“Yeah, I guess yours is a little more complicated than usual,” Drake chuckles awkwardly.
“You know the sad part?” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Even though my mom was only married to Dick for two years, I’m closer to him than I am my mom. She started working with this insurance company while she was pregnant with Skyler and she travels constantly. She’s almost never around. Skyler lives with Dick. He’s a good guy. We’ve stayed close.”
Drake looks at me for a long moment and I am suddenly aware of how close we are. The breeze blowing around us is warm and it pushes his scent toward me. He smells of summer and comfort. His arm and my arm, his thigh and my thigh are side to side, touching, and everything about it feels so natural and easy.
“I’m glad you have someone you can count on,” he says, his eyes still locked on mine. “Everyone needs someone who supports them in life.”
I give him a little smile. “Well, there is Armando.”
And Drake’s expression falls.
His eyes grow wide and his lips turn down, his shoulders slump.
And I smile.
“I thought you said you got dumped yesterday?” he blurts before he can catch himself.
I burst out in a quick, harsh laugh, but cover it with my hand. “You are flirting with me!” I say, pointing a finger at him as I stand from the car. “You’re flirting with me bad!”
“Who’s Armando?” he says, his expression warring for a distinct emotion. Humor, horror, embarrassment.
It takes me a moment to get my laughter under control. I clutch my stomach and turn away from him for a second. I’m having trouble breathing.
“Arm…” I suck in a huge breath and try to keep from laughing as I finally turn back toward him. “Armando is my best friend. He’s also super in to men.”
The relief on Drake’s face is immediate and immense. Finally, a smile spreads on his face and he rolls his eyes as he stands.
“You’re horrible,” he says as he takes two steps away from me. I’m still fighting laughter. But I must not be in too much trouble because when he stops and looks back at me, he’s got a smile on his face. “You’re bad. That was just…that was just mean.”
“I am not mean,” I say, mock defending myself. “I don’t know how to be mean!”
“You knew what you were doing,” he says as he glares at me. He shakes his head and starts walking away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mean girl.”
CHAPTER THREE
It must be a good sign that I wake with a smile on my face.
Soft light makes its way through the foggy windows. It’s warm in my bed and cozy and comfy. My dreams have already slipped away, but there is the slight reflection of a lopsided smile in them.
I smile up at the ceiling, my eyes sleepily drifting open and closed.
Alan who?
A soft snoring pulls my eyes from the white ceiling to the beat up couch just a few feet from the foot of my bed.
Armando’s head is half hanging off the couch, kinking his neck. He’s got one knee bent up and the other leg is propped up over the arm of the couch.
I can lay down on it just fine, but Armando is six foot one.
He showed up at my apartment last night just as I was going to bed. He reeked of alcohol. Armando is extremely bubbly and happy when he’s drunk. He started going on and on about some guy he’d met at the bar named Tod. I didn’t think he even realized he was at my apartment. He’d caught a cab and rattled off whatever address came to mind.
But a few minutes after his arrival, he crashed on my couch and didn’t wake up.
I smile at him and watch for a moment as he sleeps.
He’d be horrified if I told him he was snoring.
I’m careful and quiet as I get ready for the day. It’s Friday and I am extremely relieved and at once disappointed by that fact. The weekend means days off.
And I know I’m in trouble when I’m sad that it means I won’t see Drake again until Monday.
I leave a note for Armando that he can stay as long as he needs and that there’s a clean towel for him in the cabinet in the bathroom.
The morning air outside is warm and soft, summer hanging on for just a few more days. My car wines and sputters when I start it and then I am headed for school.
The first period bell rings and students start filtering in slowly over the next five minutes. Just before the tardy bell rings, Lake swaggers in, that coy smile on his face again.
“So my brother came over to the house for dinner last night,” he says, raising his eyebrow at me. Apparently he has the same talent Drake does. “The guy was grinning like a fool all night. Any idea why he was in such a good mood?”
I have to fight back the smile that instantly wants to form on my face. I’m pretty sure I utterly fail. “I have no idea, Mr. McCain. If you’ll take your seat?”
Lake smiles again and gives me a wink before walking toward the back of the classroom.
We spend the rest of the class familiarizing ourselves with our pathetic excuse for a textbook. Ancient World History doesn’t get priority when it comes to expensive books. We’ll start with Mesopotamia, move onto the Egyptians, then focus on the Greeks, and wrap up with the Romans at the end of the semester.
The sleepy eyes that stare back at me make me pretty sure this is going to be a challenging class. Lake and his two buddies at the back chatting away don’t help either.
But I do appreciate when I meet Lake’s eyes that he elbows his buddies for them to shut up.
Second period follows and as the minutes tick by, my heart rate picks up, faster and faster.
I have to fight from grinning like an idiot as we close in on the last few minutes of class.
Finally. Finally, the bell rings and students start filing out of the classroom.
I pull out my planning binder, trying to convince myself that I need to focus on getting my lessons for next week planned out when there’s a sudden scratching, static sound.
