A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(25)

Yes, my reaction is immature, but I can’t stop myself.

I’m so awkward like that.

Jenna shrugs. “No, no. I get it—you’re not a cuddler.”

Alright, I’ll admit it—I begin laughing. I mean, she’s completely and utterly ridiculous. And outlandish. And inappropriate. And let’s not forget crude—but all in a fun-loving, hard-to-resist kind of way. Jenna would never embarrass me on purpose… Well, she would (and has), but it’s always (usually) entertaining, and she’s never hurt my feelings.

I give in to her playful banter with a chuckle and take the beer out of her hand. “Fine. You can cuddle me.”

“Well, I mean, unless Caleb over there makes a move, which…” She assesses him from across the room, tapping her chin. “Ugh, the odds don’t look favorable. I bet his dick has moss growing on it.”

See what I mean about her being inappropriate?

“Jenna!” Molly gasps. “Do you have to be so crude? Jeez.”

Jenna shrugs again, shamelessly. “What? What did I say? Look, I did some digging, and it sounds like the guy is a hermit. Doesn’t date, keeps to himself. Quiet.” She digs in her pocket and pulls out a mint, popping it in her mouth and tilting her head thoughtfully. “It seems like he’s into you. I see him watching you. But if you say he didn’t try to make a move after getting you upstairs…”

They look at me questioningly, and I shake my head in confirmation.

“Right? Okay. What guy passes up the chance to get freaky-deaky when he’s got a girl in his room? I mean, how much beer is it gonna take for him to loosen up?”

“He’s got a perpetual case of the grumpies,” Chelsea says.

We all turn our eyes toward Caleb, who stands ramrod straight amongst his friends, frowning at something a blonde-haired guy wearing a knit beanie is saying.

Jenna nods, somewhat authoritative, feeling that she’s proved her point. “See what she means?”

Molly agrees. “Yeah, chances are he’s not even going to come.” Jenna snorts and Molly gasps, shaking her head and laughing. “To the Dells! Come to the Dells, not come in his, ugh, I didn’t mean… You know what. Never mind. What I meant was, I don’t think he likes crowds. Being cooped up in a cabin with however many people probably isn’t his thing.”

Jenna pokes at me with her forefinger. “But it’s our thing, and you’re our friend—so you, my dear, are coming with us.”





Caleb

“Did you hear me, bro? You are coming next weekend,” Miles Turner says, nudging me in the ribs with his behemoth arm. He’s been standing next to me since I came back downstairs, too close for comfort, with his hulky frame and complete lack of social skills. “No excuses.”

“And by coming, he literally hopes you’re coming,” Blaze says from across the circle. “Get it?”

Miles nods. “Agreed. We’re not going to let you hole up another weekend fixing shit around the house. Besides, do you really want to give dipshit here a shot at Walk of Shame?” Miles throws his thumb in Cubby’s direction. “She keeps looking over at you.”

I resist the urge to look.

Blaze nods in agreement. “And she’s doing a shitty job being covert about it. On second thought, maybe you should stay home. You know Aaron Beaumont thinks she’s pretty damn cute, too—if you like the scared-as-shit virgin vibe she’s got going on.”

“Oh, come on now. We don’t know for sure that she’s a virgin,” Weston charitably chimes in, coming to Abby’s defense.

Not that she has anything to defend.

Being a virgin isn’t the crime they’re making it out to be.

Aaron disagrees. “Nope. Pretty sure she is a virgin. I mean, look at her. Crossed arms that scream ‘no entry,’ that shirt my mom wore to church last Sunday… those jeans.”

Everyone’s heads crane toward Abby’s denim-clad figure. I run a palm down the front of my face, trying not to lose my shit.

“What’s wrong with those jeans?” Cubby asks, confused, beer halted halfway to his mouth.

Aaron shakes his head ruefully. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re button fly. That’s worse than a chastity belt. Good luck getting into those babies.”

Just when I think my friends can’t get any dumber, Miles nods. “Yeah, good point.”

“Althoughhhhhh… the wet shirt thing is pretty f*cking hot. Ten points for originality,” Blaze adds, reaching over to grab a potato chip from a random bowl perched precariously on the fireplace mantel, and shoving it in his mouth. “Plus, I can’t help but notice she’s got great set of tits—like peaches on a windowsill. Fuzzy navel.” He looks around guiltily and leans in. “Shit. Did I say that out loud? Don’t tell Shelby I said that.”

“Hey, Showtime, do you really wanna miss the opportunity to see those virgin tittays in a bikini top this weekend?” Aaron prods with a sneer.

God, they’re pigs.

I grit my teeth but say nothing and force myself not to look over at Abby, who has been obliviously chatting away with Weston McGrath’s girlfriend and some chick with purple and blonde hair while I stand here listening to my friends running their mouths about her fantastic, um, assets.