Friday Night Alibi

  He laughs, pulling his shirt from my grasp. “I guess I do own other colors.”

  “Wow.” ’Cause, really. W-O-W. He looks good. “It looks good.” Oh, yikes. The filter needs maintenance.

  The smarmy smirk curls on his face, and he scoots his butt closer to me. As he falls back to the pillows, he pulls me down with him. His chest is kinda damp from sweat, but it still smells awesome. No wonder he took off his hoodie, though. He must’ve been boiling.

  He chuckles and I move my chin so I can look at him.

  “What?”

  “If I knew taking that off would’ve finally made you touch me, I would’ve done it when I walked in.”

  Hey!

  “You weren’t touching me either.”

  “You were all the way over there!”

  “You could’ve moved over. It’s like you thought I stunk or something.” I scoot up, so my face is right next to his.

  He plugs his nose. “Well, now that you say that . . . ”

  The second he drops his hand from his nostrils, I huff a huge gust of breath in his face and laugh.

  I thought he’d put on a show of me stinking—I mean, I am “Stinky” after all—or tackle me, or something. But nope. His eyes roll back as they close, and he lets out a grunt.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Um . . . “Why? Does my breath really stink?” My hand goes right for my mouth, but he catches it.

  “Here I am, trying to stay in control, and . . . ” He pauses, locking gazes with me. His light gray eyes are delish, and in a blink they’re a little bluer.

  “And what?” I don’t mean to whisper and sound breathless and all that, but I do.

  His finger brushes my lips. He leans in, and I swear, he’s smelling me.

  “Oranges.”

  Chapter 23

  Praises to the people who made citrus gum! Almost the same second he stops talking, his lips are on mine and they don’t leave for a long long time.

  I’ve never made out before. I’ve done cute little kisses here and there, and yeah, I’ve been frenched before, but that was so not my fault and it wasn’t approved either. But this . . . I can get used to this.

  Chase is a kissing reader. Be jealous because he’s doing everything I want. His hands move like he’s studied my body in an art contest or something. He knows exactly where and when to move them. In my hair, down the back of my neck, my arms, my sides, my hips, my knee . . . every single touch is like a shockwave of holy hotness. He even holds my hands a couple times, playing with my fingers and tracing patterns on my wrist. You may think that’s totally boring, but it’s so not.

  And yay for California Kings! There’s a lot of rolling, and no worries about either of us falling on our butts. He’s on top, I’m on top . . . just like with his knees earlier. Back and forth between the two of us, taking turns over who’s in control.

  The movie is long over. The menu music keeps playing over and over again. And I don’t care. Neither does he. We just kiss, kiss, kiss. We kiss so much the scruff on his face is starting to burn my chin. But I don’t want to stop. At one point he asks if I need a break from his mouth, and I seriously bust a gut before pulling him back. A break? I don’t think I’ll ever want a break. We could be here till the end of time, my face up in smoke from all the scruff burn, and I wouldn’t give a crap.

  He rolls me over so I’m underneath him again. I wrap my leg up by his hip and his gets tangled between mine. It turns me on so much I flex my leg muscles so I can keep him there. That’s right, Chase. You’re not going anywhere!

  He lets out this gasp/grunt/moan type thing that’s amazingly sexy. And that’s when he gets the nerve to flick his tongue on my lip. And when I get the nerve to let it inside my mouth.

  His tongue kissing is like his other kissing. He just knows what to do. It’s not some eel trying to feel my tonsils. It’s erotic and slippery and makes every single nerve in my body make its own bowl of popcorn. I know I’m making some really embarrassing noises, but I can’t stop them. And if someone were to pass my room right now, they’d think we were doing a whole lot more than making out.

  My hands go to his face, just to play with the stubble while he keeps kissing me. That’s when I notice his hands again. One is in my short hair, tugging and caressing, alternating between hard and soft. But the other . . . yeah, the other is on my hip, and creeping up my shirt.

