11. Bailey
After chatting with Jerry,I got ready for bed, changing into a pair of shorts, a tank, and one of Jamie’s hoodies.As much as I wanted to strangle the boy, I still loved him. I needed the comfort of being wrapped up in something of his.
I was on my phone, scrolling through Instagram, when it rang in my hand. Jamie. Panicking, I declined the call and then powered off my phone. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have texted and told him I was sick or something before walking home so he wouldn’t worry. But I hadn’t, and now I was prettysure he was standing outside my bedroom door.
Crap!
“Come in!” I whisper shouted from my bed. I was not getting out of these covers.
The door cracked open. Jamie’s dark head poked through the opening, his eyes finding mine immediately. The first thing I noticed was relief and then frustration. He entered the room the rest of the way and closed the door softly behind him, locking it before kneeling at the side of my bed.
He opened his mouth to speak.
“I’m sorry,” I rushed to say before he could.
His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “I was really worried about you, Bales.”
Suddenly, my little tempertantrum seemed juvenile. I knew Jamie would worry, and part of me wanted to make him worry. Part of me wanted to make him think about me, not the stupid girls hanging all over him. It was dumb. And reckless. And unkind. Jamie had done nothing to deserve that.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Although, I kind of had. “I just—I just needed to leave.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then gestured for me to scoot over. I shifted to one side of the bed to make room for him next to me. He stretched out on top of the covers facing meon his side.
“Bales, we live in a safe neighborhood, but anything could have happened to you. I would never forgive myself if you got hurt. You should have told one of us.” He picked up a lock of my hair, the behavior so familiar it made me ache inside.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to sayandhoped he wouldn’t ask for more because I had no idea how to answer. Things were still weird between us. It was a testament to our friendship that Jamie was even here, staring at me with worried eyes.
He let go of my hair and tucked his hands under his cheek. He lookedas young as Preston.
“Why’d you leave?” he asked.
I could have answered. I could have told him all the reasons. But I didn’t. I just lay there staring into his eyes. It was dangerous territory.
I’d been thinking of something since the night I called him out on not kissing m—that it hadn’t even occurred to him to kiss me. It should have made me feel desperate or lame to go to such extreme measures for the boy to notice I was a living, breathing girl and not just his childhood playmate. But I had this feeling, this persistent itch. If I took this risk and laid it all out there,I might get what I’d always wanted—Jamie.
Before I could stop myself, I took the first step.
“Did you know, according to some websites, there are one hundred and fifty-five different types ofkisses?” Yeah, I opened with that.
JAMIE
For the secondtime in as many weeks, Bailey threw me off so thoroughly that I was literally frozen. I had not expected her to say that. Because, seriously. Kissing again?
I might have laughed, but my eyes got caught on her lips. She’d covered themwith the strawberry-flavored lip balm she preferred. I could smell it. And I’d borrowed it enough to know what it tasted like. But for the first time, I wondered what it tasted like on her.
Kiss Bailey?
No. I had to get myself under control. With a force of will I didn’t know I possessed, I rolled onto my back and laced my fingers behind my head.
“Wow. A hundred and fifty-five. That seems like a lot. How is that even possible?”
Bailey mimicked my position. “There were some crazy ones like ‘dizzy kisses’ and ‘virtual kisses’ and kisses involving every kindoffood.”
I tried to keep my thoughts on the straight and narrow, but she wasn’t making it easy. I’d never had this problem with Bailey before, but my pulse pounded, and my body tingled in ways I wished it wouldn’t.
“Food? Like what?” I croaked, mentally smacking myself in the head. I shouldn’t encourage her. Especially not in her dark room on her bed while she wore one of my sweatshirts.
“Oh, you know. Strawberries. Mints. Every kind of alcohol. Pop Rocks.” She ticked off each item on her fingers. If she said anything about whipped cream, I was out of there. A guy could only handle so much. She was na?ve if she didn’t understand that.
I cleared my throat. “Pop Rocks? That would be weird.”
“I know, right?”
She got quiet, lulling me into thinking we’d finished our completely out-of-character and inappropriate conversation. Inappropriate for us. I was desperate to change the topic to something safe, like telling my mom about playing football or my bucket list, which included sky-diving and cliff-jumping.
“I narrowed it down to five kisses,” she said so casually we could have been discussing the weather.
“Oh, yeah?” I croaked.
“Yeah. The others were weird or went further than we need to go,” she clarified.
