Kissing The Bad Boy Page 3

  He says this with a bit of bewilderment, since I know he’s bewildered by it—what it is that he playfully threw in my face (aka: the big fat LIE I told.)

  But the whole thing has me feeling funny. In fact, I feel super funny. Maybe I took too many anxiety pills?

  ***

  Fade to black right there, as that’s all I can remember.

  But it’s enough.

  I mean, I know what came next.

  I “came-on” to Cade Cole.

  Groan.

  CHAPTER 9

  ***JULIE***

  JULIE—the present; right after her doctor’s phone call about the prescription mix-up

  I press my head against the kitchen table. Okay, so I kissed Cade Cole.

  Oh-kay.

  It’s not like I went out of my way to cheat on Ashton. He’ll understand…. Maybe. I mean, well, it was the medication—and—and I don’t even remember doing it!

  But here’s the thing: I never cleared things up with Ashton about my big, stupid, WEIRD lie—the one where I made up that I’d kissed Cade—you know, while we were on our “break,” and I’d thought Cade was gone forever so would never know about my lie—THAT big stupid weird lie.

  I don’t know why I never confessed the truth to Ashton. I guess I just liked Ashton having it niggling in the back of his mind—that I’d had an exciting stroll down the wild-side while he was “sorting things out” in his head about us, and—ugh!—kissing girls while he did it. Pathetically, the lie had just made me feel like we were sort of even—though we weren’t. Still, it had been sort of nice that Ashton had thought we were.

  And it had made him beg me to go to New York with him. Beg. But I’d already worked it out in my head that I’d look for a job while he was on the trip with his family. So, even though I was tempted (royally) by his begging, and by the fact it was New York—still, I’d been strong. (I need money!!)

  “But it won’t be nearly as fun without you,” Ashton had said, giving me his puppy-dog eyes. (Swoon!)

  My heart melted, and I almost caved. Must. Be. Strong. “Ashton,” I sighed. “I really can’t. I can’t afford to do the things you do—any of them.”

  He shrugged. “You won’t have to pay for a thing. My parents will pay for anything you want—anything. They love you, Julie—you know that. You’re more like the perfect member of our family to them than me or my sisters. It’s a family vacation—and you’re their favorite member of the family. They’ll die of happiness to get to pay to have you come and bribe you into their debt—and, of course, to have you come.”

  “Ashton, as you pointed out: it’s a family vacation. I’m not part of your family.”

  “—yet,” he said.

  A little thrill went through me hearing him say that. Lately he’d been talking about marriage a lot, like it’s The Plan. He’ll go to Harvard, then marry me. I’ve always longed for that—always—and it used to seem Ashton did too … well, until the (alarming) (heart-wrenching) moment he’d suggested the “break.” However, since my big fat lie about my fling with Cade, Ashton hasn’t said another word about a break, ever. Everything with him this semester has been romance and future-wedding-assumptions. It’s been scrumptious, and nice. Of course.

  … but also a little disconcerting.

  I mean, it’s pretty sad (slash, pathetic) that his sudden renewed enrapture in me was brought on by thinking I’d had a fling with a bad-boy. I mean, sure, the lie worked. (In spades.) It got him to stop taking me for granted … but it bit that I’d needed a lie for him to do that.

  I mean, that’s messed up.

  So, as Ashton was begging me to go to New York with him I’d once again thought about clearing up the lie with him, since it kind of seemed like maybe he was sort of, slightly afraid to leave me alone in the same state with Cade, since he was always saying that he’d catch Cade “staring” at me.

  I knew if I cleared up the lie, Ashton’s mind would be at ease, and he’d stop being jealous and worried about Cade. Only … well, I liked him thinking I’d had a “fling”; that he couldn’t just have “breaks” and expect me to sit around waiting for him. Because, face it, that was messed up too.

  So, I’d kept my mouth shut and let him be a little bit worried as he left me to go to New York. I know it was unfair and petty. (I know that.) But him taking “breaks” was unfair too. I was hurt. Crushed! And I didn’t know what to do about it.

