Break Me (Truth in Lies Book 1) Page 6

  He pulls away from my ear, turning my head towards him. His lips touch mine. A sudden lick of fire followed by stillness. Like a moment of weightlessness after jumping from a swing. He’s waiting for me to fall. To tumble into his warm lips.

  I want to kiss him. As sharply as I wanted to touch him earlier. And I’m not a girl who stands on a ledge. Stupid or smart, I always jump.

  My lips move against his, and his response is instant. His hand tugs on the nape of my neck, pulling me against the hard length of him. I open into his soft kiss, and his tongue slides between my lips, slipping around mine and calling it to life. His spicy-sweet taste pools in my mouth. Laced with peppermint and memories and white-tipped desire that’s something new. Some foreign, aching thing I can’t classify. It pounds as hard as the fiercest argument.

  I reach for that sharp jaw, and his coarse stubble against my palm only ignites a deeper ache. And, oh God, the way his tongue twists with mine. I am locked to him, unable to pull away. I fist his hair, forcing him closer so I can angle up into his mouth, letting his tongue rove deeper.

  Holy fuck, Kepler Quinn can kiss.

  My intensity rises to match his. A low rumble winds through him and vibrates my chest. I respond with a soft, needy moan—almost a whimper. A timbre of sounds I’ve never made before. The noises just keep coming from somewhere deep inside me. Begging him to continue kissing me. Picking up in volume when his lips leave mine and he nibbles my lower lip before he slides up my jaw to the hollow under my ear. Open-mouthed kisses that need and demand. His tongue tasting the sensitive skin along the side of my neck.

  The heady feeling of him asks me to explore every inch of his body. I smooth my palms down his neck and across the hard width of his shoulders, grasping at the soft cotton of his shirt. I ball the fabric as if I can tear it from him.

  Where the fuck did my cup go?

  I try to sort out my thoughts—remember where the hell I am—as his tongue traces the edge of my earlobe. But when I pull in a breath, my chest expands, pressing my breasts against his chest, and he emits a low growl. Rumbling and potent. But I need more than that sound. More than kisses and the hard length of him flat against me. I need his teeth to clench down. His fingers to dig harder.

  “Kepler.” I press my palms against his chest, my hands cupping over the slight convex curve of his pecs. Holy fuck. I’ve never thought of him as muscular before—and he’s certainly not one of those beefcake guys with no neck—but there’s a surprise hidden under those gray t-shirts and hoodies.

  No. I need to stop this. He’s everything I don’t want. Confusing and frustrating. He’s a goddamn symbol of Rock Falls and why I want to leave this place. I can’t let everything I want disappear into one desperate kiss.

  I shove against his chest, and he pulls away from the curve of my neck. His lips are slightly open as he glares at me—anger and desire all mingled in that molten gaze. His t-shirt sticks to him despite the cool evening, highlighting those surprising muscles.

  I try to breathe, but it’s like all the oxygen is stuck at the crook of my collarbone. I fight against it—forcing out shallow breaths. I glance around to find more than a few people looking at us. One guy even lets out a whistle.

  My fingers itch. They want to grab Kepler again. No, he’s not going to become number thirty-nine. He can’t. I won’t let him. He’s not some out-of-town guy who’s going to disappear back to wherever the hell he came from. He's part of Rock Falls. I’m going to see him tomorrow and next week and five years from now. I need to stop this.

  And he needs to stop doing that annoying smoldering thing.

  My feet shift backward. “Stop smoldering,” I order.

  He raises a too-sexy eyebrow like he’s reading my thoughts. Or more like he’s playing around in them. Shifting them. Making me think of his tongue folded around mine. How that low growl vibrated his chest and tickled my nipples. Which are—I glance down—poking through my thin shirt. That has beer on it.

  Fucking perfect.

  All of this… it’s too much. I’m the one who decides when and where and what happens next. This feels like a fucking rollercoaster, and I’m in the back car just trying to hang on.

