Don't Kiss the Bride

Her face pulls into a frown. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit,” I say, taking a few steps closer to her. “Something’s been bothering you. You’ve barely said a word to me since the night of your surgery.”

The same night I had my lips all over her, feasting on her perfect body, falling harder and harder for her.

Focus, Jude.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says flippantly. “I guess because I woke up the next morning with about a hundred notifications because that bitch Lisa Fucking Rottworth was in Dr. Katz’s waiting room and heard you call yourself my spouse, and then she proceeded to tell the entire damn school.” She reaches up and tugs the rubber band out of her ponytail, and her long hair falls around her shoulders. I remember how soft and silky it felt in my hands that night, and I wish I could run my fingers through it right now. “I guess I could’ve told you about it that morning, but you were gone before I woke up.”

Old habits die hard. We fell asleep after I fingered and licked her into multiple orgasms, and I snuck out of her bed at five a.m. “Skylar, I—”

“It’s been a really shitty week,” she says angrily. “Everyone’s been talking about me, and laughing at me, and posting dumb memes all over social media. Then when I finally think I’ve got it handled, you throw a tantrum at the gas station in front of half the school.”

“I didn’t throw a tantrum.”

Her angry tone morphs to sarcasm. “Um, yeah ya did.”

My defenses go up. “That asshole was touching you. You should hear the shit he was saying about you.”

“Who cares? He’s just a dick. And anyway, he’s your friend.”

I shake my head. “Nah. That guy’s not my friend. Not anymore.”

“You didn’t have to fire him, Jude. I think breaking his nose was enough.”

“Fuck that. I should’ve snapped his neck. I don’t want a scumbag like that working for me.”

“And what’s this?” She waves her cell phone in the air between us. “Get your ass home? What the hell, Jude? I can stay out as late as I want, with whoever I want, whenever I want. You can’t tell me what to do. I’m an adult.”

“Then act like one.”

“Oh, like you’ve been? Please.” She rolls her eyes.

“Why are being like this?”

“Why are you?” she shoots back.

“Because I care about you. And I don’t like seeing men put their hands on you.”

Her eyes narrow, then go wide, as if suddenly she had a light-bulb moment. “Are you jealous, Lucky?”

I crack my knuckles and put my hands up. “Look, I’m not doing this,” I say. “This stupid fight shit? Nope.”

“We already are doing it. You can’t just say you don’t do it when you’re right in the middle of it.”

“Yeah, I can. It’s late. Go to bed.” I point to the hallway.

“Don’t tell me to go to bed. Why are you treating me like a little kid?”

I rub my eyes with my palms and blow out an exhausted sigh. “I don’t know, Skylar. I’m tired. I gotta get up in three hours.”

“I know why,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re trying to convince yourself I’m young.”

“You are young.”

“You want to believe I’m too young.”

“Too young for what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she’s talking about.

“Too young for us to be more than friends.”

Damn. I can’t believe she’s going there, full force ahead. While I admire her rip-the-Band-Aid-off approach, I’m not ready to get into this right now.

Or maybe not ever.

“We really shouldn’t be having this conversation,” I say.

“Why not? I’m not afraid to say what’s on my mind.” She lifts her chin defiantly, and she looks sexy as hell. “I like you. You make me laugh and I love your sweet side. I like how I feel when I’m with you. And I think you’re hot. I think you feel the same way about me. That’s what put you in a jealous rage earlier.”

“I don’t get jealous, Sparkles.”

And it was hardly a rage.

She slowly shakes her head back and forth with frustration. “I’m being honest with you, Jude. Because that’s what adults do. You’re the one who’s acting like a teenager, not me.”

Frustrated, I take a few steps back toward the bed, then change my mind and turn back to her. “Fine. You want honesty? Let’s do it.” I spread my arms out. “I like you, too. More than friends. More than I should, and more than I fucking want to. I think you’re cute and sexy, and you make me laugh. You make me happy. I love your crazy-ass clothes and your cat with the fucked-up name. I just wish you weren’t eighteen years old.”

“Was that so hard?” she asks, stepping closer to me. She puts her hand on the middle of my bare chest, and fingers my necklace. That simple touch burns through me like a shot of whiskey. “Why does it bother you so much?”