A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)

A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)

Sara Ney




PROLOGUE

Abby

It all started innocently enough on a Friday just like any other, classes and a coffee run, then straight to strategic planning for the evening ahead.

Now, normally, I’m not the first person to volunteer a night out, even on the weekends. The simple truth is, I would much rather stay home on a weekend, rent movies, read a book, and eat snacks on my couch.

One hundred percent of the time, hands down, no debate.

However, tonight is different. Tonight, my cousin, Tyler Darlington the Third—when I was younger, I used to call him Tyler Darlington the Turd—became an officer of his fraternity, and in his mind, that is something to celebrate.

I also want to point out that Tyler becoming an officer of anything is kind of a big deal—to both his parents and mine. Believe me when I say, the whole entire Darlington clan is in a tizzy over the fact that Tyler has been admitted to a Big 10 School. Not only that, but he’s managed not to flunk out of that same Big 10 School or cause any property damage to his fraternity house or burn it down

Naturally, these things alone are cause for celebration (that was sarcasm) and my parental units are practically forcing me to attend his celebratory frat party.

Okay. Maybe forcing is a strong word, although they did have to promise me a fifty-dollar pre-paid Visa credit card if I went.

To put it bluntly: Tyler is kind of a moron.

And by moron, I mean pothead.

So despite my usual penchant for staying in on the weekends like a hermit, there is definitely something to be said for the simple act of getting ready to go out with friends that is more fun than the actual act of going out.

For example:

1. Cramming more than one young (single) woman into one bathroom, then crowding around the only mirror in the apartment. Unless of course you count the cheap mirror hanging behind your bedroom door, which you do not.

2. Borrowing clothes that never seem to look as cute on you as they do on your friend or roommate. Damn her.

3. Getting sprayed/blinded by the hairspray because you were standing too closely behind your friend wielding the can—which we all know is a given. Someone always get sprayed in the eyes…

4. Smudging your eyeliner because you get elbowed by your friend every time you lean over the counter to draw a more precise line. We call this irony.

Sounds like funsies, right?

That’s because it is. For the most part.

There’s always tons of wild laughter, annoyed grumbling, and in the end, everyone looks stunning and ready to take on the town—or in this case, a house party.

Tonight is no exception.

It’s a short walk to the fraternity house from our crappy rental house, and even though the air is a tad too chilly for my liking, we chose to walk the short distance rather than drive, despite the heels most of us are wearing.

Having already decided that it’s going to be an early night, we spend the remainder of the evening huddled together in the corner of my cousin’s fraternity house, not because we’re wallflowers, or party poopers, or stuck up. No. We’re huddled together because the house is dirty, and falling apart, and the crowd it draws isn’t exactly “my scene.”

My scene is the library. A quaint coffee shop with an acoustic guitar player, smelling of rich coffee grounds. The campus study center with its overstuffed couches. My small but tidy bedroom in my off-campus rental.

This crowd… this crowd is collegians on academic probation. Drunks. Potheads. Girls with loose morals and even looser panties.

I brazen out the party with my friends, in the corner I’ve forced us to occupy, where we laugh, my friends drink, and we lose track of time.

Before I know it, my friends have disappeared and my cousin is at my side, half-baked (as usual) but in protection mode. Tyler actually convinces me to be responsible and not to walk home alone in the dark, even though the last place I want to be is here. In this fraternity house. Alone without my friends.

Before the party thins and the crowd downstairs disperses, I’m upstairs in Ty’s room, door locked, throwing clothes and books off his queen-sized bed, grateful that it’s not a twin or a simple mattress on the floor, before flinging myself on top of it in a tired heap.

The one beer Maddie and Tabitha persuaded me to drink is the sleep aid I need to close my eyes and shut out the racket below me.





CHAPTER 1

Abby

When it comes to shimmying down a metal gutter pipe, it’s probably not a good idea to get much dignity involved. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of hard work goes into the task, but in order to be successful, you have to let go of your pride. As in, have none. Of course, that isn’t saying much, particularly if you’re wearing a skirt—which, thank God, I am not.

I glance back into the bedroom from my spot in the window at a slumbering Tyler Darlington, who is spread out on his queen-sized mattress, snoring peacefully. His unkempt brown hair sticks out in a million places, matted in some spots from tossing and turning, and an unsavory dark puddle of drool wets the area where his gaping mouth and pillow meet.

Ugh, gross. If only the ladies could see this ‘ladies’ man’ now…

Before sticking my first booted foot out the second-story window, I nervously twist the gold ring on my right hand and take one last look at Tyler, whose eyes are slowly blinking open. He looks around the room and catches sight of me, resting his chin on his elbow, and watches me with an amused look on his arrogant face.