Kiss Me

Annie says, “So, we know Katie’s only done it with her boyfriend—wait, have you and Tyrese?”



“No. I can’t with him. I mean, he’s hot and he’s probably good at it, but we’d definitely have to be going out first. And then, I’d still wait some.”



Annie turns to me, “And you’ve been with two guys, and I haven’t done it yet. Maggie, have you ever had a random hookup?”



Maggie says, “Well, yeah.”



“And?!”



“I can’t decide if I’d rather deal with a stupid boyfriend and all the love bullshit, or the shame I feel after I hookup.”



“That’s pretty deep,” I tell her. “Okay guys, I’m calling bedtime.”



I go to sleep, and my dreams are haunted by satyrs, evil love gods, and a centaur with Vincent’s face. Then I’m in a meadow, dressed in a white gown with golden trim. I walk out to the middle of the clearing and meet the man I’m getting ready to marry. He’s blurry, though, because I’m wearing a veil, but I can see from his outline he is very handsome, and in my heart I know that I love him. We have the wedding, say I do, and he kisses me through the veil.



Then he takes me out of the clearing to his dorm room for our honeymoon, and I’m sitting on a chair straddling him, like I was Dawson earlier today.



We are kissing and kissing through the veil, and he’s taking off my wedding gown. Then I’m naked except for my veil, and we’re consummating our marriage.



Finally, he lifts the veil in the middle of the consummation to kiss me. And there, staring back at me, is not the Dawson that I expect to see.



It’s Aiden, wearing a gold laurel wreath around his head.



I wake up sort of throbbing down there.



And wondering, what the hell?



Thursday, September 8th



It’s tutoring with food.



French.



When I walk into French, my teacher, Miss Praline, pulls me aside. “Aiden said you won’t be tutoring him. I’d like you to reconsider that.”



“Why?”



“He really struggles in French and barely passed last year, so he’s already behind. He needs this to get into an Ivy League school, which is his goal. I’ll give you extra credit.”



“I don’t need extra credit. I’m very good at French.”



“Please?”



“No. He’s not nice to me.”



“Look, I have an idea. What if I got you on the Social Committee? It’s teacher nominated and you seem to be quite social. I think you would do well on it.”



I think about that for a minute. Dawson thought about getting on it, and I know it’s considered a big deal. Way bigger than Student Council, and it would mean I could help plan dances and events like I wanted to do at my old school. Hmmmm. “Fine. I’ll do it.”



I take my seat, turn around, and try not to look directly at Aiden’s mouth. “So, I heard you really suck at French.”



He frowns a little, and it looks so odd on his mouth.



Shit.



I was not supposed to be looking at his mouth. I seriously need to find a pair of magic Spanx and become a virgin again.



“Yeah, I do,” he says.



“Well, I got asked really nicely—and possibly bribed—by the teacher into helping you, so I guess I am.”



“Really, Boots? That’s awesome.” His frown turns into a smile that almost blinds me, causes me to forget where I am, and makes me want to grab his hand and run off to the land of milk and honey, or, you know, somewhere magical.



“When can we start? Can we do it right after football practice, or would you rather wait until after dinner?”



I was gonna say, Let’s do it after practice and get it over with, but I’ll be sweaty from soccer and dance, and I can’t tutor a god and be sweaty. Actually, I can and I will. If I’m all sweaty and gross, I won’t even think silly romantic things about him. “After dance sounds good most days, but depending on what’s going on, we might have to be a bit flexible on the times.”



He looks dreamily at me. “I’ll be there, whenever you need me.”



“What?! No. You need me.”



He frowns again and puts his hand over his eyes. “I meant I’ll be there, you know, whenever.”



“Okay, so you have a game tonight, and we have a lot due tomorrow. Do you have it done yet?”



“No. I haven’t really started.”



“Well, I have dance until five. What time do you have to be in the locker room?”