  So, in the end, I kept my mouth shut.

  Didn’t confess.

  Though I wanted to really, really bad.

  And now look what happened! Now Ashton really did have something to worry about. Because suddenly I really, truly did have an honest to goodness fling with Cade!

  Holy smokes!

  The knowledge sends shivers down my spine once again. (Though the memory of Cade’s kiss has me warm and tingly.) It’s a strange combination, and has me unnerved and bewildered, and feeling like I need to call my therapist.

  … only I’m afraid what he’ll say.

  Suddenly, there’s a knock at the front door. It sends me flying to the ceiling. Though really, the knock itself was hesitant and slow. More like the person doesn’t want to be knocking—or the person knew it would do this to me: send me into a jittery panic.

  Uneasily, I stare at the door. Who could it be? Usually friends text. They don’t just show up. Usually.

  There’s another knock. For some reason, my heart is pounding hard. Slowly, slowly I wobble to the front door.

  The air whooshes out of me when I look through the peep-hole. Cade Cole!

  My heart slams against my chest.

  Cade Cole is at my house!!

  Cade Cole, who’d had his hot hungry mouth on mine, and his eager warm hands in my hair, is—is—is ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS DOOR!!!

  I swallow, trying to catch my breath, then finally open the door.

  But (oh, come on!) the air whooshes out of me again. For goodness sakes—breathe, Julie! Breathe, breathe, breathe!

  Cade grins faintly, like he’s aware of the affect his presence is having on my heart and entire insides.

  “Sorry,” he says, “I’m not stalking you or anything—” A sardonic grin creeps on his lips as he says this (probably because I’d kind of stalked him) (but not on purpose, I tell you!—Not On Purpose!), but he diplomatically doesn’t mention this (my stalking), and instead goes on as though attempting to totally not be aware of the dark irony. Instead he says gently, “It’s just when you left my house—man, I didn’t know what to think. But then, after you left—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I started to get worried about you. I mean, what was that?”

  I cringe. “Don’t ask.”

  He gives me a look, like he doesn’t want to accept that. But then he runs a hand over his face and slowly nods. “Okay, but I didn’t handle it very well. I was just really—confused. But you were obviously going through something, and … I didn’t handle it right. I feel like I treated you like a jerk.”

  I bite my lip. “Actually, you didn’t. And you don’t have to keep apologizing to me—well, maybe at the bookstore—maybe. But not now. Yes, I was going through something, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  He nods slightly, like he knows this. (Duh.) But then he shocks me with more kindness. I mean, come on, this is tough-guy Cade Cole, he’s not used to having to deal with “feelings,” I’m pretty sure, yet tonight he sounds willing to give it a shot. He says hesitantly, but gently, “Okay, well, do you want to talk about it or something?”

  “No!”

  He grins slightly at my complete adamancy. But his voice is still gentle as he says, “No, okay. But you’re shaking and all white and I don’t think you should be alone.”

  No? Really? Why?—because I acted like a complete nut-case?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Look, it was really nice of you to come here, Cade. You’ve been nice through this whole thing. Apologizing now, and also apologizing at the mall, but—”

  “Oh, you remember
that now?”

  I sigh. “Yes.”

  “That’s good. I thought maybe you had some sort of mental breakdown or something.”

  Awesome.

  He smiles faintly. “I didn’t mean that however it might have sounded. I was just—worried. That’s all I meant.”

  “Look, stop being nice, alright? I’m embarrassed, and I really need you to just be a jerk.”

  He breathes out a little laugh. “Why?”

  Gah, this isn’t going right. At all. “Look, I just need to be alone.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “No, I think that is the total opposite of what you need. It is truly not what you need.”

  I sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

  His eyes try to meet mine. “Well … I’m here.”

  He grins at my confused expression. “If I’m with you—you won’t be alone.”

  I go up in flames, remembering his warm eager hands and mouth all over me. Holy smokes! I need a cold shower.

  I stammer out quickly, “Uh, right, uh, yeah, well—but—but my mom is at work. She doesn’t let me have boys over when she’s not home.”

