A Dose of Pretty Poison: Chapter 5

“What do you mean, he kissed you?” Mali asks for the fifth time.

I throw my head back against the couch. “Are we in second grade? Do you want me to draw a diagram for you or something? He man, me woman, we pucker and press mouths together.”

She scoffs into the phone. “No, I get that, asshole. I just mean, you’re telling me this, and you’re not freaking out about it. There are no birds singing around your head or fireworks going off in the sky.” She pauses to gasp. “Oh my God, is Hayes a bad kisser?”

“No,” I answer a little too quickly. “No, it’s definitely not that.”

And it’s not. The feeling of his lips pressed to mine hasn’t left me alone all damn day. Honestly, I don’t think it will any time soon. Kissing Hayes is something I’ve dreamed about for years, and it finally happened.

I just wish it was in different circumstances.

“It was a favor,” I admit.

She stutters, and I can almost picture the look on her face. “A…favor?”

“Mm-hm. Craig was there, being his typical douchebag self, and Hayes kissed me as a way to get him to leave me alone.”

It’s quiet for a second, and then she asks the question I should’ve known was coming.

“Was there tongue?”

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” she says as if it’s obvious. “Because no tongue means it was a pity kiss, but with tongue means a part of him wanted it.”

This. This right here is why I didn’t want to tell her at all. And why I waited until almost noon to answer her texts. I don’t need her getting my hopes up about something that is never going to happen again. What happened last night was a one-time thing, and I’m not naive to think otherwise.

“There was tongue, wasn’t there?” The excitement in her voice is evident.

I sigh. “Yes, but we’re not doing this. It meant nothing. Or at least nothing to him.”

Trying to tell her it meant nothing to me would be pointless. There’s no way he could kiss me and it not mean something. But she doesn’t need to know that said kiss caused me to go home and have a depressingly realistic dream that we were happily married with two kids and a house in Barbados.

“Lai,” she says, her voice laced with sympathy. “Do you want me to kick his ass?”

“No.” Though I’m sure watching her try could be entertaining.

“Key his truck?”

I snort. “He’ll murder you and leave a breadcrumb trail with the pieces of your body.”

The line goes quiet, almost to the point where I think she hung up, but then she clears her throat. “That’s both disturbing and grossly accurate. Well done.”

“I try.”

“Seriously, though,” she continues. “I know he’s got his own standards of what’s acceptable in your mind, but don’t think that just because he hasn’t thrown himself at your feet and begged you to be with him, that means you’re not the best bitch I know. Hayes Wilder would be fucking lucky to have you on his arm.”

Her words make me smile, because I know she’s being honest. “Thank you.”

Mali may get on my nerves sometimes, and push limits that make me contemplate if twenty to life would be worth it, but when it really matters, she’s always there. Always ready to take on the world if that’s what I need, but also there to pull me back if I’m about to take things just a little too far.

Like lighting Craig’s car on fire.

Would it have been worth it? Absolutely.

Is me getting arrested for arson something my parents can handle so soon after their son almost went to jail for aggravated assault? Probably not.

They’re religious and all, but I’m not looking for them to meet God that soon. Besides, who would feed Cam? The only reason he’s twenty-one and still living at home is because his grocery bill would be through the roof. I don’t know where the hell he puts it all.

“So,” Mali gets my attention once more. “Was swapping spit with Hayes everything you imagined it would be?”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

I exhale. “Make something so great sound vulgar and disgusting.”

She chuckles. “So it was great, huh?”

“I hate you.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Before I can retort, I’m distracted by Hayes and Cam’s muffled voices as they step onto the porch. If I thought I’d have enough time, I’d book it up to my room. Seeing him for the first time since last night is something that I need to prepare for. It can’t just be sprung on me. But as the door starts to open, I realize that’s my only choice.

“Mal, I’ll text you,” I tell her.

“Wait! We haven’t gone over all the details of you two sucking face!”

I hang up the phone, cutting off Mali’s voice just as the guys come in. Cam picks a pillow up off the couch and throws it at me as he passes by, but I barely even notice. I’m too focused on the fresh cut on Hayes’s bottom lip. And if that’s not bad enough, the knuckles on his hand are a nasty looking mix of purple and blue.

For a second, I wonder if I blacked out and forgot about Hayes getting into an all-out brawl with Craig, but I think I would have remembered that. No girl forgets the vision of a man fighting to defend her honor—and yes, I do consider the way he threw him up against the banister to be defending my honor. I may not ever get to kiss him again, but at least I get that beautiful mental image.

My gaze locks with his as he follows Cam into the kitchen, and the way the corners of his lips twitch upward is enough to tell me things aren’t going to be totally awkward now… for him, anyway. I, however, will use muscle memory to reenact that kiss in my mind until I’m old and gray.

Apologies in advance to my future husband.

“Are Mom and Dad home?” Cam shouts.

“No,” I answer. “They’re at some fundraiser for the church. Why?”

The fridge slams shut, and I hear a mix of footsteps coming toward me and cans cracking open.

“Because we wanted a beer,” my brother tells me. “Duh.”

