My Boss's Kiss Page 4

“Either they go, or I go,” Lindsey said through gritted teeth.

  Still feeling Adam’s eyes on me, I stepped into the hot tub.

  “I can’t make them leave,” Adam said.

  “Fine. Then I’m going.”

  Adam and I watched her storm out of the house, not saying a word. Then silently Adam looked at me again, his eyes all hungry and I-want-you. It had my heart fluttering and my stomach dancing. It had me ready to jump into his arms and pant, “Show me more moves, baby.”

  Only, just then …

  Jillian puked in the hot tub.

  … Thinking back on that day now, I felt sick. Adam had chosen the kids and me over Lindsey. But come to think of it, Adam chose the kids and me always, over everything.

  I sat up with a start.

  I was stupid. A jerk.

  My heart pounding, I reached for my cell phone, going to call Adam. That was my plan. But there was a text message on it, waiting for me. From Adam. He had written it a few hours ago responding to a message I’d left him over two months ago, right after Brandy left him. I’d texted him trying to cheer him up, trying to get him to look on the bright side of the situation.

  I’d texted: Now you’ll be open to someone more suited to you—available.

  Tonight he’d texted back a reply: What?—you mean if my true love ever comes along? She did, Jones. Just unfortunately, my best friend saw her first.

  CHAPTER 7

  Adam Back in Middle School

  Adam Back in Middle School

  I tossed a note to Ashley. Score! It landed on her hand—the one that was holding a pencil. A pencil she was supposed to be writing with. Only she wasn’t. Absolutely NO writing was happening with that pretty cheerleader. None. Instead, she was whispering with her best friend, Summer. As usual.

  I lay my head on my desk and watched Ashley glance at my note. Watched her big heart-clutching green eyes. Eyes that never looked at me—well, not the way I wanted them to.

  She picked up the note, not exactly shocked to get one. She gets notes all the time—just not from me. They’re usually from my best friend, Jason—her boyfriend.

  I shoved my shaggy hair out of my eyes and watched as Ashley read my note. Watched her pretty pink lips form an “O.”

  She looked around the class, probably wondering who wrote it. (I never sign my notes.) Then she showed it to Summer.

  Summer scowled at it. Like I wrote: You’re stupid and ugly and need to get a leash! But that’s not what I wrote. Not even close. I just wrote, Don’t you EVER stop talking?

  It was just my way of warning her. I kept seeing our teacher, Mrs. Woods, glare over at Ashley. Because Ashley was talking when she was supposed to be writing. Like I said, Ashley’s always talking. But she didn’t do it because she was “bad.” She did it because she had a lot to say. The girl was interesting. And beautiful.... And my best friend’s girlfriend.

  But see, she was going to get in trouble. Mrs. Woods was looking pretty mad. Like any second she was going to explode.

  So, I wrote the note. But now Ashley and Summer were whispering about it. Loud. I face-planted my desk.

  “Ashley,” Mrs. Woods snapped. She sounded impatient. As though she’d finally had enough. “Let’s hear your poem. Now.”

  Oh man. I winced and thumped my forehead against my desk, then smacked a hand over my eyes to avoid seeing the train-wreck. But then I peeked through the slits between my fingers, watching Ashley.

  I slunk down in my seat, half-worried for her, half-intrigued. What would her poem be about? Did she even write one? She’d been talking an awful lot, whispering with her friends, probably about Jason. Definitely not about me. Or, okay, it was possible she was whispering about me. But if she was, it was only to complain that I’d tied her shoelaces together while she and Jason were eating lunch. They hadn’t even noticed I’d done it because they’d been in their own little world—as usual. One that didn’t involve me—or the rest of the school. Just those two—Ashley and Jason—alone in love. It made my heart ache to see them together—let alone, have to hang out with them. Every day. So, I tried not to. Only, Jason was my best friend…. And I was drawn to Ashley. So, yeah, I was sort of sunk.

