Kiss Me

Well, except for me. Because I know what he’s trying to do.



All of a sudden, I feel disappointed.



Really disappointed.



“I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to dance with me? Or did you have a different kind of dancing in mind? If you want to have sex with me, at least be honest with me and tell me that’s all you want.”



He looks around, panic on his face. “That’s not all I want. Shit. It does kinda look like that. Crap. I’m sorry. Let me start over.”



He holds out his arms. “All this is not supposed to be seduction. This is supposed to be me creating a dance. I wanted to dance all twenty-nine dances with you alone. I even have a twenty-nine song playlist on my phone if you’re ready.” He grins. “They’re kinda all slow songs. I want to dance slow with you.”



And then I feel amazing again.



Like all is right in the world.



He turns on the music, pulls me into his arms, and sways with me. By song four, we’re barely moving, and my body is molded tightly up against his.



It’s amazing to me how perfectly we seem to fit together. Like I belong to him. Like I’m a part of him.



We stare at each other, not saying a word. One of his hands runs lazily up my arm, then across my shoulder, then across my jawline, under my chin. And then, finally, across the back of my neck, pulling me toward his lips.



We kiss. Soft, slow, gentle. I seriously have never felt anything so intense. How can soft, butterflies-flitting-through-the-air kisses have so much power over me?



I was right. For sure, his powers are in his mouth. And he is so using them against me.



I’m but a mere mortal. I can’t resist.



“Want some champagne?” he murmurs.



I don’t want to stop dancing, really don’t want him to let go of me.



“I really don’t want to move from this spot,” I say dreamily.



Told you. I can’t lie to him.



He gives me another soft kiss. “You don’t have to move.”



He does though, pops the bottle, pours it into plastic drinking glasses, and hands me one.



He holds his glass up in the classic I’m-about-to-make-a-toast position, so I don’t take a drink yet.



“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’ Cheers.”



He clinks my glass and takes a drink.



But I don’t. I’m frozen.



Like oh-shit-what-just-happened-here frozen.



“What’s wrong? Do you not like champagne?”



“You, uh, you just quoted Keats,” I stammer, shell-shocked.



“You know that? It’s a great quote, right? I read it today and it reminded me of you. Of our kisses. How they make me feel.”



I put my hand up to my face, to the bridge of my nose, run it across my eyebrow. My hand shakes.



I look down at my champagne. And drain the fricking glass. “Can I have some more, please?”



“Uh, sure.” He pours me some more.



I drain that glass too. I’ve never done champagne shooters before but, hey, there’s a first time for everything, right?



“More?”



“Okay,” he says, taking away my glass. “What’s going on? Why are you downing champagne like it’s a Jaeger bomb?”



He pulls me back into his warm arms as my mind is replaying all my nights with Brooklyn. How he told me that fate would decide who I am supposed to be with. How fate would let me know.



So what the fuck is fate trying to tell me?



I know this is some kind of sign. But what sign?!



Is it a he-quoted-you-Keats-and-you’re-destined-to-be-together sign?



Or is it a you-should-be-with-the-boy-who-has-always-quoted-you-Keats sign?



Before I can think any more thoughts, Aiden starts kissing me.



Really freaking kissing me.



Still no tongue, but I don’t care. These are the kind of kisses I have been dreaming about.



Oh my. Whatever the people who make the gods did, they did this one up right. But then, of course, he’s using his mouth on me.



What else would I expect?



Other than a few more, earth-stood-still, brain-shattering, meteor-showering moments.



His hands are in my hair now.



I can’t think.



Then he stops kissing me and slides off his suit jacket.



His arms are so hotly jacked. I run my hands across his muscles and think, no, I never felt this way with Brooklyn. Or Cush, for that matter.



“Tell me the quote again,” I beg.



“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’”



“It’s beautiful,” I say breathlessly.



“You’re beautiful. I haven’t told you that yet tonight, have I? How I didn’t even recognize you at first. I just saw this amazing body in a sinful dress and thought, Wow, who is that? Then I looked closer and realized it was you. Your hair is,” he laughs, “well, it’s looking a little messed up right now, but it looks even sexier. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”



“Not really. So, last night. I thought, I mean, I really thought you didn’t like me.”



“Why would you think that?”



“Because we were completely alone in a room and all you did was kiss me. We didn’t even make out!”



“Is that why you cried?”



“No. I cried cuz Dawson kissed me, and it was gross. And my lips felt amazing from kissing you, and then they felt gross and it made me sad.”



“I fixed that, though. I kissed you again.”



“Yeah, you did. My lips are feeling a little gross right now.”



Oh, that sounded pathetic.



“Oh really?” he mutters, and kisses me more.



But no matter how much he kisses me, no matter how long he kisses me, it’s like he gave me a love potion, and I can’t get enough.



I will never be able to kiss him enough.



Song 18.



“I’m tired of dancing.” he says, and pulls me down on the futon with him. I look over and see the keg of beer is still in his room.



“You always keep a keg in your room?”



“We have to move it all around, so we don’t get caught. But, yeah, usually. Our dorm advisor thinks I’m a good boy, so he never checks my room. Do you want a beer?”



“Actually, yeah. That sounds good.”



He gets up and pours us each a beer.



“So why did your face go completely white when I said that quote?”



I try to think of a good story, but I can’t come up with anything, so I tell him the truth.



“The guy I dated, hung out with—my best friend calls me Keats. He also loves old literature and quoted me Keats a lot. We had some pretty intense times.”



“Are you in love with him?”



“I love him. We’ve been best friends for a couple years, but I don’t know if it’s, like, true love. Like, if you even believe in that. Like, soul mates and stuff.”