I stare back at him, both unamused and mind-boggled. “You do know you’re twenty-one, right? As in the legal drinking age for the state of North Carolina?”

He repeats me in a high-pitched tone, mocking me like a four-year-old. “Obviously, I know that. But my young little baby friend here is not twenty-one.”

Hayes flips him off while I chuckle. “If you honestly believe Mom and Dad think Hayes, of all people, doesn’t drink, you’re dumber than I thought you were.”

“Hey!” Hayes pouts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I cock a single brow at him. “You thought it would be a good idea to use jagerbombs in a drinking competition and then vomited in my mom’s favorite vase.”

“I couldn’t make it to the bathroom,” he argues. “It’s better than puking on the floor.”

“You left it there for three days!”

“I didn’t remember it happened until then!”

Cam shakes his head and shivers. “And you wonder why we never let people Jägermeister and Red Bull anymore. The smell of that shit will forever be burned into my senses.”

“Oh, fuck off. Like you haven’t done worse,” he claps back. “Do you not remember the night you decided to drink a whole bottle of vodka to yourself while chasing it with a container of orange juice?”

“How could I not?” He smiles at the memory. “That was pure brilliance.”

Hayes grunts. “Oh yeah. It was also brilliant when you woke up in the middle of the night to throw up over the side of the bed, forgetting I was asleep on the floor.”

“Oh my God, I forgot about that.” I cringe, still remembering the sound of Hayes’s absolute tantrum. “You were literally covered in regurgitated orange juice.”

“And vodka,” he adds. “Can’t forget that. I smelled like the bathroom floor of a frat house for days, and no matter how many showers I took, it wouldn’t go away.”

Cam tips his beer toward him. “Kept my floor clean, though.”

“It won’t be when it’s covered in your blood,” Hayes counters.

As the two of them go back and forth, I notice my phone start to vibrate on my lap and a picture of Mali sticking her tongue out fills the screen. I should’ve known she wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easy.

Rolling my eyes, I hit answer and bring it to my ear. “You know, usually when people hang up on you, you don’t call them back.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re rude. And second, tell me you heard what happened.”

I feign surprise with a gasp. “You finally got approved for the sex change you’ve wanted?”

Both Cam and Hayes stop what they’re doing and turn to look at me, confused and concerned, as Mali laughs.

“Please, the world would be a dangerous place if I had a penis.”

My jaw drops, and I’m a little speechless for a second. “I’m sorry, what the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Nevermind,” she says. “Isaac got the shit beat out of him at hockey practice this morning.”

A million different questions run through my mind at once. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what I said! I’m surprised Cam didn’t tell you about it.”

I glance over at my brother as he flicks through channels, beer in his hand and his feet resting on the coffee table. There’s only one reason he wouldn’t mention something like that.

My attention turns to Hayes, and more specifically, the bruise on his hand and the split in his lip—the one I wish he would stop using his tongue to fuck with. It’s bad enough that he manages to look even hotter all roughed up. I don’t need to picture what he can do with his tongue, too.

“I’ll text you,” I tell Mali, and for the second time in a row, I hang up on her.

My blood is boiling as I stand up and level Hayes with a single look.

“Kitchen,” I order, like I have any sort of right to. “Now.”

He sighs and gets up to follow me, but just as we’re walking away from the couch, the sound of Cam’s voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“Keep your mouths to yourselves this time, please.”

I whip my head around just in time to see Hayes wince. “You told him?”

“We were standing in the middle of a crowded ass party,” he points out. “He was going to find out at some point, and it was better that he heard it from me.”

I take a deep breath, knowing that it’s a totally understandable reason. Still, I was hoping to keep that little event to myself. Well, and Mali. Can’t keep anything from her or she’ll feed me to a bunch of alligators.

As soon as we get into the kitchen, I lean against the counter and watch as Hayes squirms uncomfortably. His hand rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes seem to look anywhere but at me. It may seem harmless, but it stings a little. It’s not like it takes a rocket scientist to figure out why he’s all of a sudden uneasy in a room alone with me. But I can’t be bothered with that right now.

“What happened to your hand?”

He glances down at the bruise for a second. “Oh, I got hit with a puck at practice.”

“Mm-hm.” I nod thoughtfully. “And did the puck happen to be Isaac’s face?”

The way he smirks, all guilty looking and yet still unfairly gorgeous, tells me I’m right. I press my lips into a line and grab a wooden spoon from behind me, throwing it directly at him.

“Don’t lie to me, ass.”

He chuckles. “Well, I wasn’t aware you already knew!”

Oh, yeah, because that makes it better.

I run my fingers through my hair and sigh heavily. “Please tell me it had nothing to do with last night.”

“Okay. Me punching him had nothing to do with last night.”

Good. That’s good. “Okay, so then why did you punch him?”

“To keep Cam from punching him.”

He says it so simply, like it’s the obvious answer, and it doesn’t even occur to me that it doesn’t even make sense as I storm back into the living room and smack Cam over the back of the head.

“Ow,” he whines, rubbing his head. “The fuck was that for?”

“You literally just got put on probation, and already you’re going to risk violating it on someone as worthless as Isaac?” I sneer. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Hayes leans in the doorway of the kitchen. “Laiken, I wouldn’t—”

“Not a word out of you,” I tell him, instantly shutting him up. “I’m still not done with you yet.”