  Kepler’s got his cup clenched in one hand. I have no idea how when he practically engulfed me. His gaze calms as it traces over my damp shirt, but he’s still edged with something that makes my silly heart throw punches against the inside of my chest.

  He lets out a long breath and takes a sip. When he lowers the cup, foam covers the top of his lip.

  “Um…” I point to his foam-stache. Then to his cup. He just tilts his head and looks at me.

  “You have…” I point at him again, wiggling my finger for emphasis.

  His lips stay in an unmoving line.

  Wait… he’s joking?

  The corner of my mouth turns up helplessly. “You look terrible in a ’stache.”

  “It’s my disguise.” He smooths his tongue across his upper lip. And it isn’t sexy. Not at all. “Maybe you’ll mistake me for someone you want to kiss again.”

  “Kissing is a high expectation.” I’m grinning. How the hell am I grinning? The world always turns so fast with Kepler—and I’m holding on by my fingertips. Wait—is he proposing we date?

  My grin fades. “I can’t want this with you, Kepler.”

  “Ah, then you must be breaking up with me.”

  “We aren’t dating,” I snap.

  “You weren’t dating them either. Not really.” He reaches around me and snakes something from my back pocket. So quickly and deftly I don’t even know if he touched me.

  “What the hell—” I press my hands against my pocket even though I already know what happened.

  He stole my phone.

  I look up to find Kepler waggling my cracked and duct-taped iPhone above my head.

  “Lo,” he chides. He holds it up and types into it. I jump, but he holds it higher like I’m a puppy begging for a treat. When he’s done, he lowers it enough so I can hop up and snatch it back.

  “What the hell did you do?” I scroll through it. “And how did you know my lock code?”

  “Look under K.” His low voice is tinged with humor. “And you probably shouldn’t use your birthday.”

  I find a new contact listed under Kissing God. Of fucking course.

  I glare at him. “I’ll never call you.”

  “You will. And I’m never wrong.”

  “Why would I call you?”

  “So we can make out again. Because you seemed a little needy.” He shrugs. “I can help with that.”

  My hands settle in that familiar place on my hips. “You’re the one who was growling like a hungry dog.”

  His eyes light up. “Better than those wimpy little sobs you were making. I thought I might have to switch to mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” And then he lets out this little soft whine.

  “I did not sound like that!”

  “Come on, Lo. Admit it. You clearly need to be decently kissed.”

  “I don’t need to be anything.” I clutch my phone so hard the screen might crack again.

  “I’ll let you break up with me all you want. All you have to do is call. Or text.” He taps the display peeking out between my fingers. “Or send exhilarating pics.”

  “There’s no chance I will ever call you.” To prove it, I hold up my phone and delete his fucking number. “And you’re a terrible kisser.”

  “Yes, Lo.” He gestures towards my nipples with his cup. “I can see that.”

  Seven

  I search the house for Cassie, trying not to draw attention to myself. Or more attention. Yet another party where I’m the subject of gossip. I’m a party fixture. Like a party of the century can’t exist without Jean Lo there to cause drama.

  But apparently it can exist without my best friend because she’s nowhere to be found. Not on the make-out basement couches or by the now-empty keg. I give up and step outside, around the corner of the house, and stop under deep sh
adows cast by a row of juniper pines. I send Cassie a text and tap my fingers against the duct-taped battery.

  The wind whispers a shiver over my shoulders. And suddenly that feeling I’ve been attempting to stave off all week is back—the evil itchy feeling. Like my skin is pulled too tight across my bones. And my heart is too big to fit behind my ribs. It disappeared for a few minutes while I was with—

  Oh, hell.

  Cassie’s tone dings, and I latch on to the distraction.

  Mackie’s walking me home later.

  I practically throw my phone. But it isn’t Cassie’s fault I’m tied up in knots. I text back a smiley face instead of saying something stupid, and shake off my annoyance. I tuck my phone away and am left in darkness. Just like the street that leads home. Long and dark and empty.

