Stolen Kisses Read online

  “Daisy.” I press my hands to the table in an effort to keep calm. “You told me to wear lip gloss and a smile.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

  I wince. “Mostly.”

  “So spill!” Daisy hops in her seat as Baya comes over to take our orders. Daisy orders something fun and fruity, and I get the same minus the fun. I wait until Baya takes off before even uttering his name.

  “He’s tall, dark, and handsome in the traditional sense, but he’s got this dry sense of humor.”

  A guttural moan comes from her. “Love that dry sense of humor to damn death.”

  “Yes, well, apparently, so do I. He’s nice, too. Is that weird? I don’t know why, but I thought all guys were jerks—the cute ones at least.”

  “That’s because you’ve been hanging with those frat brats.”

  “Shh!” I practically jump out of my chair in an effort to muzzle her. Daisy is the only person outside of my holy huddle who knows about Kappa G. Sororities haven’t exactly served my family well. In fact, my parents blame Aubree’s psychosis on her time spent on The Row, even though she killed that poor girl long before she ever entered WB. “I see your point. But in the defense of frat brats everywhere, he just so happens to be in the fraternity right across the street.”

  Her eyes enlarge like eggs just as Baya comes by with our drinks and fries. I wait until she sashays back to the bar before continuing.

  Daisy clucks her tongue before sipping from her drink. “I’m telling you, your brother is lucky that you have to wait an entire year to move into that place. But by then, you and what’s his name will be old news.”

  My stomach sinks when she says it. “What do you mean old news?” The thought of Grant moving on, trading in me, his little sister, for an actual girlfriend makes me want to vomit nonstop. Of course, I could picture it. WB is loaded with tall, beautiful girls in every shape and size who would gladly wrap their arms around him night and day.

  “You know”—she wrinkles her nose while dipping her fries into a pool of ketchup—“a done deal. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to hide your boyfriend from your brother forever.”

  “Oh, that.” A laugh bubbles from my throat. I do love the sound of that ultra bright and cheery scenario. “Actually, he sort of is my brother.” I fill her in on the fact Grant is officially my Greek big bro.

  “Wow.” Her brows dance like fuzzy worms. “So, like—you did get any clear signals—you know, in the carnal way?”

  I hold my breath a moment. “Not really.” My shoulders sag right along with my affect. “He said he just broke up with his long-time girlfriend. I guess dating isn’t too big on his priority list at the moment. I think he sort of likes me in the little sister category, if you know what I mean.” I smash a fistful of fries into my pie hole at the thought.

  “You poor thing.” She brings a napkin to my mouth and carefully dabs my lips. “A sure-fire way to get a boy to notice you is for you to notice someone else.”

  “Really?” I glance up at the ceiling while trying to digest the thought. “That’s so seventh grade.”

  “It might be seventh grade, but it worked then, and it works now.” She pulls me in by the chin, inspecting my face with an eyebrow arched high into her forehead. “I see we’ve got some work to do. But trust me, once I’m through with you, you’ll have that frat brat eating right out of the palm of your pretty little hand.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Oh, honey, there isn’t a darn thing I can do. We’re going to pay a visit to my good friend, Caila Jace.”

  I’m pretty sure Owen would die a slow and painful death if he knew Daisy was gifting me the deluxe tour of the inside of a strip club—never mind the fact he once spent a short stretch of his life shedding his own clothing in a dive just like this one.

  “You can stop grinning at that glittery pole,” Daisy chastises while speeding me to the back of the establishment. “This is a one-time deal. Once Caila gives you a lesson in glam, you’ll be set to go. That boy won’t know what hit him. Trust me, basketball will be the last thing he’ll want to play with his newfound little sister.”

  A glamazonian blonde pulls herself off a white vinyl sofa. “Wow, that sounds wrong in just about every way.” She extends her svelte long hand my way. “Caila Clayton—Jace for show.” She gives a little wink. Wow is about the only word I can think of to describe her. She’s tall, in skyscraper heels, decked out like a Halloween costumed version of Barbie with a face that almost looks inhuman. She’s unbelievably beautiful, and just so happens to be wearing an unbelievable amount of makeup. There’s no way I could afford that much cosmetics just to maintain the upkeep on a daily basis.

