if my hair just morphed into garden snakes. “Not Madden.” I think it’s sweet the way Rush insists on calling me by my last name. It makes me feel like one of the guys and assures me there’s not a chance in hell that anything sexual will ever commence between us. “No offense, kiddo. And get ready to kill that community interaction project. I’ll see what I can do about getting on your team.” He tousles my hair into a happy little bird’s nest. “I’ve got Sharon Ridgefield on the brain tonight. She’s meeting me at the door in five. She’s all in, and we’re outta here. I’ll catch you back at The Row.” He starts to take off. “Do me a favor, dude! Make sure my little sis makes it back to Cutler safe and sound!” That’s another nice brotherly thing that Rush has always done for me—walked me back to my dorm once Ava and Harper ditch me.

  I growl up at Lawson for no real reason in particular. The music pummels louder, and everything about this night suddenly claws at my very last nerve.

  A wave of his spiced cologne washes over me, something softer than what my brother wears, and yet something decidedly more exotic than what Rush sprays himself down with. Lawson leans in close, and I can’t help but note the way his T-shirt hugs his pecs as if it’s stretched to max capacity by the sheer expanse of his muscles. I’ve seen Lawson parading up and down the court in his uniform. I’m well aware of the fact he has a wall of granite underneath that cotton. He’s got a body. A good one at that. I just don’t want it in my face at the moment. That dark hair with just a hint of crimson, those leafy green eyes, it’s enough to make any girl swoon—any girl but me.

  “So, what are the plans for tonight?” He brings the rim of his bottle to his lips and smiles around it as if I were merely here for entertainment value.


  “My plans are plentiful, and they don’t involve you. So please don’t stalk me anywhere tonight. For sure I don’t need you to walk me home. Go on, shoo.” I bat him away while scanning the burgeoning crowd. “In fact, I see someone right now who I’d much rather walk me just about anywhere.” I make a beeline over to a boy I recognize from the mixers we’ve had at Beta house. He’s blond and pleasantly chunky, sporting tortoise shell rimmed glasses and a pair of classic chinos. He looks like someone I can really have a conversation with, and I plan on doing just that.

  I dive right into a cerebral exchange with my chino clad friend and it’s a nice, civilized conversation at that with nary the mention of an infectious sexually transmitted disease.

  A shadow looms behind me, and Dave looks up over his lenses as his jaw unhinges. I turn to find Lawson glaring as if he were ready and willing to morph into the Hulk.

  “Lucky Madden! Fancy meeting you here!” Lawson’s entire face lights up as if he hasn’t seen me in a very long, lying time. He lunges in and pulls me into a monstrously tight embrace, smacking a wet kiss over my cheek that holds the strong scent of beer. “You’re really looking good, girl—the steroids really helped with the facial growth. I can hardly tell you had a beard at one time. Imagine that.” He shifts his gaze to poor unassuming Dave who looks suddenly green for many hairy reasons I’m assuming. “Lucky and I used to date way back when—high school.” He nods into his own insanity. “And here we are. Can you believe it?”

  “I don’t believe it,” I grit the words through my teeth.

  Lawson shakes his head with unabashed glee. “I don’t either. What are the odds?”

  Dave mumbles out some lame—yet totally valid excuse about a weak and tiny bladder—and does a disappearing act toward the restroom.

  “Would you go away already?” I trek over to a boy walking back from the bar with a full head of dark hair, a gloating grin on his face when he sees me as if he’s already won the vaginal prize. “Well, hello.” I do my best to get in his way, and he pauses, stepping in close as if his final in Flirting 101 is on the line.

  “Hello to you, too, beautiful.” He nods up at my dark, demonic shadow. “What’s up, dude?”

  “Eli Fucking Gates!” Lawson pulls him into a quick man hug. Instinctually, I know this is my cue to run and duck for cover, but something about the way Eli lit up when he saw me lets me know he’s first boyfriend at Whitney Briggs material. And the fact he’s having a bromance with Lawson only seems like a plus. I’d be honored to drive Lawson’s ego insane while having a romance of my own with Eli. He can’t have all the cute girls and the cute guys. “This, right here, is one of my favorite people!”

  For a second I’m unsure if he’s referring to Eli or me.

  “So, Eli”—I step in front of Lawson and take up all the precious Eli Gates’ real estate for myself. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know all about my next favorite person.”

  “I transferred in last fall. I’m redshirting for Briggs.” His smile expands across his well-chiseled features. “Football.” He nods to Lawson. “I’m better than him.” He gives a quick wink.

  “Oh, I know you are.” I swoop in and thread my arm through his. “I’ll take football over basketball any day of the week—and that includes the players.” I give my own sly wink back to Lawson. My first future ex-boyfriend is tall and handsome and has a dark air of mystery about him as most transfer students do. And best of all, Lawson’s face just turned a shade of slap-cheek red, a look I can really appreciate on him.

  “Is that so?” Eli leans in. His face moves close to mine, and my heart thumps wild at the thought of him stealing a kiss right here in the open. Jet bounces through my mind. God forbid Jet witness any kind of lusty lip exchange between the two of us or limbs will go flying and the poor boy will never live to throw or kick another ball again. Yes, Jet is that insane and that strong.

