Jill Sorenson - Crash Into Me

“Mine. Why are you here?”

She brushed sand from her hands. “I need your help.”

That got his attention. He sank down beside her, intrigued. “With what?”

She felt her face grow warm and was glad for the approaching darkness. “I told my dad you were my boyfriend.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”

“I needed an excuse for sneaking out the other night.”

“Jesus,” he said, running a hand through his hair. It was short, but kind of thick and wild, as if he cut it himself. “Is he going to kill me?”

“I don’t think so. I told him your name and stuff, so I wanted to know if you’d go along with it.”

“Go along with what?”

“With pretending to be my boyfriend,” she said, exasperated.

“Why?”

Carly had pictured him jumping at the chance to play her knight in shining armor, not asking twenty questions. “Why should you help me, you mean?”

“No. Why do you think you need a pretend boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um, I guess I don’t want to get caught in a lie. Not that cutting yourself is any better than lying, but I just feel so lame for making that up. Besides, I want my dad to quit treating me like a little girl.”

“You think having a pretend boyfriend is the best way to assert your independence?”

“I guess not,” she said, because he had a point.

“You could get a real boyfriend.”

“Not one with your name.”

“Say we broke up.”

Embarrassed, she stared down at the sand. “I want him to think I’m mature, not a slut with a new boyfriend every day.”

“Like Lisette?”

Her head jerked up. “You know her?”

He smirked. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“All the boys do,” she admitted cattily. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“Why not?”

“We just aren’t.” She examined his expression with suspicion. “You’re not screwing her, are you?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled again, going from handsome boy to teen-dream heartbreaker in a split second. “I’m not even your fake boyfriend yet, and you’re already jealous. I like it, rich girl.”

Carly punched him on the arm, using a little more force than was playful.

With amazingly quick reflexes, he grabbed her fist before she could retract it and squeezed hard enough to startle her. “Don’t do that again,” he warned.

She felt a shiver of awareness, for his hand was large enough to cover her fist, and felt strong. “Touchy, aren’t you?”

The glaze in his eyes cleared, and he slowly released her. “What duties am I to perform, as your boyfriend?” he asked, after a pause.

His voice was low, teasing, cutting through the tension that had cropped up between them. This was the behavior she’d expected of him, but she found herself too shy to flirt back. “You’d have to meet my dad.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned.

“And maybe, um, take me to the movies.”

He insulted her by mulling it over. Then he had the nerve to bargain with her. “On one condition.”

“What?”

Staring at her mouth, he said, “If you want people to think we’re dating, we should act natural with each other.”

“So?”

“So, you should kiss me.”

Her stomach fluttered. “Kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s your only condition?”

He appeared to consider adding a few more, but was smart enough not to push his luck.

“All right, then.” She leaned in to place a very sweet, very chaste kiss on his lips.

When she pulled back, his eyes were strange, as if her innocent touch had disturbed him deeply. “I meant a real kiss,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” Feeling self-conscious, she moistened her lips, leaned in some more, and waited.

Nothing happened.

When she opened her eyes, he had the gall to laugh.

“You’re not doing this right,” she complained.

“Neither are you.”

She bristled. “I’ve kissed boys before.”

“I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you at Lisette’s thirteenth birthday party,” he said. “We played seven minutes in heaven. You went in the closet with Mark Mahalo.”

She smiled at the memory. “Who did you go in with?”

He shrugged, throwing away a shard of driftwood he’d sifted from the sand. “I was in ninth grade then, too old for a junior high school gig, but I went anyway, because I didn’t get invited to any other rich girl parties. That same year, my dad would send me to buy him a pack of cigarettes every night. If he let me keep the change, I’d make about twenty-five cents a trip, and it took me a whole year to save ten dollars.” His gaze reconnected with hers. “I would’ve given every penny to go into that closet with you.”

The blunt admission was almost beyond Carly’s comprehension. She’d spent a thousand dollars in one afternoon, easily. Ten dollars was nothing to her. A tip for her hairdresser. But from the look on his face, she knew he was sincere, and his intensity excited her. “Now’s your chance,” she breathed, putting her mouth up to his again.

He leaned back. “This isn’t Lisette Bruebaker’s closet.”

She didn’t understand his hesitation. “You don’t want to kiss me anymore?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go at it like thirteen-year-olds.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

She retreated, hugely offended. “Fuck off, then. You’re the one that wanted to do this.” She stood, preparing to walk away in a huff.

Laughing again, he pulled her back down to sit by him. “And you’re the one who needs a fake boyfriend. Do you want me to help you out or not?”

“Not.”

“Fine,” he said, calling her bluff. “Have a nice life.”

Her mouth made a thin, determined line. “What do you want me to do?”

James couldn’t believe she was naïve enough to let him dictate the particulars of their kiss. His heart started pounding with excitement, but he tried to play it cool. “First of all, you have to get closer,” he suggested, glad he’d taken the time to clean up a little before coming out to look for her. “You’re going to hurt yourself, craning your neck like that.”

Determined to prove herself, she crawled into his lap, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts against his chest. “How’s this?”

“Better,” he said, gritting his teeth. “But you don’t want a guy to think you’re easy.” He put his hands on her hips and scooted her back a few inches, out of the danger zone, so she couldn’t feel just how affected he was by her proximity.

At his neck, she clenched her hands into fists.

“Simmer down, rich girl. I’m just telling it like it is.”

“Now what?” she growled.

“Now relax. You’re all tense.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The movement caused her breasts to brush up against his chest again, and he almost groaned aloud. To cover, he cleared his throat and continued the lesson. “You have to work up to it. Maybe you could, uh, kiss my neck.”

Concentrating on the task, as if he were a Chemistry test that she wanted to ace, she bent her head to him and licked his skin, just above the collar of his T-shirt. “You taste salty,” she murmured. Her warm breath caressed his neck, cooling the wet mark her mouth had made.

He couldn’t hold back a low moan.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. You’re doing well.” Too well. “I think we can move on.”

She closed her eyes and put her lips on his. Again, he didn’t take over for her. “Open your mouth,” she said, blinking up at him.

“Make me. Use a little finesse.”

She frowned in confusion, and he had to smother a laugh. He was pleased by her lack of experience, and not above taking advantage of it thoroughly. “Like this.” Very slowly, he traced the fullness of her lower lip with his tongue. When she sighed in delighted understanding, he pulled back. “See?”