Page 24 of Wait With Me
Mercedes rolls her eyes.
“Okay, so this chick writes sexy books. Like that’s her job. Kinky, dirty shit, I think. And she was saying grandmothers hated her, and I told her our grandma would be totally into it…true or false?”
“Duh, Grams is a freak, so that’s totally true.”
I thrust my fist into the air and laugh heartily as Mercedes’s mouth drops open in pleased surprise.
“Mom would be into those books too, don’t you think?” I ask and smile even wider when Mercedes cups her hands over her cheeks, listening in rapture.
“Dude, Miles, of course, she would. You should get her name so Mom can look her up. Hell, Dad would probably read her stuff too. Don’t you remember when I was ten and found those porno books in Mom and Dad’s bathroom? I had to ask you what milk jugs were, and you flipped out and turned all red?”
I laugh so hard I have to brace myself on the brick wall. “Oh shit, I had forgotten all about that!”
“Yeah, our parents are hornballs, bro. You know this, why are you asking?”
“Because this chick wouldn’t believe me.”
“Well, give her the name of Mom’s book blog website.”
“Oh yeah, what’s it called again? I forget.”
“Dirty Birdy’s Book Blog. She even passes out business cards at church. She’s so embarrassing.”
I can’t wipe the satisfied smile off my face as I stare into the phone. “You read the books too, I thought, right?”
“Oh God, yes. Mom’s the one who got me hooked. It’s totally weird when she pushes her blog shit in everyone’s faces. Like God, Mom, try not to be so desperate.”
“Agreed,” I reply and look up at Mercedes. My smile falls when her wide eyes are glossy in the dim lighting.Is she upset?
“So who is this girl? I want to read her,” Meg asks.
A tear slips down Mercedes’s face, so I know I need to get off the phone pronto. “I’ll find out, but I gotta go, Meg. Don’t fuck that dude tonight or I’ll kill him.”
“You don’t even know who it is.”
“It’s probably one of my friends.”
A sharp intake of air breaks through the phone line. “How could you possibly—”
I hang up, my mind completely wrapped up in the tears running down Mercedes’s cheeks. “What happened? What did I say? Was it something my sister said? I wasn’t trying to offend. I swear I’m not judging you. I was just—”
I can’t talk anymore.
I can’t defend myself.
I can’t say another damn word.
Because her lips are on mine, and they taste like fucking cherries.
You know that moment in a love story when two enemies are arguing and fighting and screaming and thrashing and so fucking mad at each other that they can’t see straight?
Then suddenly, there’s this bolt of lightning, and they crash together like two fucking cars colliding head-on at a hundred miles an hour?
That’s me right now as I press my lips to Miles perfect mouth.
I don’t even know that much about him, but I have to kiss him. It’s a knee-jerk, instinctual thing that tells me this guy is worth kissing. I have to shut him up and kiss the person that has been talking nonstop to his sister for the past five minutes.
With one simple phone call, this hot mechanic has squashed every thread of doubt I have been lying to myself about not having. I joke about writing at a tire shop. I call myself a porn writer and let’s face it, I kind of am.