  After enduring Ashley’s poem, as soon as the bell rang I asked Fiona Silver to be my girlfriend. It wasn’t that I liked Fiona, though she was pretty. It wasn’t even that Fiona was popular, though she was. She was what the girls in our class called “The Queen” of popularity. But the reason I asked her out was I knew it would bother Ashley. And I wanted to bother Ashley—bad. ‘Cause she bothered me.

  She was all I could think about, all I wanted to look at. My eyes would follow her everywhere. Yet, she was always looking at Jason. Smiling at Jason. Talking to Jason. That was why I was able to tie her shoelaces together at lunch—she was in a world that only involved Jason.

  And that poem she wrote … the poem made my heart catch. I sat listening to her, not breathing. Aching. She had written about being in love. I wanted so bad for that poem to be about me. But I knew who it was about. Jason.

  She smiled at him after she finished reading it. Her pretty eyes glowing as she gazed at him, like he was her bright, shining angel that gave her breath.

  Then she whispered, “This poem is for my boyfriend, Jason.”

  I winced hearing that. My heart ached. So tortured.

  So, yeah. I asked out Fiona, Ashley’s archenemy. ‘Cause Jason had Ashley’s love. All I could hope for was her hate. At least then she would look at me….

  CHAPTER 8

  Adam

  Adam in Middle School

  “Oh, no you didn’t!” Ashley pleaded on our walk home from school. She was holding hands with Jason—of course. But she was looking at me, totally pleading. “Please tell me it’s a horrible, gross rumor—a total lie. That you didn’t really ask out Fiona Silver.”

  My heart sort of squeezed at the trembling in her voice. And the way she was looking at me, all hurt and betrayed and how could you do this to me? It made my chest ache.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, wishing I hadn’t done it. Man, even as I was doing it, I wished I hadn’t done it. The whole thing made me nauseous and sweat.

  A shudder ran through me this afternoon when I asked Fiona about going to the carnival and she got all excited. And another shudder was going through me now as Ashley looked so hurt.

  I exhaled slowly, trying to act like my heart wasn’t breaking. “It’s not a lie. I did. I asked her—but really, just to go to the carnival with me. That was it. Her friends decided that that was me ‘asking her out,’ though.”

  I didn’t quite get how that happened—how asking her to go to the carnival somehow ended up meaning way more than that. Still, I tried to sound like it was reasonable. And okay. I mean, it was probably for the best, right?

  Because I can’t help it … I watch Ashley. I do. All the time. Every chance I get. I don’t mean to though, I swear. It’s totally not on purpose. But my eyes are glued to her—whenever she’s not looking. Which is usually. Like I said, her eyes are always on Jason. Whenever she looks at me, it’s nervous-like, because she thinks I hate her.

  It’s just as well, though. Her thinking that. I mean, I feel like a creep. Being so into my best friend’s girlfriend. It makes me want to bash my head into a wall.

  So, I shrugged despondently about the Fiona thing, trying to keep from cringing, “I’m not sure how it happened—but now I’m her boyfriend.”

  “Well, it’s your choice,” Ashley said. “She can’t make you be her boyfriend. I mean, she didn’t give you a contract you had to sign or anything, right?”

  I breathed out a weak laugh. “No.”

  “Then don’t be her boyfriend!”

  I stared at her.

  This moment was pretty much out of my dreams—Ashley pleading with me not to date a girl. It was like right out of my fantasies … only, okay, it wasn’t the same. Or even close, really. She wasn’t wanting to date me herself—the thought never even
slightly crossed her mind. Still, she was looking at me with her big, trance-inducing eyes, begging me not to date another girl.

  It did two totally opposite things to me. Twisted my heart, but at the same time, gave me a (stupid, I know) thrill in the pit of my stomach.

  I would have given into her. Totally caved. After all, I only did it for this—I guess. To torture her a little, since she tortured me …with her pretty green eyes … and her sweet poem … and her total devotion to my best friend.

  Her pleading eyes made me want to do whatever she asked.

  I was about tell her, “Okay. I’ll tell Fiona I’m not her boyfriend. That I was just asking her to the carnival.” But right then, Fiona came up beside me and linked her fingers through mine.