  Daisy sits me in the red velvet chair in front of a barrage of suitcases, each sliced open to reveal a rainbow’s worth of cream and powder palettes.

  Caila brushes back my hair with her purple nails painted in a chevron pattern and inspects my features. I can feel her soft breath on my face, and it’s weird. It’s unnatural to have someone sizing you up, nodding to themselves, mumbling something about the need for an airbrush.

  “You’re a natural.” Caila smirks as if this were a first-class offense, and if the cosmetic industry had anything to say about it, I’m sure it would be. “Daisy, take her phone and record this so she can replicate it on her own.” Caila meticulously scrubs, tones, and moisturizes me before applying layer after layer of products. Who knew the pore filler went before the concealer but not before foundation, which goes on before the highlighter? And the gluing of the lashes! Gah! Glue on my eyelids! GLUE! Then the painstaking, and quite painful plucking of my brows, the artificial filling in of my brows, followed by the contouring of my cheeks, jaw, forehead, and nose, and finally, the meticulous lining, priming, and painting of my lips.

  Dear God. I sigh with relief once Caila steps away with that open-mouthed smile, those wide Bambi eyes with the finger-length lashes.

  “You ready to see the transformation?” Caila clasps her hands when she says it like a well-pleased Dr. Frankenstein.

  Something about the word transformation doesn’t sit well with me, and suddenly I’m afraid to have a look for myself.

  Caila and Daisy spin me around for the slow reveal, and I gasp at the sight.

  “First”—I clear my throat—“there should never be a day when a person looks in the mirror, and they think they spot the girl who sits next to them in American history—you should see yourself in the mirror each and every time. And second, I need to get to Hollow Brook fast before my face turns back into a pumpkin.” My face glows like a paper lantern, my eyes would make any feline proud, and my lips, well, they are made for stamping out a perfect kiss print on any basketball player’s jersey. “My new big brother really won’t know what hit him.” Or apparently who, but that’s not a detail I have time for at the moment.

  I have Daisy drop me off at The Row, right in front of Kappa G, but considering she let me out on the wrong side of the street, I’m only steps away from the big reveal.

  Beta Kappa Phi is lethargic inside compared to its Friday night fright, with its wall-to-wall body action, its quaking floors and mattresses. I’m about to ask a couple of guys lounging on the sofa for directions to Grant’s room when I bump into a quasi-familiar body.

  I hold out a finger at the tall, preppy-looking dude. “Rash?”

  “Rush.” He inches back a notch. “Hello, and who are you?” His arm swoops around my waist without the proper permission, so I carefully remove it. “You can equate me with an STD any day.” He gives a little wink.

  “Sorry, Rush. Is Grant around? It’s me, Ava, his little sister. We met at the mixer.”

  “Are you sure that’s you?” His head bobs from side to side as if my face were trapped somewhere beneath all the layers of the spell Caila cast on me.

  “Yes, it’s me.” I swat him over the arm. “Now, take me to your leader. I’ve got a face to show off before the spiders that are glued to my
eyes crawl off on their own.”

  “Nice.” He makes a face. Rush is handsome by anyone’s standards, but as good-looking as he might be, there’s nothing in me that’s remotely interested. It’s clear my hormones lean heavily toward his frat brother. Just the thought of seeing Grant makes my stomach explode with the flutter of a thousand butterfly wings. “Grant’s at the gym.” He nods to the door. “I’m on my way. I’ll give you a ride if you want.”

  Of course, I want, so Rush drives us in his truck back to Whitney Briggs, and we trek across campus making small talk about Lucky, his new little sister and her panache for biting any guy who even thinks of getting near her. She’s pretty dead set on rowing through life on her own. I don’t tell Rush this, but Lucky seems to think she’ll be happy with a handful of “fuck buddies” to get her through the sexual side of life—her words not mine. I’m not sure what her hang up with men is. Her brother, Jet, is a really decent guy. If he knew of her promiscuous plan, he would have an aneurysm.