  I wore a sports bra, so at least I’ve got something there and I’m not just hanging loose, but . . . I can’t help but drive my focus to that hand, and what it may do.

  He moves it up, and I know it’s just a centimeter, but my body goes on overheat, while my mind goes on hyperdrive.

  Do I want him to go for my boob? Am I ready for that? Maybe he’s not even going for it, and I’m freaking out over nothing.

  His hand moves up again.

  Okay, this feels good. It does. Feels amazing, to be honest. Maybe I do want him to just go for it.

  I try to put my focus back on his lips, his tongue, but I can’t. His hand is now right underneath the bra, wrapping around my side, but his thumb . . . his thumb is moving to the front. And it’s not going a centimeter at a time anymore. It’s like he decided to slide into second base before he changes his mind, and before I’m ready to stop him.

  My breath catches as his thumb glides over my nipple. Back and forth, back and forth.

  Holy crap! My body and mind fight each other over what’s happening. My body wants it. Because it feels good. It’s making me tingly and flushy and wet and I can’t stop all the physical responses I get from just the over the bra, nipple touch. But my mind . . . for some reason, Alex’s mom is in my head. And she’s asking me if I’m saving myself.

  I thought it was funny at the time. That I’d never be in the position to make that decision because I’d never be with a boy like this. And here I am, three weeks later, letting a guy I barely know up my shirt.

  My body says it feels good, but my mind says it feels wrong.

  In a split second, I shove him so hard, I end up slamming my head on my nightstand as I plummet to the floor.

  Chase has flown to the other side of the bed, and in an instant he’s on his feet, pacing the room and muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . ”

  It takes me a minute to stand, and to catch my breath. He’s still spouting off apologies, pacing the room, hands in his hair, pulling at it.

  “Chase, it’s okay.”

  He looks at me, his now fully blue eyes a bit watery. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I mean I got carried aw—”

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” I fold my arms across my chest, hiding the evidence of it all in case it’s making things worse. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard, and I-I guess, I mean, I guess I’m just not ready to—”

  “Hey,” he says, taking a cautious step toward me. “Don’t apologize, ’kay? It’s not your fault.”

  “I led you on.”

  “No.” He takes another step. “Kel, you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Wait . . . does this mean he won’t even kiss me anymore?

  “Chase,” I say, closing the distance between us. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. I did. I-I’m just not ready for too much so fast, you know?”

  He nods, still being careful about touching me, shrugging his hands in his pockets and not responding to my fingers trailing over his arms.

  “I still want to kiss you,” I blurt, because I’m afraid he won’t ever do it again unless I tell him straight out. “I’m sorry I freaked. I’ve just . . . never been touched like that before.”

  He lets out a sigh, and pulls his hands from his pockets. He traces the skin on my exposed neck before cradling my face between his palms. Then he pulls me in for a hug. I don’t know what it means, but at least we’re not at arms’ length anymore. We’re there for a while, until he lets out another sigh and pulls back.

  “I should get running.”


  “Okay.”

  “Are your parents out of town?”

  I nod.

  “Please set your security system when I leave.”

  I roll my eyes behind his back as he puts on his shoes and tugs his hoodie over his head. I instantly miss the green.

  We hold hands as we walk out on the balcony, and as morbid as this sounds, I wish I could keep his hand here so I can have it all night. He swings one leg over and I let go to get back inside.

  “Kel?”

  My head cranks over my shoulder. He’s all nervous and cute, rubbing the stubble on his chin and I hope he’s not about to apologize again. “Yeah?”

  “Just so you know, I’ve never touched someone like that either.”

  And before I can say anything, he hops over the railing, ending our Friday night.

  Chapter 24

  “Kelli, what did you do this weekend?”

  I drop my spoon on the floor and choke on the mouthful of tiramisu. My mom looks at me with mild disgust while my dad is as unobservant as ever.

  “Um . . . what?” I croak.

  Mom tries to wipe the disgust from my choking fest off her face with a napkin.

  “I asked you what you’ve been up to.”