  “That’s not so.” Lawson breaks our hold on one another by way of physically yanking the two of us apart. “She’s into b-ball, dude. I should know.” He pulls me in and wraps his heavy arm over my shoulder. “Lucky and I have been together since as far back as kindergarten. They used to call us lifers.” He winks down at me, and suddenly I’m not so amused by the cheesy act. And really? Kindergarten? The next thing you know he’ll have us dating in the womb.

  “We’re not lifers.” I break free from his sticky tentacles and take a few steps back. Clearly, no one bothered to teach Lawson about physical boundaries and the limbs that are prone to snap when you break them—in this case, the boundaries and the bones.

  “That’s because we had a bad breakup last summer,” he says it to Eli as if it were a fact.

  Oh my fuck. My next breath gets caught in my throat. “You are such a liar!” My voice rattles around my skull, and, as riotously as I might have shouted the words, I doubt anyone heard outside of our tiny unholy huddle because the house band is just that loud.

  “Okay. Fine.” His hands float up as if he were guilty, and he is so freaking guilty, and annoying, and obnoxious. “It was early fall, but I’m not keeping tabs.”

  I swat him over the stomach for even implying such evil, and my hand can’t help but note the wall of marble I’m up against.

  I look to Eli and shake my head. “I’m not seeing this clown. Never was. Never will.”

  “He is a clown.” Eli seems agreeable enough, and his likability index goes up a notch once he sides with me. “Why don’t we shake him?”

  “Dude, you can’t ditch me with my ex,” Lawson groans as if this were a real situation brewing here. My mind spins with all of the different scenarios as to why this boy has gone off the deep end, and Jet pops to mind.

  “Did my brother put you up to this?” I poke my finger in his hard petrified chest. “Is that why you’re acting so bizarre?”

  “I’m not the one acting, sweetie.” He looks to Eli. “She’s just messing with you to get me going.” His expression sours. “Not that she got me going that often. She’s frigid.” He practically mouths that last part, and I suck in a breath in horror. “But I’m not knocking it. Some girls just don’t like sex.”

  My jaw unhinges. My adrenaline spikes because Lawson Kent just declared war on both my vagina and me. “I am not frigid!” I’m insolent. I’m pissed is what I am. “I was simply underwhelmed with what you had to offer.” I blink a dry smile. Two can play at that deceptive coital game, and he has no clue what kind of a first-class liar he is up against.

  His eyes widen, round as quarters, green as algae.

  Ha! Take that, you narcissistic, ego-inflated, basketball-wielding playboy. I’ll outwit, out lie, outplay this deranged master of distortion each and every time. Honestly, I almost feel sorry for him. He has no idea who he’s up against. I turned lying into an art form before I was three.

  “That’s right.” I shrug over at Eli who looks as if he’d rather be anywhere but near our toxic tango. “I’m not a size matters kind of a girl, but when you’re dealing with a micropenis and inverted balls—excuse me, undescended testicles—he didn’t really leave me a lot to work with.” I swallow hard, unsure of how messy it’s going to be when Lawson’s ego explodes like a testosterone-filled piñata—although, I’m relishing the thought. I’d love nothing more than to go home tonight wearing Lawson Kent’s malfunctioning manhood on my sweater.

  “Dude, I’m not small.” Lawson shakes his head vigorously at his friend, but Eli simply lifts his hands in surrender and slowly backs away.

  “I’ll leave you two to work things out.” He gives a tiny grin my way and mouths the words call me.

  “I always knew you were a bastard!” Lawson shouts after Eli as the crowd slowly digests him.

  I don’t waste a second before getting in Lawson Kent’s face. “You, my friend, are the bastard! Scratch that. You’re not my friend! You’re not my anything! You are certainly not my ex kindergarten lifer. How could you do that to me? I had a sure thing, and you and your delusions of grandeur t
rashed what could have been the beginning of something beautiful just for the heck of it!”

  “How could you say I had a micropenis?” he shouts so loud half of my sorority sisters stop gyrating to the music to gawk at him and his potential deformity. I hope to God they are all taking notes. “I don’t, by the way!” he’s quick to contest to the crowd.

  “You most certainly do,” I scoff as I make my way to the exit. “A girl just knows these things.”

  Lawson keeps steady pace beside me, and I wait until we’re outside in the cool January air to slap his chest silly.

  “Would you stop following me!” I give him one final smack, and, honest to God, my hand stings from the effort. “I am not your ex, or your next. I know guys like you.” I jump up on my tiptoes until my teeth are within biting distance of his neck. “You like to play games once you get your ego bruised because it makes you feel powerful and in charge. Well, guess what? The only thing you’ll ever be in charge of again is Rosy Palm because I plan on spreading my own rumors around campus just like you did in that bar. By the time I’m through with you—with the fictional history of us—you’ll wish you had enrolled in the priesthood rather than Whitney Briggs. And forget trying to troll for a good time anywhere in Hollow Brook either. You’ve crossed the wrong person, buddy. I’ll make sure you never get laid in this town again if it’s the last thing I do!”

  I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall, assuring me that I’ve struck a carnal cord.

  “Blue balls,” I huff as I storm off across the street toward Whitney Briggs.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re never getting laid again either, sweetheart!” he thunders so loud my bones quake from humiliation. “And just in case you’re wondering—psycho is a good look on you! Keep it up! Oh, wait, you don’t have to! It comes naturally!”