Avalon
Clarke was right; if I looked hard enough, I’d find someone to kiss. Not that I wanted to kiss anyone—I just wanted to fix my problem My problem being…Clarke.
Being around her again, being in such close proximity all the time, was confusing.
Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.
I couldn’t tell if what she was doing was intentional or if she was just as confused as I was. I’d seen the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. She had to feel something too.
I pushed through the crowd, not sure where I was going, bobbing my head to the music. I’d been in Texas almost a month, and country music was starting to grow on me. Against my will.
I’d listened to Clarke’s newest album—the one she released last year. I’d added a few favorites to a secret playlist. Some songs were exactly what I expected: love for her siblings, love for Opal Springs. But others…
Others felt deeper.
Like she was trapped here. Bound by loyalty. By duty. By being the oldest daughter.
Like she wanted to fly but couldn’t.
From what I’d seen of the King family, her parents didn’t expect her to stay forever. They’d be proud of her anywhere. But I’d never been in her position. I didn’t understand what it meant to be responsible for someone else.
What I did know was that I would kill for a family like hers.
Rorie’s was cute—not Pit 5°, but cute. Packed to the brim with people my age. I hadn’t realized Opal Springs had this many twenty-somethings until they were all sweating in the same room.
I’d scoped out a few girls who seemed interesting, but the closer I got, the less I wanted to do it.
What if Clarke was right and this was a bad idea?
I mean, the idea came from Jonas—and that man was a walking bad idea.
But if Clarke didn’t want to kiss me, then I needed to find someone who did.
One girl had been eyeing me from across the bar—near the karaoke machine where her friends were butchering Blown Away. She smiled as I approached, pleased I’d picked up on her energy.
“Hi!” I shouted over the music. “I’m Avalon.”
“Schuyler!” she replied, shaking my hand. “You wouldn’t happen to be Avalon Kennedy, would you?”
I blushed. “I didn’t think anyone in Opal Springs would know who I was.”
She laughed, still holding my hand. “I’m not from here. Just passing through before college starts. I’m from Orange County.”
“The O.C.,” I said with relief. “Finally, someone from civilization.”
We laughed together. Her hand was warm, smooth, manicured—definitely not local.
“I was at your concert in Rockwell,” Schuyler said, running her thumb across my hand. “Loved when you brought Hadassah Osprey out. Are you two broken up for good?”
Considering I had a restraining order against Hadassah, I nodded. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. I’d rather not talk about my ex.”
Her face lit up. She nodded eagerly.
Lacing our fingers, I led her through the crowd. I wanted to get this over with—fast. If this would get Clarke out of my head, then I needed to do it.
I found a storage closet door that wasn’t locked. As we walked, the music shifted to an upbeat country song, and the lights dimmed into red and blue strobe flashes.
“Oh my gosh, I love this song!” Schuyler squealed behind me as I struggled with the door. Why was everything in Opal Springs impossible to open?
Finally, it budged. I laughed in relief and turned to usher her inside—and froze.
Across the bar, Clarke stood beneath the strobe lights, her brother and Ethan beside her. They were too busy talking to notice her staring.
At me.
Her blonde hair was pulled back with a bow-shaped claw clip, loose strands framing her face. She wore a sleeveless jean dress with a white ruffled skirt and red-and-white boots.
But it wasn’t her outfit that made my stomach drop.
It was her mouth.
A smudge of red lipstick stained her lips.
Clarke hadn’t been wearing lipstick when we arrived. She hadn’t had any twenty minutes ago.
Had she beaten me to it?
Had she kissed someone else?
“You coming?” Schuyler asked from inside the closet.
I snapped back to reality, tearing my gaze away. I didn’t care that Clarke kissed someone. I was about to do the same. She had every right to kiss whoever she wanted.
She wasn’t mine.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Sorry.”
As I stepped into the room behind Schuyler, my mind kept circling back to that image of Clarke beneath the strobe lights — her lips stained red.
Who had she been kissing?
Schuyler drifted closer, her fingers tracing along my collarbone. She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her over the pounding in my chest. Clarke had found someone so quickly? How?
Schuyler’s lips brushed my neck, but whatever I was supposed to feel… wasn’t there. No spark. No hunger. Not for her.
Had Clarke just kissed some random girl?
A sharp tug at my skin snapped me back. I blinked, forcing myself to focus on the girl in front of me. I shouldn’t be thinking about the one person who didn’t want to kiss me. This was the whole point—to get her out of my head.
“Sorry,” Schuyler purred, lashes low. “You seemed so preoccupied. I wanted your attention.”
I forced a smile and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Unwanted memories flashed—my fingers tucking golden hair behind Clarke’s ear.
I blinked them away.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
“I’m all yours,” I lied. “I promise.”
Schuyler growled playfully. “Good. Now can I finally get a taste of that pretty little mouth?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She tugged me closer and pressed her lips to mine.
Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, tripping over cleaning supplies. The metal ladder behind me kept us from crashing to the floor, though I was 85% sure I’d have a bruise tomorrow.
Now in a reclined position, Schuyler swung a leg over each of my hips, straddling me. She cupped my face, trying to coax my mouth open with her tongue—but my lips stayed clamped shut.
No matter how hard she tried—or how hard I tried—my mouth wouldn’t move against hers.
My eyes stayed open the entire time, which told me everything I needed to know.
I didn’t understand. I wanted this. Didn’t I?
I wanted to kiss someone.
I wanted to stop wanting someone I couldn’t have.
So why wasn’t it working?
Why was my body saying no when my mind was begging for yes?
“Come on,” Schuyler moaned against my lips. “Kiss me, Avalon.”
She sat back, fingers trailing over my collarbone, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know. I’m trying, but… something feels off.”
Her pout vanished, replaced by irritation. “What? Are you trying to convince yourself to make out with me? Am I not pretty enough?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s not you—”
“Classic L.A. lesbians,” she muttered. “Let me guess—it’s not me, it’s you?”
With a huff, she slid off my legs and stepped back.
I sat up, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry. Really. I thought if I did this, I’d stop thinking about her—”
“Save it,” she cut in, pulling out a compact mirror to fix her hair and lipstick. “I don’t need your woes. You won’t kiss me—that’s all I need to know.”
Relief washed through me—I’d been two seconds from oversharing.
Schuyler left without another word, no doubt ready to tell her friends a wildly exaggerated version of this.
I pressed my forehead into my palms.
Clarke’s image replayed over and over—her standing in the low light, someone else’s lipstick on her mouth.
Who had it been?