  “The gym is his favorite place to hang out. If you ever lose him, you’ll know where to find him.”

  By him, I’m assuming he means Grant. And if that’s so, I’m in luck because the gym is just a hop and a skip from my dorm compared to the long walk to The Row.

  To my surprise, there is a full-blown fitness center right here in the middle of campus. The WB gym is warm inside, sticky and sweaty, a primordial soup of sweat and tangible grunts. In other words, it’s pretty disgusting with a capital everything. There are just as many girls draped around the equipment as there are guys. The girls all look immaculate in their matching Lululemon garb, their pretty-in-pink headbands, and long, sleek ponytails. The guys are each red-faced and sweaty, their shirts soaked so thoroughly you could wring them out and fill a bucket if you wanted. And, yet, there’s not a person on Earth who’d want to.

  Rush touches his hand to my lower back, and my skin becomes hypersensitive in that area. Honestly, Grant holding my hand the other night nearly left me orgasmic, but with Rush it’s nothing more than a realization that he’s close to me. A few of the Lulu girls glance my way and size me up with this basketball god by my side. I can tell they’re interested in Rush by the way they elongate themselves as we walk on by, the way they crane their necks to get a better look at his tall, beefy eminence. Rush is a fine specimen all on his own. There’s definitely a shallow side of me that gets an ego boost just by hanging out with a good-looking guy like Rush—not that I have much experience in this arena, but at the moment I’m beaming with pride while the rest of the girls turn green with envy.

  And that’s when I spot him. There he is among the sweaty, red-faced, soaking wet shirt elite, but for some reason, when Grant is involved, sweaty is suddenly interchangeable with sexy.

  “And here he is.” Rush stops at a huge piece of equipment armed with pulleys and straps, and, honestly, it looks as if this entire contraption belongs in a red room where people flog you and drip hot candlewax onto your naked flesh. “Are you missing a little sister?”

  Grant stands slowly, his eyes dragging from one end of my face to the other as if he were crossing continents. His eyes latch on to mine and widen as if a wall of fire were coming right at him. His Adam’s apple rises and falls, but that searing gaze of his seals over mine, and for a minute our bond is unbreakable.

  “Who is this, and where can I get her number?” He gives a half-hearted attempt at a grin.

  “I’ll g-g-gladly give you my number.” God, I’m so stupid. It’s obvious he was being sarcastic. And the stuttering? Cut my tongue off, please.

  Rush drops a kiss to my cheek, and my entire body paralyzes with embarrassment. I’m not sure why I’m petrified of public displays of affection—not to mention public displays of affection by someone other than Grant—a part of me equates it with having a bodily function right here in the open.

  That conversation with Daisy comes back to me—seventh grade, a sure-fire way to get a boy to notice you is for you to notice someone else.

  I glance up at Rush with his ruddy complexion, those laughing eyes. Should I kiss him back? Maybe we should embrace? Instead of utilizing either of those semi-sane options, my fingers clasp on to his chest and engage in a bizarre clawing ritual.

  What the hell am I doing and why? My face heats ten times hotter than I ever thought possible. Damn Daisy and her disastrous advice. Doesn’t she know my brain can’t function on all cylinders around this boy?

  Rush ticks his head back, unsure of what to make of my catlike gesture, and kisses my hand before pulling me into a quick hug. “I’ll be in the next room with the big boys if you need a real man.” He kicks Grant’s foot out from under him. “Wait, this is your big brother. I guess I don’t have to worry about losing you to this baboon. Take care of my girl, would you?” He takes off, and a crowd of girls giggle in his direction, but as soon as Rush leaves the vicinity, they’re right back to drooling over this boy right here, my rather shocked unofficial, official big bro.

  His girl? Wow, this went sideways quickly—or, as Daisy would say, according to plan. She’s doing a great job if she’s trying to hook me up with Rush.

  “Um”—I swallow hard, trying to come up with a very good reason for interrupting his bicep building—“actually, I was having trouble with an essay, and I thought you might want to help.” Lame. True in effect, but still so very lame. I’ll have to get Daisy to offer up a tutorial on how to maintain my cool when in the presence of greatness. I blush deeper at the thought. Obviously, I hardly know Grant, but my damn hormones insist on reducing me to a drooling pile of lip gloss.