  He grins slightly, like he knows I just kind of made that up. The only “boy” in my life is Ashton. And my mom adores Ashton. She has no rule about boys. Not one.

  “Okay, well,” he says sardonically, “since your mom has that boy-rule—and I’m sure she needed to make it, with you being so wild, and going from guy-to-guy in record speed like you do—but since she came up with that necessary rule, maybe you could come outside then, instead?”

  I swallow. “Like … go on a walk?”

  He says softly, “I’ve been known to walk.”

  “Not with a girl,” I point out.

  A tiny grin creeps on his lips. “I also don’t usually cuddle with girls’ hands—but for you I seem to make exceptions.”

  A jet of warmth washes through me.

  Slowly I think it over, like it’s a big ordeal for me—going on a walk with him, the boy I’ve been dreaming about. However, let’s not forget: I have a boyfriend. So, you know, I should say no. Only I really don’t think I should be alone right now, and a walk would do me good, and it’s dark and I shouldn’t be out alone. And we’ll just be outside—not confined on a coach. Not confined at all, actually. Just out in the open air—getting healthy exercise. Which I need. Everyone does. It’s healthy.

  I think it over a long, long time. “Okay, I’ll go on a walk with you,” I hesitantly tell him.

  “Awesome,” he murmurs, sounding really pleased. (Is he playing me??)

  He grins playfully, “And I promise to fight you off this time if you start attacking me with your mouth again.” Then he adds, “—well, maybe.”

  I go up in flames. I draw in a breath. “About that—my doctor gave me the wrong anti-anxiety meds.”

  A sympathetic grin quirks gently on his sexy mouth. He says softly, “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”

  I quickly blurt out of nowhere, “By the way, I only got those books today for research.”

  A grin spreads on his lips. He raises an eyebrow, “Research? Really?”

  I palm my flaming cheeks, wanting to smack myself. “I mean, research for a class. Sociology.”

  His eyes twinkle. “They have you researching bad boys?”

  “No! It’s for a project—oh forget it.” What’s the use? I chose the topic. I’m a demented, obsessed idiot. If he would just stop looking at me the way he does these days I could maybe, perhaps stop. Maybe. Perhaps. (Goodness!)

  After walking quite a ways in silence, he says curiously as though he’s been thinking about it all this time, “So, those wrong meds—what were they supposed to do exactly?”

  “Supposedly help people do things they want to do, but are afraid to.”

  He stops abruptly.

  It makes me re-play what I just said. Oh no!

  I freeze and go up in flames and have a heart-attack, then back-peddle like lightning. “Uh, er, I mean, that’s what they’re supposed to do if they are taken in the right dosage, to the right patient, under a doctor’s supervision.” I quickly add, “—it’s just in its experimental stages.”

  For good measure, I quickly go on adamantly, “And it’s monumentally flawed—obviously. I mean, I have no recollection of what I did, and it’s obviously not what I wanted to do. I mean, I have a boyfriend. Who I love.”

  Cade grunts softly at this last statement.

  He gives me this sideways look and we slowly start walking again, him with this cautious tiny smirk that makes me go on and on about how I’d taken way too much of the stuff.

  As I’m blathering on and on and on, he stops again. “So, let me get this straight—the meds were supposed to help you not be so anxious about stuff you feel anxious about—and think about.”

  I gulp, “—under the correct dosage.”

  His smirk twitches, “But why were you so anxious today in the first place?—to keep taking it—even if it was the right stuff?”

  “Because—because,” I feel the need to bring up Ashton again. Pull him into this conversation, to remind Mr. Smirky-pants (and okay, remind myself) that there is an Ashton, and he’s my long-time boyfriend, and I love him. So, I blurt out, “If you must know, Ashton has been talking about marriage a lot, and I’m planning to do that—marry him someday—but that’s not why I was anxious, of course. I was anxious because he is away right now—in New York, and I don’t like to be away from him. And—”

  “Wait, hold on,” Cade sounds kind of pained for some reason. “You’re planning to marry Ashton Davenport?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Cade squeezes his eyes shut. “Of course,” he mutters.