I cleared my throat several times before any words could pass through it. “We?”
“Of course, we. What do you think we’ve been talking about, Barnes?”
I had no idea what we were talking about. I only knew her room was suddenly stifling. I sat up. She’d buried herself under a mountain of blankets and wore my sweatshirt. She didn’t even look flushed. I, on the other hand, was on fire. Rising from her bed, I went over to the window.
“Is it hot in here?” I didn’t wait for her to answer before opening it. I wished there wasn’t a screen over the opening because I wanted to stick my head outside. Or maybe in a bucket of ice water. What was happening?
I inhaled several breaths of cool air before turning back to the alien that had taken over my best friend’s body. There was no other explanation for the conversation we were having.
“What is your problem?” Bailey asked, untangling herself from her comforter.
My eyes bulged before closing completely. I really, really hoped she had shorts on under that hoodie.
This was not good. This was not right. My blood wasn’t supposed to boil at the thought of Bailey! My best friend.
Bare legs. Rumpled hair. My sweatshirt!
This wasn’t my fault. She was the one putting the thoughts there!
“Jamie! Stop it. You’re going to have a stroke.” She reached out and took my hand. Before I knew it, we both sat on the edge of her bed.
“Bales—”
“Just let me explain.” She waited, making sure I was listening.
I closed my mouth and watched her. Closely.
She squirmed a little, the first sign that she felt the least bit unsure about what was going on here. Finally!
I disliked the idea that I was the only one thrown off balance by the recent turn of events.
“I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually.” She paused.
“About what?”
She rolled her eyes. “About kissing, you dummy.”
“Kissing,” I repeated lamely. I felt like an idiot, and I didn’t even know why.
“Yes, kissing.” She shifted, lifting her knee onto the bed, facing me. “I have a theory.”
I groaned. I was almost certain I didn’t want to hear this.
Bailey nudged my shoulder. “It’s about NCMO.”
I groaned again, louder.
“Just listen,” she said. “I think it’s a myth. An impossible myth. I think there’s no way you can spend intimate time with someone, kissing, and there not be any emotions involved—either to start with or that develop over the course of said making out.”
“Um—” I begged to differ.
Bailey held up her hand. “I’m serious, Jamie. Do you really think after spending hours lip-locked with someone, you’re not affected at all? That they aren’t?”
Hmm. I hadn’t thought about it before. To be honest, once I was done, I was done. I let my brain interpret my feelings a little deeper than usual. I supposed she was somewhatcorrect. I knew right away after kissing someone if I wanted something more, a deeper connection than just a casual meeting of the lips. And if I did feel something, I madesure to run in the other direction.
I shrugged, not prepared to sayone way or the other.
Bailey arched one brow at my non-committal reply. “Well, I think it’s impossible unless you despise the other person. And even then, I’m willing to bet a kiss could change one person’s mind about another person as long as that person wasn’t a serial killer.”
I snorted. “Those are some high standards, Bales.”
“I’m serious. Can you honestly tell me thatyou don’t care more about the girls you’ve kissed after you kiss them? Even if the feelings aren’t romantic?”
Huh. That might be true. But even if it was, what did that have to do with Bailey and me—holy crap!—kissing?
“That’s what I thought.” Her little smirk was too smug. And her bare legs were too close to me.
I moved away from her.
“What difference does it make? And what does it have to do with us, um, you know, kissing?” I croaked like a twelve-year-old.
“I’m glad you asked.” She inhaled a deep breath. “Barnes, I think it’s time you learned your lesson.”
“Say what?”
Bailey nodded. “Just what I said. You, Jamie Barnes, are a player.”
I snorted. I was hardly a player. I wasn’t a saint, but I wasn’t a player. I kissed girls, nothing more.
Bailey glared at me through her eyelashes. “You toy with emotions. You play with girls and don’t even consider their feelings. You are a player. And you are a complete commitment-phobe.”
“I don’t know, Bales—”
She held up her hand. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I’m saying, and I know how girls think better than you do. And I’m going to prove that kissing someone and making out with them causes feelings. And it’s not nice to use them as a distraction.”
“Oh, yeah?” I shot back, a little stung by what she was saying. I’d never considered my actions to be cruel before. Was Bailey right? Was I a jerk? I didn’t like the thought of that any more than I liked the wicked gleam in Bailey’s eyes. But I’d play along. “How’re you gonna do that?”
“Easy,” she said. “You and I are going to make out.”