Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(12)

His lips brushed against my hair, his hot breath sending a warm tickle of joy down my spine, and I shivered. His chest heaved as he laughed, the sound echoing through my ears. My stomach tensed into a tightly wound basket as his lips began trailing across my head toward my temple. He breathed against the skin there, and the basket inside of me snapped. I jumped up out of his arms, leaving him looking lost, sitting alone in the chair. Necklace or no, he had just made it clear that our relationship had to be purely platonic, and I didn’t like the summersault my stomach was now doing.

“I have to get dressed,” I sputtered as I fled from the room, my head spinning.

I moved the few steps to my room and shut the door behind me. I stood there, my back to the door as my heart rate steadied. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. Okay, that was a lie; I knew exactly what had happened. Had I not jumped up, Ry would have kissed me. My stomach did a joyful swoop at the thought. Did I want him—Ryland LaRue, my best friend—to kiss me? I pictured myself kissing him, his hands against my face, his soft lips pressed against mine. I slid to the floor as my legs forgot how to support me. Obviously, I did. I really, really did. This was bad.

“Are you okay in there?” I jumped to my feet at Ryland’s voice right outside my door.

“Yeah, I’ll be just a minute.”

“Can I watch Demo TV?” Ryland asked, his reference to my lack of cable making me smile.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

I grabbed one of my few pair of jeans, some ballet flats, and a different cami before rushing across the hall to the bathroom. After taming my bed-head, and brushing and scrubbing my teeth and face, I stood still, looking in the mirror. I needed to make sure I didn’t let this get out of control.

I stared at myself in the mirror, once again caught with that fantasy of us wrapped in an embrace, arms and legs tangled together from head to toe. I shook my head, wiping the image from my mind. He was leaving in a few months; best to keep him as my best friend.

I dressed and left the bathroom to find Ryland perched at the end of the couch, his legs bouncing up and down.

“You’re wired,” I pointed out.

“State Rugby finals tonight. My nerves are displaying themselves in some sort of super-charged state.” I couldn’t help but smile at him, his legs didn’t seem to stop moving, even though he was sitting.

“Save it for the field, ’kay?”

“That’s the plan, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

I walked over and sat next to him on the small couch, intending to watch whatever he had engrossed himself in, but his leg spasms were vibrating the whole couch.

“Knock it off. I feel like I’m in a blender.” I pushed him sideways with all my strength, but he hardly moved. He only started shaking more, making odd buzzing noises in an attempt to mimic a blender.

I laughed before sliding off the couch to get away from him. His buzzing sounds grew as he followed me onto the floor, his large form toppling me over to smother me in his weird body-blender. I screeched through my hysterical laughter and slammed my elbow into his side in a desperate attempt to get him off me. He stopped shaking as he rolled away to lie beside me. We laid on the floor, side by side, our arms and legs pressed together as our laughter died out.

“Will you come with me tonight?” he asked, his voice sounding nervous for some reason.

“To your Rugby game?” I asked, my voice still chuckling as the last of the laughter escaped me.

“Yeah, you can be my lucky charm. Maybe I’ll score the winning goal. Besides, it’ll be good for you to stop moping around this place.” He turned his head and winked at me. I was hit with the same vision again: his hand against the small of my back, his face pressed against mine. I sighed, nodding my head yes in defeat. I was in big trouble.





Four


Ryland drove us to the Rugby game a few hours later—after making me endure two hours of infomercials that he found hysterical. To the standard middle class, things like Oxy-Clean and exercise videos were practical; to Ryland, they were hysterical ideas that no one would ever utilize. I just rolled my eyes at him. Sometimes, his innocence of everyone’s normal existence was irritating, not endearing. Watching infomercials, he learned about rotisserie roasters and paint sprayers, and almost bought a leopard print snuggie, insisting that I needed one.

It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot at Whittier Academy that I began to second guess my decision to come with him.

Ryland pulled his Lotus into a spot close to the locker rooms where a variety of other expensive cars were clustered. His canary yellow car looked a bit out of place next to all the black—while equally-expensive cars—surrounding us. I got out and leaned against the back of the car while Ryland extracted his duffle bag from the small shelf behind the seats.

The campus of Whittier Academy was acre after acre of tall broadleaf trees with large flagstone buildings tucked among them. From the parking lot, I could see the large stadium, a few tennis courts and a neatly cut field next to a stable. Set away from the sporting arena was the first of what I could only assume were academic buildings or dorms, but nothing was labeled, so I couldn’t be sure.

The whole campus had been taken care of with absolute perfection. The trees were groomed, each hedge squared. The ivy growing up the side of the building trailed through the stone with eerie precision. Even the long stretch of cobblestone road we traveled seemed to be cared for with extreme diligence. The whole facility screamed wealth and privilege. I felt like a blob of dirt on its sparkling floors.