Cam and Hayes share a look, but I’m not having it.

“Don’t look at him,” I growl at my brother. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Drop it, Lai,” he tries.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Absolutely not. Not until you tell me what he could have possibly done that would have been worth risking going to prison over!”

Neither one of them says a thing, but I’m not about to back down.

“I’m waiting.”

Cam rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his beer before putting it on the coffee table. “He was talking shit about you.”

Oh.

Okay, now I feel a little like a bitch.

Hayes tilts his head to the side. “I mean, technically, he was complimenting her.”

Cam flips him off, and Hayes chuckles as he sits back down on the couch.

“Craig apparently tattled,” he explains. “When he started talking about you, I could see Cam was getting ready to swing, so I beat him to it.”

Appearing totally nonchalant over the whole thing, Cam goes back to flipping through channels. “I told you, I wasn’t going to hit him.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Hayes argues. “You and I both know he wasn’t about to shut his mouth until one of us shut it for him. And I’m not at risk for jail time.”

He shrugs before turning off the TV. “Whatever. There’s nothing good on. Want to go play Call of Duty?”

Hayes agrees and the two of them get up and head toward the stairs, leaving me alone to mentally unpack everything I just learned. Cam defending me is nothing new. He’s been doing it since we were kids. But hearing that Hayes beat him to it, that’s what shocks me the most.

Maybe he really did do it in order to keep Cam from risking his probation. Isaac has been gunning for one of the captain spots for years, and I wouldn’t put it past him to get Cam thrown in jail in order to get it. But there’s a small part of me that glimmers with hope that maybe Hayes did it because he wanted to defend me, too.

The same way he did last night.

But even if he was, it’s only because I’m Cam’s little sister. Letting myself think any differently is just cruel and unusual punishment.

A LITTLE MORE THAN an hour later, I’m getting a drink when Hayes comes down the stairs. He stops as soon as he sees me and neither of us say anything until I notice a little drip of blood slide from his lip, down over his chin.

“You’re bleeding,” I tell him.

He instinctively touches the cut. “Yeah, I accidentally bit it and opened the cut back up.”

Going over to grab a paper towel, I fold it up and run it under cold water before handing it to him. He thanks me quietly as he puts it on his lip. And I don’t miss the way he hisses as it touches the cut.

“Don’t be such a baby.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You know, for someone who caused the damage to this beautiful face, you’re awfully rude.”

I smile involuntarily. “So, you admit it. The fight was because of what happened last night.”

“No. It was because of what he said about you. The fact that the events of last night were his motivation for it is irrelevant. It’s an entirely different incident.”

I don’t buy it for a second. The two go hand in hand. But he’s obviously not going to change his mind on this, so continuing to go back and forth about it is pointless.

“Fine,” I say. “But regardless, like you said, I caused it. So at least let me help you clean it up.”

He pulls the paper towel away from his mouth. “Nothing to help with. See?”

The second he smiles to show me he’s all good, it starts to bleed again—the stretching of his lip causing it to reopen for the second time. I give him a knowing look and he rolls his eyes. He waves me off, and I go grab the liquid bandage from the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom.

“Here. This will at least keep it closed,” I tell him. “Otherwise, it might scar, and you don’t want that.”

He leans against the counter. “Are you saying I wouldn’t look hot with a scar?”

My mouth opens and closes as my brain frantically searches with a way to answer that. If it were before last night, I would’ve had no problem coming back at him. I’d say something witty that would have him feeling like he just got bitch slapped. But it’s not. This is after last night, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s joking around, or flirting.

“Stay still and stop talking,” I go with instead. “I can’t put this on the cut if your mouth is moving.”

He chuckles but says nothing as I come closer and carefully dab the liquid over the damage. I try not to focus on how close to him I am, but as I arch up to make sure I got it all, my foot slips and I fall against him. He catches me with his hands on my hips, and I hate how much I will forever crave this feeling.

“Are you okay?” Hayes asks, his voice nearly a whisper.

I force myself to move, and as I step back, I nod. “Yeah. You should be good now, but promise not to mess with it anymore.”

He squints, unsure. “Mmm, I promise I’ll make a half-assed effort.”

His response doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Yep,” he answers proudly. “Thanks for the fix-up, Rochester.”

The nickname grinds on my nerves—fucking Mali. Hayes grabs another beer from the fridge, but just as he’s about to head back up to Cam’s room, I know I can’t just let him leave. Not until I say something.

“H?”

He stops and turns to me. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “For defending me…again.”

His lips quirk upward. “No problem.”

That’s the thing; it might not be a problem for him, but it is for me. The events of the last eighteen hours are fucking with my head. And the fact that he ended up injured doesn’t sit well with me, even if Isaac ended up worse.

“I’m sorry you hurt your hand,” I add.

“Don’t be,” he replies, using the same words I told him last night. “I’m not.”

With a wink that will have me questioning everything all damn night, he goes back upstairs to Cam—completely unaware of the butterflies he just released inside my stomach.

Yeah, I know. I’m a fool.