  Grant steps in until his chest is just a breath from mine, and I’m forced to look straight up at that cocky grin of his.

  “Who are you, and what did you do with my little sister?”

  My lips contort into all sorts of odd shapes before the words decide to come. “Apparently, I’m your little sister’s alter ego—the pole dancing version.” Sort of true, considering where and from whom I received the makeover.

  “Eva?” He winces while playing along. If anything, Grant is shaping up to be a good sport.

  “More like Evil. My lashes are made of real human hair, not of my own, and they were meticulously crazy glued onto my lids.” My arms float out to my sides, allowing him to view the entire circus spectacular. “I was about to work on a paper and was subject to a hostile ambush makeover instead. Just ignore the smoke and mirrors.” I glance around at the endless number of girls, all craning their necks toward my newly minted big brother. I’m pretty sure Grant noticed them, too. It’s kind of hard not to with their neon bras and boobs knocking against their chins. Hell, I notice them, and I don’t even want to.

  Grant belts out a laugh and drapes his arm over my shoulders. “How about we head to the essay center, and I’ll look at your work. It’s two flights up if you want to head there. I need to hit the shower first, but I’ll be there in fifteen minutes if you want to run over and grab your laptop.”

  I don’t hesitate in taking him up on it. I book it all the way to Cutler Tower and back to the essay lab in less than seven minutes—Caila Jace Glam Squad be damned.

  True to his word, a freshly scrubbed Grant shows up with his dark hair still soaking wet in thick strands, the scent of soap ripe on his skin, and I die a little at how alarmingly hot he looks fresh from the shower. Every inappropriate thought possible courses through me, heated as lava, and my panties disintegrate from the heat smoldering off him.

  “You come here often?” He offers up a wink as he settles in the seat next to me.

  “Wow, I bet the girls are never tired of that pick-up line. Do you throw the cheesy wink in to seal the deal?” I pull my laptop out of my bag as we share a laugh. “So, how much do you charge anyway? Let me guess, a Benjamin will land me a perfect A? You realize this is illegal in like fifty different states.”

  “You wish. More like a Benjamin for a D—which isn’t a passing grade at the university level.” He knocks his shoulder t
o mine, and a surge of electricity burns through my right arm. Funny that I didn’t feel anything close to that when Rush all but touched my ass. I swear, it was as if his fingers were on a slow elevator ride down, the way he casually went about it. And that kiss to my cheek? A fly could have landed on my face, and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Nope, not a spark between us, and yet Grant here has merely bumped into me and caused a sexual ruckus in all the right places.

  Grant pulls my laptop between us, and his smile drips to nothing. “So, what’s up with Rush?” He frowns into the screen. “If he’s causing problems, I can have him neutered.”

  A pulse of excitement thumps through my stomach. Check one for Daisy. Grant looks morbidly pissed at his long-time best friend. Although, I’d hate to cause a rift between them.

  “Ha! Good one.” I force a laugh. “Nope, not causing problems.” Daisy swoops through my mind and offers me an imaginary high five. “Actually, I kind of don’t mind having him around.” I shrug as if it were no big deal and open up the Word document I started last night. “He’s seems pretty nice.”

  “Nice as a rattlesnake.” Grant shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on my paper as it loads. “There’s no anti-venom for his bite. I wouldn’t get too close, if you know what I mean.”

  My heart thumps wild. Daisy Pembrooke is a genius. I’ll personally bow down and polish her Manolos the next time I see her. “Are you telling me I should look out for his bite? You do realize that once you tell your little sister she can’t have something, she’s only going to want it that much more.” That statement in and of itself is true in its entirety, but in this instance, not an iota of it flies. I plan on staying far away from Rush in the sexual sense, but no use in cluing Grant in on that little tidbit. Besides, you can practically see the steam exuding from his ears. And as much as it might suck of me, I’m enjoying this on some level. To have someone of Grant’s caliber worked up in a rage over me is sort of a prize all on its own.