Kiss King - Mickey Miller Page 0,25

we can forget about it for good.”

I reach my hand over his and I swear there are sparks. “But what about you, what did you think?”

“I think…” he looks down… “That you’re going to Italy next term. And that’s a long way from Galesburg, middle of cornfields, Illinois.”

I stare into his eyes, and they seem an extra cloudy shade of gray right now, I can’t get a read on him. Although I always feel we’re on the same page, right now I feel like we’re the furthest thing from that.

“Well, it’s good we tried that,” I say, trying not to sound too unenthusiastic.

He clears his throat. “Exactly. Aren’t you glad we got that out of the way?”

Out of the way?

“Definitely,” I lie, fuming inside. I need ten more just like that.

That was not a kiss I’ll soon forget. Now, or probably ever. I don’t even know what else to say to him.

Thank God his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Party at the Alpha Z house,” he says. “Should be fun. Shall we head over?”

“Sure,” I nod. Grant slides the door open, but I stop him with my hand on his forearm.

This is ridiculous. I’ve never wanted a man more in my life, but my tongue feels like it’s frozen.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I just want you to know I felt something just now and I don’t know what it is. But I’ve never felt it before…just say it.

“I just want to say…you do you next term. And I’ll do me. See you in the winter. Oh, and thanks for letting me crash here tonight.”

He nods. “Yeah. I was thinking that, too. Glad we’re on the same page, and no problem, anything for a friend.”

“Totally,” I lie.

But we’re out the door and hanging out with other people before I can finally put words together to protest.

I’ve never had a problem being forward with a man.

So why do my words melt like butter on a hot day when it comes to Grant Taylor?

What we just shared? Yeah, that was the king of kisses.

7

Grant

Seven months later - January

“Have you seen her yet?” Luke asks as I trudge across campus.

“Seen who?” I retort.

I hear Luke’s chuckle through the phone. After he graduated last year, he moved to Washington D.C. to play professional baseball.

Somehow, I don’t think he’s missing Galesburg and college life all that much. A freezing cold wind rolls over my cheeks as I walk across the campus quad which has been transformed into a snowy tundra. I’ve got my earbuds in underneath my hat, talking to my “pledge-dad” who has morphed into a mentor of sorts for me this past year.

“Don’t play dumb with me, man, you know who I’m talking about,” he says. “That outgoing blonde girl whom you couldn’t stop talking about all last year.”

I scoff. “Maya. Look, I was only talking about her because we hung out a lot, and she’s a good friend. She doesn’t like me like that, and I’m okay with it.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like you like that?”

I called up Luke to have an early morning chat about baseball and how to get into Coach Johnson’s good graces and make it into the starting lineup. But somehow, we got sidetracked on a topic that both of us have been struggling with lately—women.

“We kissed,” I explain, my mind wandering back to that fateful day in my brother’s apartment last year. “And she wasn’t into it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You kissed her? Like on the lips?”

“Yes, Luke. On the lips.”

“When did this happen?! How did you not tell me?”

“What’s to tell? She didn’t like it. End of story.”

“How do you know she didn’t like it?”

“She told me so.”

“What were her exact words?”

“I kissed her, and I asked her what she thought. She said, ‘I don’t know.’”

“So? She was processing. It’s not like she said, ‘this kiss is disgusting’ and started dry heaving like a cat.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who ‘doesn’t know’ how my kisses make her feel. We all deserve to be with someone who goes as ‘wild as a tiger for a steak’ level of excitement when it comes to a kiss.”

“Great metaphor, man. You’ve obviously been watching Tiger King.” Luke snickers. “I see what you’re saying. But…here’s the thing, man. Sometimes, women don’t say what they mean.”

“Not Maya, she’s different,” I say. “She’d tell me the truth.”

I press open the door to Gizmo, that thankfully opens one hour earlier than the regular dining hall.

“Fair enough. She does seem to be a straight shooter