“Not until six. And dance is over at 4:30. Why don’t I order some pizza, you can come to my room, and we’ll study and eat? Be there at 4:40.”



“That sounds like a date. And if I come straight from dance, I’ll be all gross.”



“It’s tutoring with food, and I doubt you’re ever gross.”



I know I like Dawson, but I can’t help it. What he just said made me melt a little.



Okay. Fine.



A lot.



Right now, I’m like the lipstick you left in your car in hundred-degree weather.



Then he adds, “Plus if you’re gross, I won’t want to kiss you, so maybe that’s for the best.”



OMG!



He wants to kiss me!



Focus, Keatyn. Focus, girl. You can do it. Speak. Say something coherent. “Yeah, that hasn’t gone so well for us in the past,” I say.



Well, shit! That was coherent, but a slam! I didn’t really want to slam him. I swear, I either am in love with this boy, or I hate him.



“I’d disagree with that. I thought our kisses were amazing. It’s the other stuff that maybe hasn’t gone so well.”



I decide to shut up. Nod my head in agreement and try and look busy with my French workbook.



After class, I grab ahold of Annie. Like, I literally grab her, so she can’t get away from me and cling to her for dear life.



I say to her, “So, you going to the game with us tonight?”



She gets ready to reply, but Aiden breezes past us. “See ya tonight, Boots.”



Both of us freeze and Annie says to me out of the corner of her mouth, “Why are you seeing him tonight?”



“I decided to tutor him.”



“Lucky girl. What’s Dawson gonna think of that?”



“It’s like a job. He won’t care.”



I don’t think.



Haunt his dreams.



4:07pm



I’m pretty good at dance for some strange reason. It’s not that I’m some amazing dancer, but I have a really good memory, and I catch on quick. So when I learn a routine, I learn it quick and don’t mess up much or forget to do it in the right order.



But today, well, I’m just plain distracted.



And who could blame me?



I’m about to throw myself into the lion’s den!



So, there is one thing on my mind: that in exactly thirty-two and a half minutes I am going to be alone in a room with Aiden.



Teaching him the language of love.



And mostly likely thinking I would like to teach him with my lips.



So, yes, I get yelled at by Peyton, Little Miss Perfect Captain. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s nice to me when Whitney isn’t around, I would seriously hate her. I do sort of hate her for one reason. She and Aiden share the same mouth. Like, when she smiles, I can almost see his face. So when she’s nice and smiles at me, I pretty much comply with what she tells me.



I’m dancing, dancing, drinking water, breathing occasionally, dancing, thinking now there are nineteen and three quarters minutes left of practice.



And I need practice to start being over a little early, so I’ll have a few minutes to wash off the sweat and make myself look good. I’m also trying to decide what I should wear to his room. Do I go with the I-just-got-done-with-dance-and-I-look-hot-wearing-my-teeny-spandex-shorts-and-cut-off-red-and-yellow-tie-dyed-shirt-and-I-didn’t-put-forth-any-effort-to-impress-you outfit? Do I put my uniform back on? Or do I wear what I’m going to wear to the game later?



Then I think about Dawson—cute, adorable Dawson—who just might be one of the sweetest and hottest boys ever.



Maybe I should look bad on purpose, so Aiden won’t want to kiss me.



But no! I don’t want him to not want to kiss me.



I want my kisses to haunt his dreams.



I want him to beg for me.



Seriously, the next time he tries to kiss me, I’m going to turn the other way.



I want him down on his knees begging, Please, Boots, please!



Oh, shit. I just kicked at totally the wrong time.



Seven minutes left.



Not that I’m counting.



Step up my game. Do the rest of the routine to perfection. Turn, kick, shimmy, turn right, spin, kick, kick, pompoms up, and kneel.



Let’s get the heck out of here.



But no.



We have to stop and discuss tomorrow night’s festivities in more detail. We’re having a dance sleepover after the game. Everyone is all giddy and excited about this. Whatever.



I need to get out of here!



