Kiss and Tell 1

  KISS and TELL

  Part 1

  Faith Winslow

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 1

  “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  I couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but the moment I heard it, I immediately recognized who it belonged to.

  London Gallagher had been my neighbor for most of my life, and had been a major pain in my ass for as long as I could remember. He’s only about eight months younger than I am, but he was a year below me in school, and when you’re a kid, that’s enough to make a huge difference.

  Instead of being friends, London and I ended up becoming enemies, and we did it pretty early on. In addition to that huge age difference between us, mind you, we were also of different genders—and for most of our lives that was a major point of contention. First, he was the bratty kid next door who picked on me and annoyed me. Second, he was the pervy kid next door who snuck around and spied on me.

  Now we were both adults, and we were both back at our parents’ homes—though for very different reasons.

  It was summer, so that fact that London was home, at age 21, meant that he was home on summer break, to stay with his parents. The fact that I was home, at 22, meant that I was back home to live with mine. I’d just graduated college and had no job, no plan, and no apartment lined up. I needed somewhere to go, someone to save me, and going back to live with Mommy and Daddy seemed to be my best option, if not my only one.

  London was in a much better boat than I was. He had another year ahead of him to achieve all of those things I couldn’t, and be a success where I had been a failure. I was envious of him for that, and it made me hate him all the more.

  Of course, his had to be the first voice I heard when I got home. It couldn’t be Mom’s, Dad’s, or anyone else’s…. It had to be London Gallagher’s.

  London Gallagher! His name was even obnoxious—but, then again, so was mine. We lived in a neighborhood full of people with obnoxious names, and the young people’s names were the worst.

  Ours was a neighborhood of considerably wealthy, sophisticated people. Doctors, lawyers, high-power executives, and the occasional trust-fund benefactor—the cream of the crop thrived on our streets, though when it came to naming their children, they did a very shitty job.

  Names like John, Joe, Mike, Matt, etc. weren’t common in our neck of the woods. Neither were ones like Sarah, Mary, Christine, or Jennifer. You could much more easily find a Peyton, Tristan, or London, or a Parke, Fern, or Kirby.

  Those last three names are girls’ names, by the way, and one of them is mine. I’ll give you three guesses….

  It’s Kirby. My name is Kirby Miller. My parents might have had an increased incentive to name me something out of the ordinary because of the ordinariness of our last name, but I’m sure that wasn’t the only reason I ended up being named Kirby. Like their neighbors, Mom and Dad gave in to the unfortunate trend of naming their child something uncommon. They, like their neighbors, pushed themselves to be different, not caring what it’d mean for their offspring.

  But enough about my name, and more about my situation. The bottom line is that it sucked. I didn’t want to be going home and living with my parents at 22, and I hated that I had to. But what else was I to do?

  I did pretty well in school. I graduated with a 3.1 QPA and honors within my major (psychology). A lot of good that did me, though! It qualified me to do just about nothing—and the fact that I’d never worked a day in my life didn’t help matters much, either. I didn’t even have what it took to get a job as a clerk, waitress, or janitor.

  My boyfriend, who I’d dated for the past three years, pulled a Legally Blonde move on me and dumped me when he got accepted into an Ivy League law school. Since I’m not Reese Witherspoon (how’s that for a name?), I didn’t even try to prove myself or chase after him. Although, for the rest of my life, I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I did. Probably nothing, but I’m a glutton for punishment.

  I’d tried begging my parents to “loan,” or, rather, give me the money to rent my own apartment, but as rich as they are, they gave me a really hard time about it. They were willing to give me some money, but not enough for what I wanted, was used to, and needed. With the monthly allowance they offered me, I would have ended up in a crappy efficiency somewhere, or with some Craigslist roommate. I wasn’t down for that, and I couldn’t understand how my parents would want that for me. Why would they coddle me in the lap of luxury for 22 years, just to toss me to the ghetto?

  “I got my job at Parker & Swift first, then I got this fancy house,” Dad told me just a few weeks ago. “Not the other way around.” Mom said a similar thing, and they both tried to show me how what I was asking would be asking to do things backwards.

