Page 3 of One Little Kiss
He was kidding. Kinda.
My mom, let it be known for the record, refers to herself as a trophy wife. Jokingly, but only kinda. Other people call her the same…and they’re not joking.
Fifteen years younger than my dad, she was one of those models at car shows before he came along and married her. She’d only ever wanted to marry rich and that was precisely what she did.
It was around junior high when I finally made sense of the whispers from grown-ups. That was when I realized that as far as my friends’ parents were concerned, my dad had tossed aside his first wife for “a younger model.” And I’d heard more than a few hints that they may have gotten together before he was divorced.
So, yeah. I love my mom, but she’s not exactly my role model.
And yet, the moment I filled out and started to resemble her, the day random strangers started praising my looks…it was like a given that I must be just like her. That my end goal in life must be to find a rich guy who’ll take care of me.
The sound of shrieking laughter coming from the ground floor has me coming back to reality, only to discover that in my angsty stewing, I’ve totally let my character die on the screen. Again.
“Crap,” I mutter.
“Language, young lady,” Elijah says automatically. And he sounds so much like my uptight father that I snort out a laugh in response.
I glance over to see that he’s texting with someone. Probably that blonde chick with some excuse about why he’s taking so long.
Much as I love that he’s here beside me—and honestly, the feel of his warm, hard bicep next to my head is weirdly soothing after the day I’ve had—I’m keenly aware that there’s a party full of people waiting for Elijah, including a cute blonde, and I’m being greedy.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” I say after I pass the next level with no help from him.
He shrugs and my head moves with the gesture. “I needed a break.”
It’s a lie and we both know it. Elijah never needs a break from parties. I’m the one who needs down time after too much peopling, but he’s energized by a crowd.
“Go,” I say. “I’m fine. And Mara will give me a ride home later.”
Our friend, Mara, doesn’t really drink, so she ends up being everyone’s designated driver. I know she won’t mind giving me a lift too.
Elijah shifts beside me. “Last I saw she was having fun playing foosball with Ryan—”
“And by having fun you mean…”
“She was kicking his butt.”
I nod. Sounds about right. Mara and her boyfriend are notoriously competitive with one another. Hilarious to watch, but once they get into a battle, they tend to lose track of time.
My friend Celia doesn’t drink either, but I didn’t see her or her boyfriend Heath in the short time I’d hung out at the party, so odds are they bailed to have a night to themselves. Which means, I’m stuck waiting for Mara to win.
And shewillwin. That girl won’t stop playing until she does.
“I can give you a ride home,” Elijah says. “If you’re ready to go back.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
He nods and shifts slightly. I lift my head from where it’s resting against his shoulder so he can wrap his arm around me, and then I settle back down with my head on his chest, his heart beating in my ear as I continue the game without missing a beat.
If that blonde chick came in now and saw us cuddling, she’d probably storm out in tears. And the thing is, I wouldn’t blame her. If this were any other guy, I’d think he was making a move. And if I were any other girl, Elijahwouldbe making a move.
But this is us. This is what we do.
Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other for so long, or because we’re so similar in so many ways, but we’ve never had that awkwardness between us. He doesn’t make things weird. Unlike just about every other male I know…
Believe it or not, once upon a time I was a tomboy. No one who knows me now seems to remember that, but back in grade school, I only ever hung out with the boys in our class…Elijah included. Back then we all hung out.
But something happened in middle school.