“Miss Ray, please report to the library for a paramount meeting,” a voice suddenly cuts through the room.
My brows furrow and I start looking around for the source of the noise. It hadn’t come from the intercom system. And there’s not another soul in the room.
“Make haste, Miss Ray,” the voice comes again. Since I’m more prepared for it this time, it is unmistakable. Drake.
I lean down and find a walkie-talkie taped to the underside of my desk with what must be half a roll of scotch tape. A loony grin breaks out on my face as I free it and hold it up to my lips.
“What is this urgent meeting you speak of?” I say into it.
“I repeat, Miss Ray, please report to the library. Andale!”
“What are you up to, Drake?” I say with a laugh in my voice as I get up and head for the door.
“The Eagle checking out,” he comes over the radio. “Uh, over and out.”
I look down at the radio and find his line has been turned off.
I bite my lower lip and turn the corner toward the library.
The large space is quiet and smells like a library should: of old paper and wisdom. The librarian stands behind her desk, looking intently at something on the computer. There are two students at a table, looking at a few books and taking notes.
I don’t see any sign of Drake anywhere.
I clasp my hands behind my back and start walking between aisles.
No one in biographies. No one in plants, or writing reference. The encyclopedias are lonely. I start passing fiction rows. A through D are vacant. E through H have nothing to yield.
I’ve just reached the last row of the library when I hear a psst.
I double take to the previous row and see Drake peeking out from behind the shelf. He crooks a finger at me, beckoning me to come.
I’m pretty sure I haven’t stopped smiling from the first moment I met Drake. I can’t stop it now, even if I wanted to.
I halt in front of him. Close. So both of our bodies are hidden b
ehind the row of books.
Drake looks down at me, his eyes intense and bright and dancing. He licks his bottom lip absentmindedly. His thumbs are hooked in his belt loops.
“What?” I say after a minute when he doesn’t breathe a word.
He gnaws on his lower lip for a moment and I can see there’s some kind of conflict going on behind his eyes.
“You know, I’ve been trying to tell myself that you just got broken up with and that you probably need some space,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “But you keep having that smile whenever I see you and it’s kind of hard to keep telling myself that.”
I take half a step closer to him, which is a trick, considering how close we were to begin with. “You know, I keep trying to tell myself that I should be feeling really awful and depressed, because, you know, I just got dumped a few days ago,” I say. “But I keep getting this ridiculous smile on my face every time you’re around and it’s kind of hard to keep telling myself that.”
I bite my lower lip and loop my arms behind his neck. I don’t know what I’m doing. The action is more daring than I am, yet here I am, doing it. Drake’s eyes dance and he puts his hands on my hips. They’re hot and I swear he pulls my hips just a fraction of an inch closer toward his.
“You don’t seem very depressed,” he whispers.
“I don’t feel very depressed,” I breathe back.
“I think I wanna’ see just how ridiculous I can make that smile get.” He’s leaned in and his lips are just a fraction of a breath away.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Now his hands do yank my hips toward him, at the same moment his lips consume mine.
Everything in me explodes, most especially something down in my lower belly, with electricity and fireworks. My fingers knot in his hair and my lips part and his tongue says hello to mine.
Drake turns us and my back is pressed to the bookcase and his body is exactly the right shape to mold to mine.
I bite his lower lip and feel a smile form on his face. His hands tighten on my hips. My back arches and all those female parts in me strain toward him.
What is happening and how amazing is it?
Drake’s lips move from mine to my jawline, and work their way down to my throat. I’m eternally grateful that I wore heels today so that he can actually reach it without having to do a half-squat.
Suddenly Drake’s hands slip lower and inward and he is lifting me. My legs part and wrap around his waist as he turns and sets me on the ledge of the tiny window that looks out to the parking lot.
Drake smiles down at me and presses a kiss to the space just below my ear.
“Yeah, I think we should make out,” I say through a smile.
“That smile is edging toward preposterous,” he says with his own as he looks at me.
I don’t reply, I simply pull his face back toward mine.
My legs squeeze tighter around him and he moves his pelvis closer, igniting an electric storm in my blood. My hands move to his chest, letting them slide under his vest. His muscles tighten and strain. Drake lets one hand slide around to my back, pulling me closer, even though there is no more physical space between us to do so.
“Making out was a really, really good idea,” Drake pants into my throat.
“Well, it was my idea,” I tease.
“What other good ideas do you have?” he asks as his lips trail along my collar bone.
“Um,” I struggle to think straight. “A weekend that isn’t missing you?”
“Great idea,” he growls and I swear I feel the tip of his tongue tracing the line of my jaw.
“You’ll come over to my place tomorrow at nine for breakfast?”
He backs away from me slightly, looking in my eyes. His eyebrows draw together, his expression unsure, or disbelieving, or something. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, uncertain at his reaction. “Why is that so surprising?”
His hands come up to my face and he gently presses his lips to mine once again, the heat of the previous moments passed. “That’s just the damn sweetest thing any girl I’ve just met has ever done for me.”
