Naughty, Nice, Never Been Kissed

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

MAEVE

Cedar Grove’s campus library is always empty an hour before closing, even during finals week, because most students prefer to study in their dorms. Not me—I love how quiet the library is at this time, with only the dim glow of the lamps perched at each wooden table.

It smells like dated carpet and books, but it brings me comfort, which I need to mentally prepare myself for the four finals I have at the end of the week.

That and the large-sized latte sitting next to the disarray of textbooks I have open on the table, waiting for me to pay attention to them.

The sun is setting, there’s only one other person in here sitting at the other end of the table, and the heat from the vent above wraps around me like a warm blanket.

This is my happy place and has been for the past four months.

When I’m not in class, I’m either here or at the fitness center, running on the treadmill in hopes of distracting myself just enough.

Anything to occupy my mind is welcomed with open arms these days.

My phone rings loudly, echoing through the empty library and making the only other person in here twist their head toward me, which has my entire body practically shrinking in embarrassment.

The photo of my mom wearing an LED light therapy mask pops up on the screen; she hates that picture, but it makes me laugh.

Okay, maybe not every distraction is welcomed.

“Shit,” I mutter, quickly fumbling to answer it as I shoot the guy sitting at the opposite end of the table my best attempt at an apologetic smile. His eyes quickly avoid mine as he looks back down again, and I press the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” she says. “How are you? How’s studying going?”

“I’m good, Mom,” I assure her in a hushed voice. “Yeah, I feel good.”

“That’s so great, Mae. I can’t wait to hear all about it at Christmas. When will you be coming home for break?”

Christmas break.

Shit.

How am I supposed to even begin explaining that I want to go home but don’t have a way to get there?

That my only ride was Landon, my ex-boyfriend, but I had finally ended things with him after months of emotional and…

I can’t tell my mother that. I’m not sure I’ve fully processed the relationship for what it was myself, even after all these months.

I can’t tell her the truth, not yet. No matter how badly I want to escape this campus and flee home.

To flee from all the places that reek of him. I need it now more than ever.

My eyes sting with the threat of tears, but I swallow them down.

“About that…” I sigh. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it home for Christmas this year.”

“Maeve.”

“I know,” I say, my eyebrows furrowing as the guilt weighs heavily in my stomach, “but I don’t have a car and all the flights are booked up for the holidays. I’ve checked. There’s no way for me to get there.”

“You already missed Thanksgiving.” The sadness in her voice is prevalent, and this time, I can’t stop the tears from blurring my vision. I don’t want to make her any more sad than I have this past year; it guts me to disappoint her like this. “What about Landon? He can’t bring you?”

No, I want to say. I missed Thanksgiving because I wasn’t ready to explain to my family that I had dumped the guy who had won them over with his charm, just like he’d won me over once. That I dumped him after months and months of…

“Honey?”

I must’ve been quiet for too long.

“He can’t bring me either, Mom.”

Now she’s the one who’s quiet, and I can’t stomach the guilt that’s bubbling hot inside my gut. Here I am again, fucking things up because that’s what I do. Landon instilled that so far into my brain, there’s no way I could possibly forget it.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “but I have to go. I have to study. I’ll…talk to you later, okay?”

“Wait, Mae, what if I get your father to look into flights? Maybe he can find something for you—”

“I’ve looked, Mom. Nearly a million times.”

“Okay,” she says defeatedly, and that’s the nail in my coffin. I feel like the worst daughter on the planet. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up before she can point out the obvious crack in my voice, because I know she caught it. She catches everything because she’s a good mom, and that reminder only further fuels my need to cry. I miss my family so much; it kills me that I haven’t seen them in a year.

A year of being separated from the only support I have, being isolated and alone, because that’s what he wanted.

He wanted to be the only person I had to run to, while also being the person to crush me every time.

He broke me into tiny pieces and stomped on them, over and over again, until I didn’t know who I was anymore.

We’re not even together, and Landon is somehow still making my life miserable. I’m letting him control me, still. Why do I do that? Why do I let him have this power over me, knowing that’s exactly how he’d want me to feel?

Angrily swiping at the tear sliding down my cheek, I quickly close my books and stack them on top of each other as I stand from my creaky chair.

My safe space doesn’t feel safe anymore, now that I just want to curl up into a ball and cry.

The last thing I need is to break down in front of the random guy at the table, who’s probably already annoyed enough with me as it is for interrupting the quiet.

I’m tired and I just need to crawl into my bed.

With my heavy books teetering in one arm and my coffee in my other hand, I quickly head toward the library entrance, passing by the only other person in here.

Except in my hurry, the toe of my boot catches the leg of his chair, making me trip and stumble slightly to steady myself.

The four textbooks don’t stand a chance, though, as they topple from my arm and to the ground with a loud smack.

I manage to save my coffee, but nearly drop it again as the loud noise makes me flinch so hard that my heart stutters in my chest.