  “Hi boyfriend,” Fiona said with her big blue eyes twinkling at me, and her big, flirty smile all for me too. (Or okay, probably not. Probably part of her smile was to make Ashley mad—since everyone knew Ashley would be angry about me dating Fiona—the girl that called Ashley “Miss Thinks She’s Perfect” up on the school stage at an assembly. Right where everyone from school could hear and see.)

  Ashley’s gaze went right to my hand linked with Fiona’s. Her eyes looked … agonized. Seeing that did something strange to the pit of my stomach. Made me want to drop Fiona’s hand and reassure Ashley that I didn’t like Fiona. That I could never like Fiona. No way.

  But the way Ashley shrunk back into Jason’s arms, clung to him like for support, it made me do something weird. Instead of pushing Fiona away like I wanted, I brushed her cheek lightly with my fingertips. Caressed her. Like I liked her. A lot.

  It made Fiona gaze up at me—like Ashley does to Jason. Like I’m awesome. But Ashley went all pale, as though the life drained out of her. Seeing that, my heart strangled in my throat.

  Ashley’s voice was weak and trembly as she whispered to Jason, “Come on.” She tugged on his hand, trying to lead him away. “Let’s go. I feel sick.”

  Jason gave me a look, like: What are you doing, man?

  But I just shrugged. I really had no idea what I was doing. At all. Obviously. I liked Ashley. I didn’t want to hurt her … and yet I did. I had no idea why or what I was doing. I was a train-wreck with my heart out of control.

  Watching as Ashley sank away, Fiona rolled her eyes. “Drama queen,” she said with a little giggle.

  “Hey,” I took my hand away from her and shoved it in my pocket. But then I ran it over my face.

  My heart went with Ashley. It just did. All that was left of me was hurting.

  I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal, but it was as though I’d swallowed sandpaper. “If you’re going to hang around me you can’t talk that way about Ashley.”

  Fiona scrunched up her eyebrows, giving me a bewildered look. I squeezed my eyes shut knowing what was coming.

  “I thought you can’t stand her,” Fiona said, sounding baffled. “You’re always picking on her.”

  “I don’t ‘pick’ on her. I … tease her.” Man, I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with anyone, but especially not Fiona Silver.

  “Whatever,” Fiona huffed. “Do you like me or not?”

  “I … do,” I lied—I think. Man, I really didn’t know. She was pretty. And smelled good. Not as good as Ashley—but hey, who did? I needed to get over that chick and Fiona seemed as good as anyone to help me do it. I mean, she really was pretty and I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting all chummy with Ashley or talking about Ashley all the time—at least not in a good way. That seemed like a wise idea. Way better than getting close to one of Ashley’s giggling friends where I’d have to hear how awesome she is on a continual basis. As though I didn’t already know. As though it didn’t slug my heart.

  “Look,” I said, trying to make it sound reasonable. Not totally messed up. And tragic. “She’s my best friend’s girlfriend. So, you can’t … hurt her.”

  Fiona put her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. “That’s really it?—why you’re defending her? It’s just for Jason?”

  I looked away from her, staring at a passing car as though it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen, though really I couldn’t even see it. All I could see in my brain was Ashley’s hurt eyes as she watched me touch Fiona’s cheek. It made my heart twist. Made it shrivel and churn in my gut. “Of course it’s just for Jason,” I murmured, still staring after the car.

  “And you don’t like Ashley?”

  I looked back at Fiona. Stared into her eyes. They were green too—but not as green as Ashley’s. “Does it seem like I like Ashley?”

  Fiona snorted a laugh. “No!”

  I drew in my breath. “Then everything’s cool, right?”

  CHAPTER 9

  When I got home, I had email from Ashley. That was new. I never got email from her before in my life, so in a way, dating Fiona had done it’s job. In spades.

  But then again, this was Ashley’s email:

  Okay, Adam, I know you hate me. You don’t have to prove it by dating my archenemy—who hates and torments me every chance she gets. Or is that why you are dating her? So you two can conspire against me—together. Probably that’s it, right? After all, I know it was you that passed me that note in class today. The note that got me in trouble.

