A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(101)

Maybe I was that sort of person not so long ago, but I feel like I’ve changed. Since school started, and especially lately. Spending time with Crew, learning what’s really going on around me, has opened my eyes.

To some things I don’t want to see.

And others that I’m so glad I know now.

Like the taste of his lips. The way his hands feel when they’re on my body. Inside me.

I want to know all of that again. And more.

“It does sound pretty shitty, huh?” I say in agreement.

Crew’s eyes are so wide they nearly bug out of his head. “You just said shitty.”

I shrug. Grab my pizza slice and shove it into my mouth, chewing and then swallowing it down. “I can’t lie. It’s going to be an awful Christmas. And birthday. Not what I expected at all.”

“What did you expect?”

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” I say with a sigh, envisioning it. “I even made a Pinterest board for my eighteenth birthday celebration. Pink and gold and white. Everything sparkly and beautiful. A gorgeous cake covered in flowers made of frosting. Glitter everywhere. A dazzling dress and matching shoes that would make me feel so grown up. Like I’m an actual adult. My hair would be perfect and we’d drink champagne to celebrate. It would be cold and snowing outside but inside, it would be warm and inviting, and I would be surrounded by my favorite people.”

“Sounds nice,” he says.

“Sounds like a fantasy. Like a birthday and New Year’s celebration combined, which is what I’ve always dreamed of doing, but it’s silly, right? I don’t even like New Year’s Eve, but if I had a birthday party on the same night, maybe it would make me like it more. I don’t know. I never approached my parents with the idea because I knew they’d turn me down.”

“Why would they turn you down?” Crew asks, finally reaching for a slice of pizza. At least I’m not the only one eating.

“Because they always have plans, and they never include me. I used to think a New Year’s Eve party was so glamorous, especially the parties my parents would attend. But now I realize there is something rather ominous about New Year’s Eve. Don’t you think?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with that cool, steady gaze of his as he keeps eating.

“It’s almost the end of a year. Sometimes even an era. My birthday has come and gone, not that anyone cares about it. All of us are too busy making plans for the future. Bogus promises to ourselves we’ll never fulfill. Then there’s the countdown at the end of the night, and the frantic search to find someone to kiss at midnight. How we promise to be good and stick to our resolutions, even though we know deep down we won’t keep them.” I stop talking, realizing I sound pessimistic, which isn’t my normal style.

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” he murmurs.

I shrug one shoulder, suddenly uncomfortable. “I sound like a selfish brat.”

“You sound like someone who really doesn’t like this time of year,” he corrects.

God, he’s so right. I actually hate this time of year.

“I make all of these promises to myself, and now I’m breaking them,” I admit. “Maybe I’ll become nothing but a disappointment.”

“You’re not a disappointment.”

“To you.” I don’t bother mentioning my parents.

Specifically, my father.

“Come here.” Crew holds his hand out and I take it, letting him pull me to him, a gasp leaving me when I’m fully pressed against him. He sneaks his arm around my waist, his hand resting on my backside and I stare up at him, at a complete loss of words from the intensity in his gaze. “I don’t like seeing you look so sad.”

“I’m not sad,” I admit, and I mean it. “I just—”

“Want to forget everything else? Everybody else?”

I nod, resting a hand against his chest, my palm directly over his thundering heart. “Maybe I am a little sad.”

He dips down, his mouth at my ear. “What would make you feel better?”

I turn toward his mouth, my lips brushing his when I whisper, “You.”





THIRTY-NINE





CREW





I hold her close and let Wren control the kiss at first, sensing that she needs it. That semblance of control, of being in charge of her life, which I don’t think she experiences much. Her sadness is obvious, palpable. About to steal all of the oxygen out of the damn room until I distracted her.

She needed that. Needs this. Me. My hand slides up and down the perfect curve that is her ass, her tongue darting out to lick at mine. I hum my approval when she sucks on my tongue, and then I can’t hold back any longer.

I take over, my hand going to the side of her face, angling it for a deeper kiss. Our tongues dance, our breathing quickens, and she slides her hands up my chest, curving them around my shoulders, so she can cling to me.

This entire day has been foreplay, Wren-style. Shopping, eating. Lots of eating, which drives me out of my damn mind. Watching her face light up when she oohed and aahed over the Christmas decorations everywhere. The determined look that took over her face when she spotted that small lingerie store and came out of it not even fifteen minutes later, clutching a tiny red bag in her hand.