Every Kiss (4 page)

Her mouth twists around for a minute, clearly thinking of
what to say. “I doubt that’s the issue because, from what I’ve heard, aside
from the day he was born, he’s never met her.”

Oh.

HELLO, MY NAME is Callie, and I’m a
habitual eavesdropper.

I’m trying to appear engrossed in what’s on television, but
it’s not really loud enough for me to hear anything. Lucky for me, I’ve seen
Breakfast at Tiffany’s enough to know exactly what’s been said, in case I’m
caught. At least that’s my brilliant plan.

Shane has been in there with Wes for nearly an hour, and
I’ve been trying to pick up on anything said. At first, I was getting bits and
pieces because it was more than a little heated. I don’t think Wes is mad at
Shane, but . . . somebody. Now, though, I can only hear a muted murmur, and
it’s driving me crazy. Makenna has been upstairs getting ready, so maybe she’s
picked up on more of the conversation. I’m dying to know what the deal is.

Don’t judge me. You’d be doing the same thing if you were in
my fabulous red shoes.

As soon as I hear a door open upstairs, I snatch the remote
from the cushion next to me and turn up the volume a little. Maybe I can pry a
little info from Makenna now; she knows how nosy I am.

But it’s not Makenna who slumps into the couch next to me. I
quickly discover that the mixed scent of cologne and whiskey make an
interestingly appealing combination.

“Sorry if I was an ass earlier.”

I cut my eyes at Wes. “You weren’t.”

“
Moody
, then. I believe that’s how you described it.”

“Your brother has a big mouth.” Blushing. Again.

He snickers. “If I hadn’t been cut off, I’d drink to that.”

I turn toward him and take notice of the glassy sheen in his
eyes. “Two drinks and you’re cut off, huh?”

“Four. And yeah. At least for a while.”

What the hell. “Want to talk about—”

“No,” he interrupts.

“Okay.”

Yeah, man of few words, for sure. I feel like both
conversations that we’ve had so far have been more like tennis matches,
volleying short, staccato sentences back and forth. And I’m definitely losing
the game. The silence between us now, though, is far stranger than the
uncomfortable banter. It’s irritatingly loud somehow, compelling me to break
the quiet with any random thought that crosses my mind.

But he does it for me.

“I’ve actually seen this movie before. It’s not bad. I like
this chick.”

Oh, thank God. Not only is he talking, he’s speaking my
language. “You’re telling me you like Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Don’t you get
your man card revoked for saying something like that?”

“Does a guy with a little culture freak you out, sweetheart?
Or do you only date cavemen who grunt and scratch themselves?”

I’m beginning to think I’ve pissed him off, but when I look
over at him to explain I’m kidding, he flashes a bright smile at me. Oh my . .
. that smile. It’s like a punch in the gut, and I’m suddenly floundering for
any form of response. Once all those dark clouds of his float away, he’s
actually incredibly hot.

He has the same crystal blue eyes that Shane does, but
that’s where the similarities end. Shane is of average height and is barely
taller than Makenna. He’s broad and has a more athletic, stocky build. Shane’s
facial features are softer, more rounded, and he always keeps his short hair
perfectly placed and his face clean shaven.

Wes, on the other hand, is unusually tall. Okay, I know,
most people are tall to me, but he must be at least 6’5” or so, if I’m guessing
right. His long, lean frame isn’t without muscle, though. His broad shoulders
and arms are accentuated by the tight black t-shirt pulled taut across them,
and it also allows me to see the muscle rippling across his stomach when he
reclines back and props his feet on the coffee table. Soft stubble covers his
square jaw and extends upward toward his sharp cheekbones. He reminds me of a
Greek statue—but with more clothes. His hair makes me want to dig my fingers
in. It’s a little long on top, almost hanging in his eyes, and its unruly ends
have no semblance of order.

No, he’s nothing like Shane at all. But I’ll be damned if I
can make myself think that’s a bad thing. Chalk that up to my affinity for bad
boy assholes, I guess.