“I believe in that stuff. I told you that. I also told you that’s why I didn’t stay with the girls I dated for very long. I kept thinking it could be something, but then I just couldn’t make it be something, so we broke up. I’ve never done anything like this for a girl before. I’ve never quoted her poetry. You’re different, Boots.”



There we go, the You Are Different line. Player. Player. Player.



I giggle. “In other words, I’m weird?”



“Pretty much,” he laughs, and then pulls me back in for more kissing.



I’m in heaven. Dreamland. Fantasyland. The Underworld. Mt. . . . uh, what is the mount where the Greek gods hung out? I can't remember, but I think I’m there too.



We kiss for days.



At least, it feels like it.



But even though we’ve moved on to almost making out from just plain amazing kisses, he’s still being very, very good. His hands are in my hair, down my back a little, but that’s it.



While his mouth is skillful, his hands and tongue are behaving prudishly.



And all the guys told me Aiden has great hands.



Maybe he’s saving them for soccer?



All of a sudden, the iPod blasts out a loud, booming rap song.



“Shit, I think my twenty-nine songs are over.” He runs over and turns down the music and looks at the time. “So, it’s almost curfew. I should probably walk you home.”



We walk hand in hand. “You having a party again tonight?”



“Probably. But I’m tired. I might just crash in someone else’s room.”



“Well, they’ll like the lights.”



“Yeah, I’m thinking the lights might have to stay.”



“Tonight was amazing, really.”



“So, the intense times you had with that guy. Does that mean you slept with him?”



“Um, well, yeah. He was kinda my boyfriend. My first love, really.”



“So he’s special?”



“Yeah, I guess.”



He frowns and says, “Well, here we are.”



We’re standing outside my dorm.



He pats me on the back of my shoulder and says, “See ya later, Boots.”



What’s up with that?



A pat on the back?



I’m not sure what happened between kissing in his room and saying goodbye, but I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me.



Seriously, a pat on the back?



I get in my dorm and check my phone.



I have a text from Riley. One from Tyrese with the party info. One from Dallas asking if I’ll take him to the party.



I planned to lie in bed tonight and dream about Aiden’s kisses, but now I’m too confused by his actions. I need a mellow boy, one who will chill with me and not make my head hurt. So I text my mellow boy back.



Me: I did get invited to the party, but I’d rather chill. Meet me at the Cave at 1?



Dallas: Will do. And will bring party favors ;)



Me: I was hoping you would :) Just don’t bring Riley, okay?



Dallas: Why? You two were getting down on the dance floor. Although after you left he was getting down with pretty much everyone. Some chick named Audrey, in particular.



Me: I just want to relax. Who did you dance with?



Dallas: Just a bunch of people. No one special. So what happened with Aiden?



Me: We danced, kissed, sorta made out a little but, then, it all went to shit :( I’ll tell you about it when I see you.



It wasn’t awful.



1am



I get to the cave. I figured other people would be here, but I find Dawson sitting on a stump alone, looking sad. He looks up at me and, I swear, I might have seen tears in his eyes.



I feel bad for him because I know it too. Love sucks.



“Tough day, huh?” I say quietly.



He runs his hand back through his hair and then rubs his hands down his face. “Yeah. Shitty day. Are there a bunch of people coming here tonight?”



“I don’t think so. Only me and Dallas that I know of.”



“I can’t handle being friends with her.”



“With Whitney?”



“Yeah. I was watching her dance with Jake tonight. I wanted to alternately kill him, kill her, and kill myself.”



“Peyton asked me about our kiss.”



“She was gathering information for Whitney. You know that, right?”



“Yeah, I know. And it’s okay. I told her you were really drunk and that I stopped it. I mean everyone saw that I stopped it. Although I didn’t tell her how horrible it was. Maybe I should have?”



“You’re not exactly cheering me up here.”



“I let her know it meant nothing. That’s all that really matters. And Peyton told me what happened with you and Whitney. I’m sorry. It would suck to get dumped like that, but at least it had nothing to do with you.”



“What do you mean it had nothing to do with me?”



“It was a status thing. Peyton got a college boyfriend. Whitney wanted one too.”



“That’s why she dumped me?”



“Yes.”



“We dated for almost three years. We were in love.”



Could he really not know how manipulative she is? If he doesn’t, then she’s an even better Alpha than I thought. I should be more careful.



“You were like last year’s Prada bag. She wanted the new bag.”



“I don’t get it.”



Hmmm, let’s use terms he can understand. “Let’s put it this way. You were a Porsche Carrera. Whitney loved driving you. You looked sexy. But then one day, Peyton pulls up in a Ferrari. The Ferrari was better, so even though she loved you, she had to trade you in on a Bugatti Veyron.



“Oh. What a bitch.” He is quiet for a minute. “The breakup hurt.”



“I can tell it hurt. I’m sorry. I also know how you feel. I had someone do the same thing to me recently.”



“You got traded in too?”



“Different reason, but same hurt.”



He looks at me with the most adorably sweet eyes.



“I’m sorry you got hurt too. What you said about my brother earlier, that really true?”



I laugh. “No. I was teasing. Besides, I’ve know him for three freaking days.”



“Yeah, but you’re hurt, and this is all new and exciting. Trust me, it will get old and boring pretty fast.”



“So have you tried to get her back?”



“Ye-ah. All the time. She won’t listen to me. Says we can be friends. I can’t be her friend.”



“So you’ve apologized?”



“Apologized for what? You said I didn’t do anything.”



“Sure you did. You suddenly weren’t good enough. It pissed her off and forced her hand. She hated that she had to break up with you. You were the golden couple. Then, to top it off, when she dumped you, you started hooking up with everyone, anyone. Now she couldn’t get back with you even if she wanted to. Unless . . .”