We already went over this!



I carefully sneak my way out of the dance room and into the changing room. I give myself a quick sink shower, touch up my makeup, throw on deodorant, some perfume and figure, what the hell, let’s give him the legs, leave on my booty shorts, throw on a clean T-shirt, grab my bag, and get over there.



Okay, fine. I did brush my teeth too. Not because I’m thinking I might kiss him. That thought never crossed my mind.



I’m seriously weighed down with my school bag and my dance duffle. As I come out of the field house, there’s Dawson waiting for me. He’s apparently done with football. Of course, all he’s carrying is a little teeny bag.



He’s like, “Where are you going in such a hurry? I thought we could hang before the game.”



“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Miss Praline asked me to tutor someone that’s not doing well in French. I didn’t want to, but she bribed me kinda. Actually, it’s pretty exciting. Don’t tell anyone, but she’s getting me on the Social Committee.”



He hugs me. My duffle drops to the ground. “That’s awesome, Keatie. Maybe I should see if I can get on it too.”



“That would be cool. Okay, so give me a kiss, and then I gotta go. I’ll just meet you up in the stands.”



“You wearing those shorts?”



“Should I?”



“To the game? Hell, no. All the guys would stare, and I’d end up in a fight.” He pulls me in tight and puts his hands directly on the back of my shorts. “But tonight after the game, in my room, definitely.”



“You’re a bad boy.”



“I hope I’m good,” he teases.



“Okay, see you later.”



I bound off. He is following me, of course, because both boys live in the same dorm.



He runs up behind me, grabs my bags, and says, “Why do you need so much stuff?”



“I didn’t have time to stop at my dorm after classes, and I didn’t know I was going to be tutoring him until today.” I open the door to his dorm.



“Him?”



“Yes, him. Don’t be jealous. I want to hurry up and get this over with so I can snuggle up with you in the stands and watch the game.”



We walk by his room. He quickly pulls me inside and pins me against his door.



I laugh at him, but he’s being serious.



He presses his body tightly into mine and nibbles on my ear. “Maybe we should go to the game late. Just come to my room when you’re done.”



“I was just in your room last night.”



“Yeah, I know. It was amazing. But I’m not expecting that. I mean, unless you force me. Which would be pretty hot.”



“I have to go. Meet me at the game.”



He kisses my neck, trying to get me to change my mind. “I really have to go!”



Creeping on me.



4:45pm



Finally get Dawson to stop kissing me and then race upstairs to Aiden’s room. I’m late. When I knock on his door, the wonderful smell of pizza is wafting out.



He opens the door. “You’re late, Boots.” Blinding smile.



“Kept the lights up, I see.”



“Yeah, everyone liked them.”



“So, let’s get started,” I say.



“Yeah, let’s.” He grabs a piece of gooey pizza, holds it up to my mouth, and tries to feed me. I was going to resist, but he gives me that grin, and I just open my mouth.



“Aren’t you going to eat too?”



“Naw. I can’t eat stuff like that before a game or I’d puke. I got it for you.”



“And how did you know pepperoni and black olives is one of my favorites?”



And so unhealthy.



“It’s on your Facebook profile.”



“Damn, you’ve been creeping on me.”



“Maybe just a little.”



“You didn’t write on my wall or like any of my statuses.”



“Yeah, I know. You were mad at me.”



“I’m still mad at you, but here we are.”



“I’m so glad I suck at French.”



“Okay, so let’s go over these workbook pages; we don’t have much time.”



We get three of the four pages done before he has to leave.



“I better get going. Coach gets pissed if we’re late,” he says.



“Good luck tonight.”



I lean down to pick up my bags. He grabs one off his floor and puts it on my shoulder. He’s way too close for comfort. When he gets that close to me I have a hard time swallowing and breathing.



I feel his warm breath on my neck. “So what’s the deal with you and Dawson?”



Even though the bag is firmly on my shoulder, he stays close to me.