More Than This
Page 10

   As the song fades to an end, Heidi raises her beer. We’re standing in a circle. “To good friends and new ones,” she says, winking at me. We take a sip.
   “To finding the perfect girl of your dreams and having your entire future to spend with her,” Dylan says, hugging Heidi around the waist and kissing her on the cheek. The girls swoon, and the guys make gagging noises. We drink.
   “To easy college chicks!” Logan is practically panting. And we drink.
   “To whoever wrote Fifty Shades of Grey.” Cam clasps his hands and looks skyward like he’s thanking the Lord. We laugh . . . and drink.
   Lucy playfully smacks him on the chest, probably harder than he expected because he actually flinches in pain. “To Josh Bennett,” she says, clinking her beer against mine. Cam rolls his eyes. We’re the only ones who drink.
   Everyone looks at Jake, who is standing next to me. “To baseball,” he says quietly. His friends moan.
   “You’re a pretty shit kid, you know that, Jacob?” Logan says. It’s the first time anyone has called him that. Jake shrugs, and everyone takes a reluctant gulp of beer. Logan eyes me. “What about you, Mikayla?”
   I think for a bit then smile. “To not letting bad people dictate whether you have a good time.”
   It’s quiet for a moment, then Cam yells, “Hollaaaaa!” Logan searches his iPod. I know what song it is from the first note. It’s “Baby” by Justin Bieber. I shake my head in amusement.
   The boys start to serenade us girls like they’re from some boy band. They surround us, and Logan has the Ludacris rap down again. We’re in fits of giggles, tears streaming down our faces. I can’t wait to tell Emily and my parents about tonight. They’ll love it—minus the cheating boyfriend and backstabbing friend.
   Everyone plans on staying the night at Lucy’s cabin—everyone but Jake. He apparently gets up at five every morning to go for a run, work out, and do whatever else he does that early in the day. So after exchanging numbers with all his friends and saying “See you soon” instead of “Good-bye,” I get into the limo with Jake to head home.
 
 
SEVEN
JAKE
   It’s just the two of us in the limo, heading back to her house. We’re both buzzed. Well, I think she’s buzzed—I know I definitely am. Her sitting on my lap the whole night didn’t help. I needed something to calm me down. It was a bad idea, but it was either my lap or Logan’s. Logan would’ve probably gotten her wasted and done God knows what with her.
   I sit on one bench seat, and she sits on the other. It’s the farthest we’ve been apart since the restaurant.
   “Jake, get the limo to drive you home first. I’ll be okay. It’s almost forty minutes to my house, then you have to go back past here to yours . . . It’s stupid.”
   I tilt my head back against the seat and close my eyes, trying to steady the spinning. I open one eye and look at her. She’s lying down, her whole body sprawled across the bench seat.
   “I’d rather make sure you get home safely,” I say. She smiles but doesn’t respond.
   A few minutes of quiet pass. I’m replaying the night in my head. I wonder if she is, too. I bet our versions would be completely different, though.
   The limo driver swears and slams on the brakes. Mikayla falls to the floorboard with a thud. “Sorry.” The driver waves his hand in the air. “Goddamn rabbits!”
   I kneel next to her. She’s giggling to herself—she may not hurt now, but she sure will be hurting tomorrow. “Hey, Mikayla. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I lightly shake her.
   She tries to sit up but struggles, more than likely from the alcohol. She wraps her arms around my neck and I bend to lift her back up. “Call me Kayla,” she says into my chest.
   “Okay . . . But your friends call you Micky, right?”
   She looks up at me with those Bambi eyes. “Yeah, Jake,” she sighs. “They do. But you”—she shoves a finger into my chest—“can call me Kayla . . . all right?”
   I nod, this stupid, goofy grin plastered on my face. As I place her down on the seat, her grip tightens around my neck. “Just hold me, Jake. Please?”
   She doesn’t need to ask. I make myself comfortable and help her position herself sideways, leaning against me. She puts her arms around my shoulders and burrows her face in the crook of my neck.
   “Thank you for tonight. God, if you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done. And your friends accepted me and didn’t ask any questions . . .” She takes a breath and sniffles. I can feel the wetness from her tears on my skin. “Thank you . . . so much . . .”
   She kisses my neck. I freeze, but she keeps going with soft, gentle kisses along my jaw, looking for my mouth. I shouldn’t let her do this—she’s a mess, emotionally and physically. I turn to face her and tell her to stop, but my mouth accidentally brushes against hers. Her lips are soft on mine as she kisses me once . . . twice . . . The third time is a little longer and more intimate. My eyes drift closed. Her tongue tastes my lips so softly that I would have missed it if I wasn’t focusing so hard to remember this forever.
   “Mmm,” she murmurs, pulling away with a smile and resuming her position.
   Shit.
   Now I’m hard and she’s sitting on me.
 
   She’s fallen asleep on my lap. I cradle her in my arms. She’s snoring gently, which is pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
   The driver lowers the glass partition. “We’re on her street, but I can’t go any farther. What’s the house number?”
   “What do you mean you can’t?” I shake her. “Kayla, which one’s your house?”
   She wakes up drowsily and takes a second to get her bearings, looking around the limo.
   “Look outside,” the driver says. “I don’t know what’s happening. The street is blocked.”
   I press the button to lower the window. There are police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances everywhere. I can’t see much past the crowd in the street. Kayla’s eyes widen.
   “What the fuck?” she mutters, fumbling to open the door. She’s out of the car so fast, I don’t have time to comprehend what’s happening. I jump out and follow her. She’s trying to push through all the people in front of the house, but her tiny frame doesn’t make it far before she turns to me. There are tears in her eyes and panic all over her face.
   “This is my house, Jake. What’s going on?”
   I grab her hand and start pushing people aside. I’m not nice about it, so some people are pissed. We make it to the front of the crowd. The house has been cordoned off with police tape, and cops are swarming all over the place. I smell smoke—there must have been fire. Kayla looks at me like she’s four years old and can’t understand what’s happening. I pull up the police tape and duck under it.