  My back-up plan is always the same in these cases. So I sigh before texting the one person who will pick me up. Sloane’s just out driving around anyway. And she owes me a thousand rides after being a pain-in-the-ass older sister in high school who would drive herself home and leave me to walk by myself. I still can’t believe she did that.

  After getting a Fine back from Sloane, I take my jittery self to the curb and stare up at the stars, trying to take long breaths and channel, well, someone else entirely. Like someone who does yoga and drinks chamomile tea.

  The night is so clear I can find the Big Dipper and Andromeda and Pegasus. I’m counting the stars when cups hit the porch behind me. Which is what always happens when a cop pulls up.

  I hop up and yank on the handle to the passenger door. Sloane gives me an eye roll and a dramatic unlocking event before I jump into her black-and-white SUV.

  “This is the ‘party of the century’ everyone’s been radioing about? It looks lame.” Sloane dips her head and stares past me, already focused on the job at hand. I don’t take it personally. Of the two of us, she’s always been the focused one. The smart one. The strong one. The list goes on and on…

  “Aren’t you the only cop on duty?” I tuck into the passenger seat, and Kima, Sloane’s Malinois K-9, sticks her nose through the divider bars to give me a sniff. “Are you radioing yourself or something?” I’ve met Kima countless times, but she still eyes me warily.

  Sloane twists her ponytail and keeps her cop-glare on the porch full of people trying to ignore us. “The lazy campus cops want me to take care of it, but it doesn’t look like something to bother with.”

  “Beer ran out,” I offer with a shrug. Before I could fill my cup. This whole keg situation is getting out of hand. Pretty soon I’m going to have to throw my own damn party just so I can tap a keg and fill some cups.

  Although the keg situation is less out of control than the kissing situation. And the Kepler situation.

  Kegs, kisses, and Kepler. The words trill like annoying song lyrics.

  Fuck. Now I’ll have that ringing in my head for the rest of the night.

  Sloane gives the SUV’s lights a flick, and there’s a frenzied movement of party-bros off the porch and around the house. She waits a beat before spotlighting the yard with her mega-watt flashlight. Everyone runs. Except for a guy who freezes. One foot in the air, eyes wide, arms out. Like he’s invisible if he doesn’t move.

  “Well, he can’t be that drunk.” Sloane keeps the light on him. “Standing on one leg is half of the sobriety test.”

  She drops the flashlight, and he takes one step before she pins him again. And, of course, he refreezes.

  We’re both laughing hysterically by the time she pulls away from the curb.

  Sloane wipes tears from her eyes as we roll down the street. I love how she cries when she laughs. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen my sister cry. She’s tough as nails when it comes to everything except laughing.

  “College kids never get old,” she says.

  I push back against the wide, fake-leather seat. “Speak for yourself.”

  “That’s the only way I know how.” She sucks in a deep breath and glances at me for the first time since I got in the car. “You need to get home?”

  I shake my head and try to stop playing with the rolled edged of the seat. But it’s like my fingers have to be doing something.

  Sloane parks two blocks from my duplex and flips on the running lights. “Cassie?”

  “A guy.”

  She nods and snags an ever-present bag of Doritos from the dash. Not much bigger than me, Sloane should be dwarfed by all her coppy gadgets, but somehow she isn’t. She relaxes amidst the crackling radio and computer screen and the shotgun mounted angrily between us.

  It calms me to see her all confident and composed. It’s the opposite of what I feel, with the kegs, kissing, and Kepler song repeating in my head. I’m sure Sloane would have more than a few things to say about me kissing Kepler Quinn.

  Or Kepler kissing me.

  I can’t decide which one of us is at fault.

  Him. Definitely him. He was the one who stalked me into the backyard with his confusing words and sexy combed-back hair. And besides that, he had the audacity to buy soft t-shirts and start growing facial hair.

  Sloane hands me a Dorito, and I munch it to death, still brooding when my phone dings. She stretches her neck towards the screen. Does she ever stop being a cop?

  All the text says is Kepler. No jokes. Nothing else. Like his name on a Post-it, there’s something deadly serious in its singularity.

  I sigh and set my phone on the dash. It’s no fun to delete the number without Kepler watching.