Stop.

Breathe.

Everything is okay.

It’s just books.

“Shit,” I say for the hundredth time as I kneel down to gather the mess I’ve made.

My hands shake feebly from the rush of adrenaline shooting through me, and I try ineptly hard to stop them as the guy appears next to me, helping me gather my books.

I lift my head with a forced sheepish smile to thank him, but I’m momentarily thrown off even more to see that he’s also hot.

This is who had been sitting at the other end of the table the whole time?

Was I not looking closely enough earlier?

My eyes sweep over him quickly, taking in his messy brown hair, dark eyes resting behind the glasses perched on his nose, and his full lips, but I avert my gaze as he looks up at me.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

His voice is soft, raspy, and I swear, he almost sounds more nervous than I do.

As we both stand, he gently sets two of my books back onto the others resting in my arm, before I give him an awkward, thin-lipped smile as I turn to leave.

No need to embarrass myself any more than I already have.

Why is it always so much more mortifying when things like this happen in front of a cute guy?

“I have a car.”

He speaks so low that I almost don’t hear it, but I do.

Freezing, my eyebrows knit together as I turn slowly to peer at him over my shoulder. “What did you say?”

“A truck, I-I mean,” he stammers, pushing his glasses up his nose as his cheeks redden faintly. “I, um, have a truck. Sorry, I o-overheard your…”

I don’t even know what to say as he trails off; all I can do is gape up at him. Jesus, he’s tall. I mean, seriously, my neck is straining just to gawk at him.

“I-I could drive you.”

My lips part as I twist to fully face him now, cradling my books awkwardly as I cock my head up at him.

Even though he can’t keep eye contact with me for longer than one to two seconds at a time, I can tell how kind his brown eyes are.

In fact, his whole face has a softness to it, a warmth, especially with the blush that etches itself into his cheeks.

“You were listening to my conversation?” I ask, and it’s mostly sarcasm, but I can tell it doesn’t come across that way as he fidgets nervously.

“No. I mean, uh, not on purpose—”

“It was a joke,” I say in almost a whisper, pressing my lips together to keep from snorting at the flustered panic on his features.

He tries to laugh it off, but it falters.

I don’t want to make him feel more awkward because I hate it when someone does that when I’m embarrassed, so I divert the conversation. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, drawing my attention to the sharpness of his jawline, but I rein myself in before he can catch me staring.

“And you could be a creep, for all I know,” I add, pursing my lips. “This is very serial killer of you. I’m just supposed to let you drive me? Alone?”

He frowns. “Well, no… You don’t have to.”

I can’t stop myself from snorting this time. “That was another joke. You know, ha ha?”

His head drops as his lips curve into a timid smile, and that’s when I see the dimples in both cheeks.

The sight makes my stomach flip. This guy is almost so pretty that my lungs feel tight as they search for air, and it’s like he’s completely oblivious to it.

Normally, pretty guys are confident, obnoxious even, and oozing with an ego too big for them.

“I’m going to California,” I say.

He lifts his head, nodding. “Okay.”

“You’d drive me to California? All the way from Pennsylvania?” My eyebrow quirks skeptically. “Across the whole country?”

“Yes.”

My gaze narrows. “You don’t have anywhere to be for Christmas?”

He shakes his head tentatively. “No. Nowhere.”

“I’ll tell you what. Meet me here every day this week at four o’clock. We’ll talk and then, if I decide you’re not some psycho, we’ll leave after finals. Deal?”

“O-only one in twelve thousand people get murdered every year,” he says, licking his lips as his eyes meet mine briefly, “but it mostly depends on where you live. And, uh, you’re more likely to get killed by s-someone you know than…”

He trails off as he looks up at the dumbfounded expression that’s taken over my face.

Scratching at the back of his neck, his cheeks resembling little tomatoes, he says, “Deal.”

A snicker leaves my lips as I set my coffee on top of the books stacked on my arm, reaching my hand out to shake his. Sealing this deal.

“I’m Maeve.”

He puts his warm hand against mine. “Tatum.”

“Tatum,” I repeat, pulling my hand away as I turn to leave again. “See you tomorrow. Four o’clock.”

“Four o’clock.”

What am I doing?

Am I really so desperate to get out of here that I may be willing to take this stranger up on his offer?

Tatum doesn’t seem like an axe murderer; he doesn’t seem like he’d even hurt a fly, actually.

He’s all soft and warm and shy, like a teddy bear.

Teddy bears don’t murder people. But clearly, I’ve never been the best judge of character.

I’m too quick to trust people, too quick to give them the benefit of the doubt.

That’s how someone like Landon managed to weasel their way into every aspect of my life and take it over, like a poison.

I won’t let that happen to me again.

I’ll suss Tatum out this week, and if I get any sort of weird vibe at all, I’ll just tell him that I decline his offer. Simple as that.

Everything is okay.