“I better not just be any girl,” I say gathering the front of his shirt and pulling him against my chest.
The lunch bell rings and the noise from the halls spill into the library. We hear the doors burst open and with regret in his eyes, Drake backs away. “No,” he says. “You’re not just any girl.”
“Let me see your phone,” I say, unsure of how to handle his sudden intensity and holding my hand out. He simply gives me that lopsided smile and reaches into his pocket for it. His hair is an insane mess, but I have no intention of informing him that he needs to fix it. I want to see how long it stays that way today. It’ll be our secret that it was me who styled it for him.
I take his phone and store my number into it with my name.
I hop down from the window as I hand it back. I give him what I hope is a tempting smile as I start to walk away.
It must work. Drake hooks a finger into the waistband of my pants and yanks me back. He once again pins my body to the bookcase and crushes his lips to mine.
A little moan works its way out of my throat.
“You know we’re likely to be walked in on any moment,” I say against his lips.
Suddenly Drake pulls away and wipes at his bottom lip with a thumb. “Get out of here woman,” he says, trying to be serious and failing miserably. “Stop putting your tongue down my throat.”
I give a quick ha before turning and walking toward the doors.
I manage to only glance over my shoulder three times before walking out into the hall.
For just a moment, I wonder how we got here: Drake and me making out in the dusty stacks of the library like a couple of teenagers.
But I don’t care.
Because maybe princes exist after all. Maybe that was a true-love’s first kiss, after just three days of knowing each other. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of my very own ever after.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Tell me, were his hands and feet big?”
“Gross!” I squeal, scrunching my nose. “Armando! Let’s please not go there.”
“Well, have you at least gotten a picture of him?” he pleads. He leans across the bar and bats his eyes at me. “I need to evaluate him and make sure he’s up to par for my Ray of Kaylee.”
“No,” I say as I take his plate and turn for the sink. I rinse it off, set it on the drying rack, and turn back to the itty bitty bar of mine we are eating at. “I don’t have a picture. But he’s coming over for breakfast tomorrow so I’ll be sure to snap one then.”
“And you’ll text it to me straight away, right?” he asks, his expression hopeful.
“Of course,” I say.
“So, on a scale of one to ten, one being the worst, ten being mind-blowing, how was this make out session?”
I let my face fall into my hand and shake my head. It’s been like this every time there is a man in my life for the past seven years. Armando grills me about my men, I grill him about his. “Does a twelve exist?”
“Oo,” Armando coos. “Then I hope you have plans for more than just breakfast tomorrow.”
“Armie!” I screech at him, batting at his arm harmlessly. “I’ve only known him for three days! Slow your horses down there.”
“What’s taking you so long?” he asks with a wink. I just shake my head. Armando’s known for moving things on a little fast. I often times worry for him. He could have so much more than what he’s settling for. “But seriously, I’m just happy to see you’re not obsessing about that horrendous stooge you previously called a boyfriend.”
“Alan?” I clarify.
“That’s the bastard. Never liked him anyway.”
“You tried hitting on him at that party,” I say through a laugh. “Don’t forget, you’re how we met.”
Armando cringes. “Don’t remind me. I’ll never forgive myself for my match-making failure.??
?
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” I say as I move the rest of the dishes to the sink. Armando came over for dinner and I made fettuccini alfredo and a green salad. My kitchen is tiny and extremely difficult to do much of anything in, but I manage. “I’m well over Alan, remember?”
“Right. Drake McCain. Your newest prince on a white horse.”
“Prince Charming was boring,” I say. “I mean, he doesn’t even really have a name. Give me a prince that sails the high seas and loves dogs.”
“Ugh, are we talking about Prince Eric again?” Armando groans.
“Have you seen his hair and smile?” I swoon as I lean on the bar again and prop my chin up on my hands.
“Such a nice boy, and no less boring than Prince Charming,” Armando argues. “Give me a bad boy who rises from nothing to take over the throne. Now that’s a story.”
“Aladdin, while good looking, had a problem with lying, and Flynn was full of himself,” I counter.
“You do realize we are arguing about cartoon men, right?” Armando says with a smile and his brows drawn together. “They aren’t real.”
“Before they were cartoons they were literary characters,” I say as I nod my head toward my one solitary bookcase next to my bed. Its shelves are lined with fairytale books, history textbooks, a few romance novels. “Though I have to admit, half the original stories are pretty awful. Did you know that in Cinderella, at the end when she marries the prince, her stepsister’s eyes get pecked out by crows? They even cut off their big toes to try and get the shoe to fit.”
“And with that lovely note, I think I’m going to go home,” Armando says as he stands and grabs his jacket from his chair.
Just then there is a knock at the door.
“It’s true,” I say as I head for the door. “Most fairytales are pretty grim. Which is pretty fitting I suppose since the Grimm brothers wrote most of them.”
I open the door and find Dick and Skyler waiting in the hall.
“Hi,” I say with a bright smile.