  “Interesting,” Sloane says between crunches.

  I roll my eyes for her benefit. “Not interested in your opinion.”

  “Opinion about what?” Sloane pulls out her radar gun and props it in a little holder by the window.

  “No cop-questioning me.” I flick the window lever, opening it just enough to get in a breath of cold air. “What do you know about Kepler? I mean, recent Kepler. Not high-school Kepler.”

  “Why do you ask?” Sloane pushes some buttons on the radar gun and looks up and down the street. There isn’t a damn car in sight, but she’s still hard at work.

  I stare at her. The way she’s not looking at me… “Spill.”

  She sighs and settles back in her seat. “I arrested him a few years ago.”

  What? I blink at her. It takes me a full fucking minute to process that information. “What for?”

  Sloane munches on another chip and pivots the dash-mounted computer towards me, somehow still balancing the radar gun. She pulls up a query and types in Quinn, Kepler with one hand.

  Basic information up top—6’ 2”, gray eyes, brown hair, license number and birth date. All uninteresting stuff. Although I snicker at his full name: Kepler Copernicus Quinn. Then I get to the goods—or the bads: two arrests. Both for possession of more than the legal amount of marijuana. The first arrest was three years ago. Arresting Officer: Sloane Lo.

  Sloane resumes her chip eating and rotates the monitor towards her. “It was six months after I joined the force. I found him smoking a joint along the river. Said he was celebrating. Got into MIT or Harvard or Tufts—one of the schools in Boston. Possibly all of the schools in Boston.”

  “Why did he stay in Rock Falls?” I mumble. It’s not a real question because I already know the answer. This town is like a pool of wax slowly hardening around us, turning into stationary figures—never moving, staring wide-eyed at nothing. It’s what happened to me the first time I made the choice to stay. Rock Falls College was on the bottom of my stack of acceptances. But I loved my sister. And I worried about my mom. And now I’m kissing townie guys who never smile.

  When I get a second opportunity, I’m going to make a different choice.

  Sloane huffs, and my attention snaps back to her. “How should I know why he stayed? We weren’t having a chat over coffee. I was arresting him.”

  I picture Sloane pulling up in her black-and-white SUV, all uniformed and delighted to find someone breaking the law. Then she would have realized it was
Kepler, of all fucking people.

  She keeps munching and adjusts the radar gun, her face a carefully concealed mask—as it usually is. She’s almost impossible to read. Luckily, I’ve had twenty years to figure her out. And that long, slow breath she lets out is telling me something. Even if I’m not sure what it is yet.

  She and Kepler always had these crazy competitions when we were younger—like who could eat the most Oreos in a minute or who could do the most push-ups. They even graduated together. Kepler might have come over to fix the fence or paint the kitchen, but he would stay after. Sometimes eating frozen pizza with us while my father was at work.

  “Wasn’t it weird to arrest him?” I push the window closed. But it’s immediately too damn hot in the car, so I flick it open again.

  She shrugs. “In a town this small, it had to happen eventually. And Kepler never gave me shit about it.” She pauses to readjust the monitor. “Although he asked about you.”

  “What?” I stop jerking the window up and down so I can give her my full attention.

  “After I arrested him. He was sitting in the back.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “He asked how you were.”

  I glance behind us as if Kepler will be relaxing with his feet up on the grate, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility. But only Kima is there, silently evaluating me with those brown eyes. “What did you tell him?”

  “I don’t remember. Something typical like you were pissing me off or I called you a bitch or something.”

  “Good to know you’re slandering me in front of random people.” I reach for the bag of Doritos, but she pulls it back.

  “He’s not random.” She digs in the bag and hands me a chip. “I was friends with his girlfriend. And I remember, baby sister, that he was always around.”

  “Right. Don’t people call that being a stalker?”

  “It’s different. Trust me, I’ve encountered enough stalkers doing this job. Remember he helped Dad shingle that shed?”

  Crap, I’d forgotten about that. Did he help my father with every home project? And… why?