I Kissed The Boy Next Door Page 3
He slipped back into the house to retrieve a clean shirt and find the keys. He emerged to discover Lucy already in the passenger seat, her blonde hair spread over the black leather. He walked around the back and climbed in.
He inserted the keys into the ignition, but before he could turn them, she grasped his hand.
“Wait,” she said. She brought up her cell phone and typed in a text. “One,” she counted. “Two. Three. Four.” She pointed at the keys. “Now.”
With a laugh, he turned the keys and the engine fired to life. Throwing the car into reverse, he backed down the driveway. Travis appeared on the stoop right as they entered the street.
“Gun it,” she said.
The squeal of the tires carried over the roar of the engine as they flew away. He slung the corner from the neighborhood onto the main drag with her giggling incessantly.
“Did you see his face? That was priceless!” she said.
Jackson slowed and resumed a normal pace. They fell silent as they drove, the sound of the wind whistling in their ears. Driving through town, Jackson compared how it was now to how it was then.
“Nothing’s changed in three years,” he said.
The old brick buildings were the same, and the huge courthouse. But the pizzeria was closed.
“When’d that happen?” he asked.
“Two years ago,” Lucy said, “Old Man Rizelli died, and his kids didn’t want it.”
Many a Friday was spent at that place, he, his sister, and his parents huddled in a booth waiting on a large pepperoni with mushrooms.
“So where do you go now?” he asked.
“The diner mostly.”
The diner. A 1950s-themed chrome tube filled with various forms of fried steak.
“I know where I want to go,” he said. Making a loop around the town square, he took a side road that disappeared off between two large oaks.
The breeze created by the car’s motion lifted Lucy’s hair into a wave behind her. She turned her head and gazed off into the distance, wavering her hand up and down in the strength of the air blowing over the car.
He gazed at her from the corner of his eye. “Remember Miss Price?” he asked.
She flipped her face back his direction. “Rhyme time.”
He smiled. “Don’t go higher without a wire.” Miss Price said that one when they were tree climbing. The kids always wanted to go free-standing, but she never let them. You had to wear the harness.
“Wait at the gate so you won’t be late,” Lucy added. “I never understood that one. I mean, if you’re waiting then seems like you’ll be late.”
Jackson rested his elbow on the car door, gripping the steering wheel in his right hand. “I think she meant you should be there early.”
“What did the other boys say … when I kissed you?” Lucy asked.
He glanced at her and the memory returned, her running away as fast as she could go, and Owen coming up to him.
“She kissed you.” Owen’s eyes had been as wide as the Mississippi River. “Lucy McKinsey actually kissed you.”
Jackson smiled. “Owen was jealous.”
“O?” she said. “Why?”
“He had a crush on you. I think.”
She huffed. “Strange. He’s never said anything.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Lucy tilted her head. “Why not? I mean, he’s been friendly enough. He always talks to me, but he’s never shown any interest.”
Jackson braked as a car pulled out in front of him. “You’re intimidating.”
This made her sit up straight. “Intimidating? Me?”
“Well, I was intimidated. You kissed me, and I didn’t have the nerve to say anything to you.”
But how he’d wanted to. He’d even practiced it.
“‘Hi, Lucy. Why’d you kiss me?’ No, that won’t work.”
Pacing back and forth in front of the boys’ cabin, he’d tried again. “‘Lucy, wanna talk?’ Yeah right. She wants to talk.”
In the end, he’d done nothing and regretted it.
“What would you have said?” she asked.
Jackson slowed and flipped on his blinker. Pulling the car off the road, he followed a dirt trail through an orange grove.
“Here?” Lucy said. “You wanted to come here? But this is …”
A make-out spot. Yeah, he knew what it was. But the view of town over the lake was pretty special, and it’d been a while since he’d seen it.
The road ended at an expanse of well-flattened soil that spread to the ruffled shores of the lake. On the opposite side, the city reflected its lights in the water. He turned the engine off.
And noticed the expression on Lucy’s face.
“You … wanted to bring me here?” she asked.
He lowered his hand from the steering wheel. “That bother you? You’ve kissed me twice, you know.”
She wriggled her nose. “Yes, but this is … is …”
He opened his door and climbed out. He leaned on the door frame. “Relax. I’m not making any moves on you. I simply wanted to see the view.”
She stalled for a moment, then leaped from the seat. Her next words made him howl with laughter.
“But you would, right?”
CHAPTER 5
He was right. The view of the city in the water of the lake was pretty great, but I’d always thought so. We sat on the hood of the car, eventually laying back, lost in our thoughts and our memories.
I couldn’t move past the idea that O had a crush on me. I’d known him since I was five and we attended kindergarten together. We’d had pretty much the same teachers all that time, and yet he’d never given me any sign he thought of me romantically. I’d certainly never thought of him that way.