  He runs a hand over his face, then glances to the building next to us. It’s called, “The Red Palm.” It’s a fortuneteller place. A gleam flickers in his dark eyes and he grins slightly. “Let’s go inside and see if it’s true love that has you all hopped-up on anti-anxiety meds.”

  “That’s not what I said!”

  His eyes twinkle. Sardonically he says, “Oh, it’s not true love?”

  “No—I mean, yes, it is. But that’s not what had me needing so much medication.”

  His eyebrows go up as he waits for me to go on. But I’m done. I feel I’ve said way more than enough, thanks.

  When he’s amusedly aware I’ve stopped my protesting, he gestures at the fortuneteller place with a grin. “I’ll pay,” he says. “—just to see if it’s true love.”

  CHAPTER 10

  ***CADE***

  CADE

  I’d really like to be more than just Julie’s bizarrely-executed fantasy-maker, so I’m all for us checking out this hocus-pocus place we’ve stumbled on. Can’t say I believe in this stuff, but I’m all for anything that might get me a chance to get something going with Julie. So, I rush her inside like it’s part of fate or something. And who knows, maybe it is. I’ve never even seen the place before, yet here it is, right when I need the universe to stop having words like “marriage” and “love” coming out of pretty Julie Drake’s lips—when they are referring to Ashton Davenport. (Shudder.)

  I needed to get such terrible thoughts out of Julie’s head, and then presto: A fortuneteller.

  Wild.

  Once I have Julie inside the place, I explain to the fortuneteller that reluctant Julie here thinks she’s in love, and we would like some clarification on whether she is, or if she’s just taking too much meds.

  I hand the lady a twenty, though I kind of wince as I do it. I’m not exactly Ashton Davenport in the financial department, and I’d actually like to eat tonight. But hey, it’s going to a worth-while cause: The Getting Julie Away From Ashton Fund. So it’s worth it to me. Big time. Well, as long as the lady doesn’t see Julie in love with Ashton. And I really don’t think a crystal ball is necessary for that to get dispelled—I mean, I’d mentioned the medication numerous times. Julie noticed. But that’s okay, I wanted her to.

  “So,”
I ask the psychic-lady, “Is it true love?”

  Psychic lady takes Julie’s trembling hand. The lady closes her eyes a long while. Eyes still closed she says cryptically, “Hmmmm. I see a ‘C.”

  My name starts with a “C”—first and last name. I like how this is going.

  Julie doesn’t seem to though. She snatches her hand from the lady’s and hurries out of the building.

  I watch her go with a sigh.

  She’s not very easy to make come around. Even when it’s told by a psychic—or with pills that help her ‘do what she wants’—which is me.

  She wants to do me.

  I mean, have a go with me. (Get your mind out of the gutter.)

  Face it: she wants me.

  CHAPTER 11

  ***JULIE***

  JULIE

  Cade saunters out of the psychic place with a big grin on his face. His grin only grows when he sees me grimace.

  He says around a playful smile, “What? You can’t handle the truth?”

  “A psychic? That’s not the truth. That’s silly.”

  He juts his chin. “If it’s so silly why didn’t you stick around?—just for laughs?”

  “Because my relationship isn’t something to laugh at.”

  He looks up at the sky a moment. “Fair enough.”

  “But Julie,” he says softly, making me look at him, my heart suddenly fluttering from hearing him say my name so soft and gentle. He seems to notice the effect his soft voice is doing to my insides. It makes him smile.

  A mischievous glint shining in his gorgeous eyes, he says, “When you took pills that ‘help you do what you want’ who was it that you came on to?” He puts his hand on his forehead and rubs, “Hmm. I see a ‘C.’”

  I groan, “Shut up.”

  But an embarrassed laugh comes along as I say it. Because he’s being funny. It’s adorable.

  He grins at my laugh. “See, your relationship makes you laugh.”

  “You make me laugh—stop it.”

  His grin quirks. “Why?”