“See something you like, sweetheart? You’re staring awful
hard.”

Oh, shit. What the hell is wrong with me today? Okay, Cal .
. . get your head back on straight and play it cool. “Not particularly. Just
trying to figure you out. Are you bipolar or something?”

“No, but women, in general, make me moody. They’re all so
damn frustrating.”

I scowl at him and turn back to the television. Holly
Golightly picks up her cat and walks to the fridge. It doesn’t matter how many
times I’ve seen this movie, I always think she’s going to put the cat in there.
When she starts describing the “mean reds,” I raise my eyebrows at Wes. “Maybe
you just need a trip to Tiffany’s to make you feel better.”

He snorts. “If it means I get to go to New York, then
sure
.
I’d do just about anything to get away from here for a few days. But, no, I’m
the lucky bastard who took off work tomorrow because my brother wanted to throw
me a birthday party in the middle of the week.”

“Well, it
is
spring break. But I have to agree with
you on doing anything to get away. Even if it’s just for a day.”

“Oh, come on.” He rolls his eyes at me. “I seriously doubt
your life is all that complicated. Doing your homework and stressing over which
shoes to wear with your dress hardly constitute the need to get away. You have
it easy right now, sweetheart. I suggest you enjoy it.”

I gape at him. “You don’t know me. You have no right to
judge whether I have a lack of complexity in my life. Believe me, I have just
as much shit going on as you do. Jerk.” Who is this self-centered asshole? How
could Makenna ever think he’s sweet?

Even though I’m glaring at him with every ounce of fury in
my being, the bastard starts laughing at me. Not just a little giggle, either.
He’s full-on bellowing. I start to get up to make a statement by storming out
of the room, but he grabs my elbow and pulls me back down.

“Don’t leave.” He tries to stifle another roar of his
amusement, attempting to appear sincere, but a hint of a smirk still shadows
his lips. “I’m sorry, and you’re right. I’m being an ass. I don’t mean to
direct it at you. Today has been twenty different shades of screwed up, and I’m
not taking it well. Most girls don’t call me out on my bullshit, so you caught
me a little off-guard. But surprisingly, I actually like it.”

I’m still not too convinced that he’s not bipolar. “Makenna
told me that she thinks the reason for your mood swings is because of your mom.
Is that true?”

That hint of a smile disappears in a flash. “How much do you
know?”

“Nothing much other than what I just said. She told me that
you and Shane have different moms and that you don’t really know yours. That’s
all.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want to talk about
it, especially with you.”

Well, if that wasn’t a slap in the face, I don’t know what
is. “Fine.”

We sit in complete silence through the rest of the movie,
and having him in the room makes the gooey, sappy ending scenes unusually
uncomfortable. I keep praying for Shane or Makenna to come downstairs to rescue
me, but they never do. And I’d go upstairs to find her myself, but I have a
feeling he’d stop me from leaving.

Even though I hate to admit it, I know what he’s feeling.
It’s a strange place to be. You’re pissed at the world and you want to be
alone, but then again, you can’t stand the thought of the miserable solitude. I
don’t want to empathize with him because he’s such an ass, but I can’t help it.
That’s why I stay rooted in my seat, offering him the silent companionship that
he doesn’t want to admit he needs.

Finally.
Finally
, the ending credits begin to roll,
and he grabs the remote from the table to click the power button. I sneak a
peek at him from the corner of my eye, and he’s just staring into the darkness
of the screen, fixated on everything and nothing at all. “I, uh . . .” His
voice is as quiet as a whisper, the edges softened by vulnerability. But his
slack jaw clamps shut at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Shane and Makenna walk into the room hand-in-hand, and
before anyone can speak, Wes stands and shoves his hands deep in the pockets of
his low-slung jeans. He walks toward the kitchen, only stopping by Shane to
say, “Thanks for putting me on babysitting duty.” And he slips out the back
door.