No reason for that. He wasn’t funny looking or anything. In fact, he was handsome in his own right. But he didn’t give me a twisty-whirly feeling like Jackson.
Jackson. I was at the lake with Jackson. The crazy side of me wanted to play that up, post a tweet or something, but the logical side of me, not a side I typically listened to, cautioned against it. And my sole reason for choosing that side was Jackson himself.
He was brooding. He’d said his parents got divorced, and it must have been recent because it still bothered him so much. A little birdie kept whispering in my ear there was more to the story, a greater reason for him to be so troubled, and I wanted to know what that was.
Not for the reason you think though. I honestly wanted to know because I liked him and seeing him hurting over it upset me. It must have stunk to be moved from here to there only to be moved back.
Also, he obviously loved his mom a lot. I had a suspicion that this was the worst thing for him, her being gone, and that set me to thinking.
“You know, the day after my dad died, Mom came and talked to me.” My voice sounded small against the size of the sky. “She said all this stuff about heaven and our memories, about how Daddy loved me, but it didn’t really help. I was still sad and had no idea what to do with it.”
I turned my head and met Jackson’s gaze.
“I believed her, you understand. But the fact was he wasn’t around, and he wasn’t coming back. Things would never be like they were. I didn’t have to accept it, but I did have to know it. Life changes sometimes, and that can seriously suck.”
He looked back at the sky and so did I. And we lay there in silence again for what seemed like an hour. Then Jackson cleared his throat.
“Hey,” he said.
I looked back at him. His eyes were so blue. He reached out his hand and took hold of mine, working his fingers into the spaces. He then laid our clasped hands between us.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Besides, now you’ve got me for a neighbor.”
He smiled broad. “Just a neighbor?”
I was well aware our hands were locked together and that he’d begun running his thumb over the back of mine causing that tingly feeling to return in my frame.
“More than a neighbor,” I said. “But my question is what are you? What are we, for that matter? Neighbors?”
“Neighbors and friends,” he replied.
I raised my arm, thus lifting his. “Friends holding hands?” I rolled onto my side.
And his face changed. I followed the movement of his eyes. He was looking at me like that again. Like this-is-a-girl. I liked that he looked at me like that, saw me for more than a “dumb sister,” daughter, or best friend.
He followed my action, moving onto his side, and our hands came apart. He raised a finger to my cheek and slowly drew it down, ending at my lips.
I was mesmerized, totally lost to my surroundings and conscious only that he was touching me and I liked it.
“You want to be more than friends holding hands?” he asked.
I thought about my answer. “If … if you want that,” I said.
He laid his hand on the hood of the car. “I want to be happy again, and you make me happy.”
I liked that he said that. But I decided to push him, see if I could get him to declare himself. I wanted to know if he was serious about being with me.
“And what else do you want?” I asked. “To hold my hand? To kiss me?”
“Both. But I told you that.”
He did. He was right.
I sat up on my elbow. “What do we call this ‘more than friends holding hands’ friends-kissing thing?”
“I think once we go on our second date, we can call it dating.”
“Our second date? So is this the first?”
And his answer made me laugh.
“Well,” he said, “I did take you to the lake.”
***
The thing about dating your neighbor is that going home is weird. I mean, he walked me to the front door. We said goodnight – minus the kiss because he’d said that was up to him – and then he simply walked next door.
Weirder still because once I was in my bedroom, I saw him in his, and he waved. So it was like we were home, but we were still together. Then he texted me, and we lay in bed in our opposite rooms chatting until well after midnight.
Sunday was the next day, and he agreed to go with us to church. I really wanted to drive up in his car. That’s when he admitted it was his father’s, and he’d have to ask. I had strange vibes about that. I’d seen his dad going in the house a couple times, and he didn’t seem too friendly. But I put that down to the divorce being hard on him.
I slept like a log, not dreaming anything in particular and evidently not hearing anything either because it was a hand on my shoulder that shook me awake. Jackson sat at my bedside staring at me.
“You’re here?” I slurred. My brain was in a dense fog.
“Yep.”
I looked past him at the window. It was open.
“You could’ve knocked.”
He smirked at me. “I did. For twenty minutes. I finally gave up and decided this was the only way.”
I rolled onto my back, feeling returning to my hands and feet. “What time is it?”
“Eight,” he said.
I sat up with a start. “Eight? You woke me at eight o’clock?”
“What’s wrong with eight? I’ve been up since six.”
“But eight is … is two hours before I have to get up.”
His eyebrows rose at that, and he fixed a stare on me. “I thought you said church started at eleven. If you don’t get up until ten, then how will you be ready in time?”
“I’m quick,” I said. “I choke down a bowl of cereal, throw something on, and fetch my Bible.”
“Then what will I eat?” he asked.
I rubbed my eyes. “You … you can eat … Wait. Isn’t there food at your house?”
“I like eating here better.”
He stated it so plain, I was confused at first. He’d left his home to come to mine to eat breakfast with me?