  Whoa, where did this come from? I rack my brain to recall the last time either one of my parents asked me this. Nope, can’t think of it.

  “Well . . . um . . . I spent Saturday at the club.” Which is true. And I got back at Chase so score! I bet he’ll think twice before leaving his clothes out when he’s showering. Especially since all me and Sades left him with was a red speedo and a pink tank top. I wish I could’ve caught a good look at the aftermath, but that boy can run!

  “What about Friday?” Mom prods. “Did you do anything fun?”

  Okay, something funny is going on here. Her big blue eyes are all expectant, she’s leaning forward against the table—elbows on the table! Gasp!—and her dessert is awfully close to her white blouse.

  Why can my brain not remember what I was “doing” Friday? Oh, I know . . . because I’m still reeling from that make out marathon. I wonder if Chase will still be hesitant to touch me. I really hope not, which is why I tried to go back to our “flirting” banter. Because he should be arrested for teasing me with those amazing kisses, then putting restricted area signs over his lips.

  “Kelli?”

  Oh right! Friday . . .

  “I was with a friend.” Who did I have booked? Was it Layla or Alex? Yikes! I’m usually prepared for follow up questions.

  “Was this friend a boy?”

  Dad’s eyes finally shoot up. He looks from Mom to me like we’re talking about alien battlegrounds on Mars.

  Well, it’s a fifty-fifty shot, and it’s usually Alex, so . . .

  “Yes. Do you know Alex Finnigan?”

  Mom’s mouth turns into a smile and I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

  “He’s a lovely young man.” She leans back and takes a dainty bite of tiramisu. “His mother and I had an interesting conversation at church today.”

  My eyes widen and I quickly glance at Dad, who looks like he’s about to puke his insides out on the table.

  “What did she say, dear?” he chokes out.

  She takes another tiny bite. “Nothing much. But it seems her boy Alex is quite smitten with our Kelli.”

  I’ve disappeared from the convo, like normal Sunday dinners, and it’s a good thing because my face has gone up in flames. Dad’s looks like his is not far off either.

  “Is this a serious thing?” His eyes flick to me for a second before going back to Mom. You’d think he’d ask me about any relationship I’m involved in, but Mom’s the conversation hoarder.

  “From what Mrs. Finnigan was saying,” she says, turning her face to me, “they’ve been spending the last two months together.”

  It’s technically been a lot longer than that, but I’m not admitting to anything.

  They both stare at me, one parent glowing with gossip eyes and the other wishing I’ll deny the whole thing.

  As politely as possible, I wipe the corners of my mouth, then plunge in to what I hope sounds like a legit story.

  “Alex and I have been spending more time with each other, yes. His family invited me for dinner a few weeks ago, and they are lovely people.” I avoid biting my lip, a sure sign of discomfort. Instead I sit up straighter and smile at Mom. “He’s very respectable, Mom. He has kissed me, but you have nothing to worry about . . . if you’re worried that is.”

  Mom shakes her head wildly, but Dad’s face falls as he hunches over his dessert, slowly swirling it around with his spoon.

  “I know you two are responsible. You’re an adult now after all,” Mom plows on, oblivious to Daddy’s obvious objections. “Perhaps we should have him over for dinner as well.”

  “That would be nice,” I say, happy the convo sounds like it’s coming to an end.

  “Or we could do dinner at your father’s restaurant!” Mom exclaims, turning her eyes to Dad again. “What do you think, dear?”

  He nods, dropping his spoon on his plate. “Yes . . . all good. I’ll make arrangements.”

  Mom snaps her fingers for Carrie to get her purse. She checks her datebook and turns out it’ll be a few weekends away. Another taste testing this weekend, wedding the next, and more boring stuff I fade out on as she prattles to herself.

  “How about Friday the twenty-fourth?”

  “Next month?”

  “Yes. Will that work?”

  Because I have no life, I know it will, but . . . it’s a Friday. And this may be a bit cocky of me, but I really hope I’ll still be . . . um, doing whatever it is I’m doing with Chase that night.

