A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(13)

I draw in a breath, center on my core, and blurt out, “Are you stalking me?”

His hardened expression doesn’t waver. “Yup. And later I’m making a lampshade out of your skin.” His lips curve into a barely perceptible sneer, and he holds up several packages of heavy-duty sanding paper and a half-gallon of paint primer that he’s been clutching in his bear-like paws.

I twist my face into a grimace and roll my eyes. “Ha ha, very funny.”

When it’s finally my turn, the gray-haired woman behind the counter greets me, her hawk-like gaze shifting back and forth between Caleb and me, a smile playing at her wrinkly lips. “You find everything okay, hun?” She smacks her gum.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” I tensely shoot another frown at Caleb, who continues to regard me intensely, and swipe my debit card nervously through the digital card reader. Uncomfortable, I shake my head. What is with this guy?

“Do you want your receipt with you or in the bag?” The woman asks, extending the white slip of paper.

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll be returning those,” Caleb smirks, the muscles beneath his unshaven jaw lifting his full lips into the slightest trace of a smile. As if abruptly remembering his faux pas, that phantom smile is wiped from his face, replaced by another scowl.

Now, that ghost smile may have disappeared, but not quickly enough, for in the middle of that unhappy mouth, below the flawlessly indented cupid’s bow of those full, rich lips, are a set of straight, snowy-white teeth. And among that set of straight, snowy-white teeth?

A gap.

A gap, set in the center of those very wolfish teeth, making its debut for a fleeting moment. I wonder if I only imagined it. Because, guh! A gap.

And I caught a glimpse of it.

Dear… Lord…

A gap.

I freeze in place, holding the bag of feminine products and candy suspended mid-air, transfixed—struck dumb—by the sight of Caleb’s mouth.

He openly stares back at me, and the amused air of his expression grows surly in an instant, his mouth snapping shut like an angry crocodile’s. I actually hear his teeth lock down.

Even so, I continue my trancelike perusal of him, recognizing with horrifying clarity that I’m no better than any other warm-blooded female who’s ever lusted after our male counterparts solely based on physical attributes.

Attributes that will forever forward make me go weak in the knees… say stupid crap… stammer and stutter… agonize over my words.

Stare. Gawk. Daydream.

I have some friends who go absolutely mental for a set of washboard abs, while others can’t resist straight white teeth and an infectious, toothy smile. Dimples. Then there are the girls who cannot get enough broad shoulders and rippling biceps. Or better yet, rippling biceps with tattoos.

I didn’t know, until this very moment, that I had a weakness of my own. Apparently, it’s gaps in a guy’s teeth.

Imperfectly… perfect.

Swoon.





Caleb

She’s staring—staring hard.

At my mouth.

Shit.

My cheeky grin falters, and without thinking, my tongue darts out of its own accord, running along the crude edges of the gap in my teeth that a hockey puck put there a few years ago. The exact moment and time I can’t recall, but I do remember this: it hurt like a motherf*cker.

I watch her studying me, her face getting more flushed by the second. A bright pink rash appears from the inside collar of her pretty cream sweater, rising up her neck, past her cheeks, and all the way to her hairline.

Self-consciously, I pull my lips back down over my teeth, where they belong.

Abby slowly pulls her gaze from my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a few brief seconds, all we do is wordlessly continue to stare each other down.

Stare each other down f*cking hard, until the cashier clears her throat.

“I-I should… I have to g-go,” Abby stutters, accidentally dropping her plastic shopping bag of tampons and gum on the ground, quickly bending to snatch it up and turning to flee, leaving a trail of muttered Oh my gods in her wake as she speed walks toward the exit doors.

The cashier’s eyebrows shoot up into her gray curly mop. “That didn’t go very well,” she chortles wryly, throat scratchy from too many cigarettes, as she scans my sandpaper and primer. “You better work on your flirting technique. Unless, of course, you wanted to scare the poor girl off.”

“Uh…”

“See there? Horrible technique. What is it with you young people? No courting anymore. It’s just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am these days.” She shakes her head at me. “Your total is nineteen eleven.”

I pull out a twenty—careful not to pull out the gold ring mixed in with my loose change—hand it to the old bag, and stare off toward the automatic doors.





***

Abby: What’s the most awkward thing I’ve ever done?

Cecelia: I’m going to need you to give me a minute. There are way too many choices.

Abby: Remember that time in middle school, at Kassie Bauer’s party, when I got caught on camera digging my wet swimsuit out of my crotch?

Cecelia: So what you’re about to tell me is WORSE than pulling a suit out of your crotch AND climbing out a second story window????? I find this VERY hard to believe.