“Do people who are going to date once they go out again and happen to be neighbors have breakfast together every day?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “Of course they do.”
And I supposed they also knocked on each others’ windows and climbed in without asking too. But I knew what they didn’t do. I stared at him.
“If I’m feeding you breakfast, then you’d best scamper outside and go to the front door.”
I was not under any circumstance getting out of bed in my pajamas with him sitting there. He was bad enough about looking at me without having that image in his head.
But he didn’t argue, slipping over the sill and disappearing from view.
I pulled myself up and tossed on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then moved down the hall. He was waiting at the front when I opened. Without a word, I turned around and moved back toward the kitchen.
His footfalls slapped the floor behind me.
But I made a mistake. I forgot to warn him my mother was up.
CHAPTER 6
Mom without her coffee is a scary thing. People make jokes about that – coffee as an IV, coffee running through your veins – and frankly, I don’t get them because coffee is one of those things that smells good and tastes horrible. I don’t even like it in desserts. It has a strong aftertaste.
That said, I’d also seen my mother before and after her morning cup and noted the difference.
It was perking in the pot, the machine rumbling and grunting with the effort of turning water into wine, but her mug was clean and empty. A bad sign.
She raised her gaze to Jackson’s face, and I could tell she was trying to figure out how she knew him.
“Jackson Phillips,” I said, “You remember him.”
She pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “Phillips. Phillips,” she said.
“Moved in next door. Went to summer came with me.” I fed her the info.
A spark lit. “Oh, right. The cute boy with the blue eyes. The one you kissed.”
I leaned on one hip. “Yes, that one.”
I didn’t have to turn around to see Jackson’s face. I could imagine he was smiling. “Sit,” I said to him, then, “I hope you like pancakes.”
My mother looked from me to him and ended up looking at him. “So you got her out of bed.”
Now, I had to glance at him then because I was thinking the same thing he probably was – how’d she know that? But apparently she didn’t, and it was simply a reference to my being awake at all.
“He likes to eat over here,” I said.
She made no remark because her coffee quit perking, and so she descended back into her half-awake haze.
I dug around in the cabinet for the mix, then reached overhead for a measuring cup, aware the entire time he was looking at me. Funny, but I was getting self-conscious about that. It took only a few minutes to prepare the mix and five more to cook the cakes. I set the stack before him with a tub of butter and a bottle of syrup.
Travis surfaced then. He stopped cold in the kitchen doorway. “Him again?”
Jackson acted like it was no big deal, consuming his meal. He did raise a few fingers in a sort of a wave.
“We’re feeding him now?” Tray asked.
“Leave the boy alone,” I grumbled. “He likes my cooking, which is more than I can say for you.”
Travis moved to the pot, keeping one eye on mother to be sure she was already cup-in-hand. “Well, at least you can feed me this time,” he said.
I figured I’d better or I’d never hear the end of it, so I piled high a plate and set it in front of him.
He slathered on the butter. Lord heavens that was a lot of butter.
“So tell me,” he said, syrup dripping off the edge of his plate, “You dating my sister now?”
Now, as opposed to yesterday when he’d asked if Jackson was looking.
“We are dating,” I announced, “as soon as we have our second date.”
Tray shoved a huge bite in his mouth, effectively silencing him for a moment. But he swallowed quick. “Second? When was the first?”
And the basics were: always answer your phone when she calls; be home before midnight; never forget to say “please”, “yes, ma’am,” and “no, ma’am”; and the biggie, no sex before marriage.
“Last night,” I said, in response to Tray’s question.
That brought Travis’ poor male mind back around to Jackson’s car, or his dad’s car. “Nice wheels,” he said.
Jackson wiped the last of the syrup from his plate. “Thanks.”
“‘73?”
It always amazes me how men can do that, look at a car and tell what year it is. I mean, I look and look and look, and all I can do is a general decade.
“Yep.”
“Awesome. The best year.”
That was another thing. What really is the “best year” for a car? What does that mean? Wouldn’t the “best” be entirely subjective?
I was thinking all of this as I took my plate to the counter and located a stool. I sat, and Jackson eyed my plate.
“That all you’re eating?” he asked.
Well, two pancakes seemed like a lot to me.
“Why? You want me to get fat? You’d date a fat girl?”
He laughed. “Can’t see you getting fat.”
“You missed the pudgy years,” Tray inserted.
I aimed my fork at his face. “You stay out of this.”
He thumped my fork with his finger.
“You were pudgy?” Jackson asked.
I whirled the fork toward Jackson. “I like you,” I said, “But we’re not discussing this.”
And he laughed at me.
My mother, who had finally begun to come awake, chimed in. “She was seven. She could eat an entire large pizza by herself. I had to buy her stretchy pants.”
OMG. My mother did not just tell Jackson about the stretchy pants. But she did because she also fetched a photo from the display shelves by the sink. She thunked it down before him.