  “What about Saturday instead?” I put on a smile. “Alex and I have plans to go to the theater that night. It will be our four month anniversary.”

  Total gag, but Mom buys it.

  “Wonderful! Darling, will you make the arrangements?”

  Dad nods again, then quickly excuses himself to make a few calls. I leave almost right after that, proud I survived the first boyfriend talk. Even if it was fake.

  Because if Mom and Dad knew what I plan to do with my Friday nights, I’m sure Dad would’ve keeled over right there on top of his chocolate dessert.

  * * *

  “The twenty-fourth, huh?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure how my parents will feel if I’m supposed to be at the theater, and I’m really up in my room . . . ” slobbering over you. Whoa! I almost let that one slip.

  Chase laughs, and I picture him rubbing the stubble on his chin before he answers me.

  “That’s fine, Kel. I don’t know what Raj is doing—”

  “Raj?”

  “My roommate.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, we don’t plan that far ahead, so we may not be alone. School will be out by then, but still, he may decide to stay here for the summer.”

  “That’s okay. I just need somewhere to go.”

  “And Sades said no?”

  “No.”

  “Then why not her?”

  I scrunch up my lips and flop back on my pillows, shaking the phone like I’m strangling him. When I press it back to my ear, he’s laughing.

  “Come on, Stinky. Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’m your Friday Night Guy.”

  “Gag.”

  “You know you want to say it.”

  “I’m not saying anything that cheesy.”

  “Guess you’ll have to find someone else to hang out with on Fridays.”

  He’s so not playing fair.

  “Yeah, right. You won’t be able to keep that up for long.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Oh, his stupid smirk is probably glued all over his face. And the worst part is, I wish I could see it and kiss it away.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “If I say it, I’m never saying it again.”

  “Sounds good to me.”
br />   I sigh again. “You’re my Friday Night Guy, and I want to be with you.” I make choking and hurling noises once the words leave my lips.

  He chuckles. “Okay. The twenty-fourth, we’ll be at my place.” He pauses. “But I can still see you between now and then, right?”

  My annoyance turns to excitement in like, a second, and I grin like a lovesick fool.

  “If you decide to be a perv who crawls into my room every Friday, then yeah, I guess.”

  He laughs again. “Guess I’m a perv then.”

  Chapter 25

  Allow me to describe the next few Fridays in terms of ice cream. Otherwise, it’ll just be me saying we made out a lot. And that’s boring.

  There was the Friday I would’ve bought Wild n’ Reckless. (Fruit has never had so much fun!) Do I even have to go into why? There was no booby touching—or any other “naughty parts”—but we were all over the place! We’ve sworn off the bed, because it’s dangerous territory. So that night, we got . . . creative. Poor Mr. Poppykin, my stuffed flamingo. Never knew he’d be the butt cushion for a make out session. His beak kept hitting Chase in the back of the head.

  Then there was Made with Snickers night, when we discovered where we’re both ticklish. I grabbed his knee to prop myself up, but apparently it tickled so much he moved it and I ended up face-first in his crotch. Yes, it was awkward for about three seconds, but I quickly turned it into a tickle/kissing fight. Tickle, kiss, tickle, kiss. It was the most fun make-out fest ever! But next time, I’m making sure I don’t drink a can of Coke beforehand.

  Oh, and I can’t and will never forget Love Potion #31 night—because I made a complete idiot of myself. For some reason, I thought it was appropriate while he was kissing my jaw line to say, “I love that.” It wasn’t even a teasing tone. It was this really embarrassing whisper that made my breath catch and him stop immediately to look me in the face with the most confused expression in the history of the world.

  He said, “W-what did you say?”

  And then I had to say it again, which was even more humiliating. I pointed at my face like a dork and said, “I like it when you kiss my jaw.”

  I think he was relieved or something, ’cause he laughed it off and we kept going at it. But when I think about it, I’m pretty sure he thought I said, “I love you” which I so didn’t.