  I really don’t know why you hate me so much. Seriously, I don’t. I honestly have no clue. When Jason and I got together I had really hoped you and I could be friends. I really wanted that.

  Obviously, it’s too much to ask, though … but that’s too bad because I really, really, really like Jason and I’d like us all to get along.

  So, be honest. Do you really like Fiona? Really and truly?

  She really doesn’t seem your type. At all.

  I sat back in my chair. Groaned. The problem with her email was—it was true. Fiona wasn’t my type. At all. But the person that was my “type” really, really, really liked my best friend.

  So, I ran a hand over my face, knowing what I had to do. But the problem was: I didn’t wanna. Finally, I sucked in my breath and did it anyway. I wrote Ashley back:

  “Yeah, I really, truly like Fiona.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was a long time before Ashley finally responded to my email. I don’t know if it was because it bothered her; made her fret about it a while. (I like to think it was.) But probably she just didn’t check her email that often. She probably didn’t sit there at her computer with a gut full of knots waiting for an answer. At least not from me. She might from Jason. Probably. But never from me. I was just the jerk that kept her from getting to see Jason 24 hours of the day.

  I was pretty sure Ashley was lying about once hoping we—Jason, her and I—could all get along together. I think she wanted me to disappear—right from the beginning.

  When Ashley finally wrote back all she said was:

  If you’re going to hang around Fiona at the carnival this weekend, could you please (please, please!!!) not hang around Jason and me there? Please?

  See? She wanted me to disappear.

  I stared at her message. A long time. I don’t even know how long. Unfortunately, her request was reasonable. After all, she and Fiona didn’t get along. But the thing was, I didn’t even want to go to the stupid carnival if I didn’t get to hang out with the only two people I even cared about—her and Jason. Otherwise the whole day would be totaled.

  I got up calmly from my desk, but then I threw my phone across the room. It smashed against the wall and broke into pieces.

  “Great,” I muttered. But destroying my phone wasn’t why my chest ached. It ached because I was an idiot. Why did I ask Fiona to the carnival? Why was I so messed up?

  CHAPTER 11

  I probably already mentioned this, but Jason and I are in a band. This guy, Zack, plays the drums for us. (I can actually play way better than him—but right now I’m into the guitar.) We’ve had a lot of different singers. None of them very good, but the rest of us rock.

  The band is pretty much
mine. I mean, I started it with Jason—but it’s mine. We usually practice at Zack’s house though because his drum-set is huge. We practice in his basement and I love it. So much. It gets my mind off everything—even Ashley. Which is good, because my stomach is in knots about her.

  Today ends up being different though—can’t get my mind off Ashley, ‘cause Jason brings Ashley with him to practice. When she walks in, I stop playing. Not on purpose. It just happens. One minute I’m rocking out on the guitar, the next I’m staring.

  Of course Ashley thinks it’s because I’m mad that she came. No matter what I do, she thinks it’s because I’m mad. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. It makes stuff easier. ‘Cause well, things are seriously messed up when you have it bad for your best friend’s girlfriend. You want to get away … yet you want to stay. Close.

  It’s easier if everyone just thinks you act weird because you’re angry or in deep dislike. I mean, they think you’re a jerk, yeah. But at least they don’t realize what a creepy, twisted, messed up jerk you really are.

  Ashley kind of hides behind Jason. Probably because I’m staring at her.

  Jason gives me a little smile, like he’s pleased that I’m confused. And like what he’s going to tell me will blow my mind. “Ashley wants to be in the band.”

  My eyes pop open. For a minute, I’m extremely excited, thinking she wants to sing. A thrill goes through me. I swear, my heart gets a gigantic jolt of happiness—Ashley singing on stage. The thought has my heart slamming against my chest.

  I’ve heard Ashley sing before. Lots of times. She rocks. But she only does it when she thinks no one is listening. She sings along to songs, soft and sweet. It always puts me in a starry-eyed daze. In some other world. A dreamy place where Jason likes some other girl and I can kiss Ashley.

  So, for a minute I’m tragically hopeful. But then I realize she’s not going to do that—sing out loud on stage. She wants to be in the band—the actual band. Like, play. Not sing.