A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(26)

Jesus Christ, I can’t even say the word in my head. What am I, five?

“I take it, by the deafening radio silence, you’re thinking about going,” Blaze jokes, taking a swig from his bottle of Corona.

“Don’t think, just feel,” Weston advises, closing his eyes and putting a palm over his heart.

Aaron turns to him. “Wow. That made you sound like a goddamn *.”

Weston grins. “Your sister wasn’t complaining last night.”

“Oh, funny guy’s got jokes,” Aaron grits through his busted-up teeth. “My sister is fourteen, pickle dick.”

“Alright, alright, enough. So, Lockhart, what’s it going to be?”

In the end I agree, just to get them to shut the f*ck up…

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.





CHAPTER 11

Abby

Because the number of people who actually end up committing to the waterpark cabin weekend is so many, Shelby and Bryan end up booking our group two rustic log cabins, side by side, nestled in the woods a short walking distance from the actual waterpark, and a three-hour drive from campus.

There are thirteen of us in all—mostly hockey players and their girlfriends.

I don’t really mind having been railroaded by my friends to shell out one hundred and twenty bucks of my hard-earned cash to share a bed with Jenna—but a double bed? Not a king, not a queen—a freaking double. Just so you know, that’s only a tad bigger than a twin, and my idea of a good time is not sharing it with a self-proclaimed bed hog.

Seriously. Shoot me now. Please. I’m begging.

As I throw the last of my crap into a small carry-on suitcase and struggle to zip it shut, Meg pokes her head into my bedroom, her lively green eyes surveying the bag skeptically. “Er, that seems like a lot of stuff for such a short weekend.”

Blowing a puff of air at the stray hair in my face in frustration, I sigh. “I know, I know. But since the weather isn’t hot and it’s not cold…” I shrug helplessly. “I wasn’t really sure what to bring, know what I mean?”

I’m not about to mention that a certain someone might be going, and for once in my life, I want to have wardrobe options.

“Um, yeah. But it’s still a lot of crap.”

“Whatever, just get over here and hold this closed.”

Meg walks over and places both palms on top of the red luggage I got for high school graduation three years ago, gives it a few good shoves, and squishes it down into my mattress. At that moment, Jenna waltzes into the room with her car keys jingling from her index finger. She gives them a shake.

“Why aren’t you ready?” she asks with a long sigh, like I’m a disobedient child. “We’re carpooling with Molly and Weston and have to be at the Omega house in ten, so get your ass in gear.” Her eyes go to Meg struggling with my suitcase. “Is that tiny carry-on all you’re bringing?”

Meg loudly huffs in Jenna’s direction as I finally get my zipper to successfully glide all the way around the suitcase. “No comment.”

“Grab my pillow, will ya?” I point to it on the bed. “I just have to run to the bathroom quick, and we can be on our way.”

Three hours later—after the most aggravating car ride of my life—we pull off the interstate, drive our way through the Waterpark Capitol of America, and pull into the gravel driveway of the resort Shelby booked for us. We find a spot at the main office, and Weston runs in, emerging a few short minutes later without a set of keys.

“What’s going on?” Molly asks him from the passenger seat, digging her hand into a bag of Jelly Bellys and picking through to find the cotton-candy-flavored ones. They’re her favorite.

Climbing back into the truck, Weston turns to check his blind spots as he starts the ignition and puts the truck in reverse. “Everyone else is already here and checked us in, so we’re all set. The cottages are another few minutes down this road.”

My anxiety level increases exponentially as we hit a gravel road moments later, and Weston slows the truck down so we’re not kicking up dust. Quaint log cabins line the road, set back a few yards from the tree lined avenue, and are far from humble.

Since I’m shelling out so much for the two-night stay this weekend, I’m secretly pleased that from the outside, the cabins appear to be worth every penny.

Rather than house numbers, each abode is indicated with a sign above the door.

Our home for the weekend is named “Bear Claw.”

We pull into a short parking spot, and when Weston puts the truck in park, he takes his phone from the cup holder and thumbs through the texts. Still looking at the screen of his smartphone, he says, “Abby, I guess Shelby’s got you rooming in the cabin next door with Jenna?” He says it likes it’s a question. “Let’s all go in and say hello before you head next door to put all your stuff away.”

I nod and brace myself, ready for whatever the weekend holds.





Caleb

I can hear them before I see them—the newest arrivals—even above all the loud chatter and commotion in the cabin, and I tense at my place by the sink, where I’m helping Shelby unpack the groceries we brought down.

Voices sound from the front entry hall, greetings and salutations exchanged as Weston, Molly, Jenna, and Abby descend into the main family room, where a fireplace is roaring—despite the fifty degrees outside.