Yep. Still an asshole. “What the hell is his problem?” I ask
Makenna after Shane takes off after him.

“I don’t know the whole story either. But I did confirm it’s
about his mom. I had a feeling because Shane told me a few days ago that her
name was on the caller ID. She’s never reached out to him before, but he
doesn’t want anything to do with her. This afternoon, though, he went home and
nearly tripped over a gift basket she left at his front door. She somehow found
out where he lives, and I think that really has him bugging out. Shane has been
sworn to secrecy, and he told me a lot more than he probably should have. Just
try to be forgiving of Wesley’s behavior. I promise he’s not normally like
this. He has a lot eating at him right now.”

“Obviously. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking he’s a
butthead.” I fill her in on all of the conversations we had while she was
upstairs, and while I’m complaining about him, I can’t help but thinking about
how superficial I sound. He’s going through something huge, and I’m whining
about the attitude he had toward me. I can be a bitch on a good day, so maybe
Mak is right. I should give him a little slack. Besides, it’s just one night. I
can put up with him for a few hours, and once other people get here, I probably
won’t have to see him at all.

Shane comes back inside, putting a stop to our talk. He
stops at the kitchen island, leaning over to rest his elbows on it and pinching
the bridge of his nose. “You’d think
I’m
the big brother in the family.
He’s four years older than I am, and I’m taking care of
him
.” He
straightens and shoots an apologetic frown my way. “He doesn’t mean it, Callie.
It’s just not a good day for him.”

“I know. It’s okay.” I’m a little shocked that he’s that
much older than Shane, making him twenty-six. Just over five years older than I
am. No wonder he said he was babysitting me.

“Thanks for understanding, but he does owe you an apology.
Makenna, people are going to be arriving soon. Will you help me iron my shirt?”

She nods and follows him. I know that was code for “I need
to talk to you in private” when I hear him whispering to her on the way up to
the room. “He’s on the phone with my dad right now.”

I swear this is the most stressful, dramatic party I’ve ever
been to, and it hasn’t even started yet. It even tops the time my friend,
Grace, caught her boyfriend sucking face with Jamie Mitchell in the linen
closet at her birthday party a few years ago. Seeing the time, I decide to go
reapply my lip gloss before other people get here. The entire time I was alone
with Wes, I was chewing on my bottom lip—a bad nervous habit of mine—so I know
what I applied earlier is far gone.

I take my heels off at the bottom of the stairs and pad up
them as quietly as I can. I’m not eavesdropping this time, I swear it. But if I
happen to overhear something, it’s totally not my fault. Okay, fine. I’ll
try
not to listen.

Once I reach the top, I’m met with complete silence. Damn,
Shane is really good at this secretive thing. I slink into my room and shut the
door behind me, immediately appreciating the serenity and privacy. Being able
to have this space to myself is surprisingly nice, and I’m relieved to have a
break from the thick tension in the air around Wes.

After touching up my lip gloss, I open the door leading to
the balcony and fill my lungs with the crisp, cool air, one of the best
feelings on this planet. I love cool weather, so the impending approach of
summer always makes me depressed. Don’t get me wrong. I love the feel of sun on
my skin, but I can still have that in the winter if I take my jacket off.

Deciding to take a private moment to appreciate my five
minutes of solitude, I fish my mp3 player and earbuds from my purse and go back
out to the balcony to sink into one of the cushioned wicker chairs. Scooting
down to the very edge of the seat, I prop both feet on the iron railing and
switch the player on to find my favorite playlist. Just before shoving the tiny
speakers in my ears, I hear Wes talking on the phone in the yard below.

“Dad, don’t you dare patronize me. I swear, if you told her
where I live, you and I have nothing else to say to each other.”

I quickly drown him out with the haunting riff of an
expertly played guitar, cranking up the volume and closing my eyes, effectively
shutting out the entire exhausting world. Sure, I could probably listen in and
have all of my nagging questions answered, but there are certain lines that
even I won’t cross.