  As much as they gave in to naming trends, I guess my parents were a little old-fashioned when it came to work ethics and values. They wanted me to do things “the right way,” I guess, instead of doing things the easy way. Nonetheless, they were willing to let me live with them, if I wanted.

  Their house was much cushier than anything I would have ever asked for, but it also came with its own disadvantages. I was told that, if I came home to live in their house, I’d have to live by their rules. I know it’s cliché, but they meant it.

  I was only invited to stay there as long as it took me to get on my own feet, which meant that I was expected to get some type of job, or otherwise change my station in life, in the meantime. The rest of their rules, as you can imagine, had to do with my lifestyle. I wasn’t supposed to slack off, party too hard, or be careless and lazy. I was also supposed to help out around the house and not just clean up after myself.

  It may not sound like it, but that’s a pretty tall order for a 22-year-old girl—at least for one named Kirby Miller. My parents were asking a lot of me, but, hell, I had to do it. When asked to choose between a rock and a hard place, who doesn’t chose what’s softer?

  Chapter 2

  The reason I couldn’t see where London Gallagher’s voice was coming from was because I heard it when I was hips-deep in the back seat of my car. I’d just driven into town and parked in front of my parents’ house a few minutes earlier, and I was rifling through all of the luggage and boxes in my car, desperately looking for a tiny scrap of paper.

  Mom and Dad were still at work, and if I wanted to get into the house before they got home, I needed to find that scrap of paper. You see, our house is protected by a security system, and my parents frequently change the code. I’d written down the most recent number when I talked on the phone to Mom earlier, but it slipped away from me since then, and I didn’t want to call her and ask for it again—how irresponsible would that sound?

  I still hadn’t found the scrap yet when London Gallagher greeted me as pleasantly as he did, and if it hadn’t been for my desire to put him in his place, I would have ignored him and kept looking for it. Instead, I stopped
for a moment, eased myself out of my car, and turned to shoot something back at my nemesis.

  When I turned, however, my jaw dropped, and I was at a loss for words. London Gallagher might have been just as annoying as ever, but my oh my was he fine! I’d only sparsely seen him—or paid him any attention—over the past few years since starting college. Even during the summers, we rarely crossed paths. Now that he was standing in front of me, wearing nothing but his swim trunks, a mop of sandy blond hair, and a killer smile, I started regretting our prior course…until he opened his mouth.

  “Heard you’re back home to mooch off of your parents,” he said.

  “Looks like you’re doing the same thing,” I replied quickly.

  “Not really,” he said, just as fast.

  “Shut up,” I responded, unable to think of anything else to say. I did everything I could not to stare at London’s abs, then turned to look through my car again.

  The next thing I knew, I felt a strange, yet comfortable warmth behind me, then heard London speak again.

  “You need help carrying this stuff in?” he asked. He was very close to my body but wasn’t touching me, and I could feel his breath.

  “Yeah,” I answered, still bent over and searching. “But not now…right now, I’m trying to find a piece of paper with my parents’ security code on it. I can’t get into my house without it.”

  “Well, I can’t help you there,” London said, and just as quickly as I felt the warmth come up behind me, it was gone.

  I continued to look for the scrap of paper for about another 20 minutes or so before I finally gave up. I had no idea what happened to it, but whatever the case, it was no longer in my car. Either it blew out, I threw it out, or God only knows what.

  I still didn’t want to call Mom—or Dad—to ask for the code, and decided I’d rather just sit outside for them and wait. Granted, I had my car and could have gone somewhere, like to a coffeehouse or shopping center, but I’d just driven for a few hours, and the idea of driving any more really didn’t appeal to me, not to mention I probably looked like hell with so much road under my belt.

  After I grabbed my purse and cell phone, I went to my parents’ porch and took a seat on the stairs. It was just after 3 p.m., and I figured they’d be home shortly after 5. I decided to play games on my phone and do some catching up on my social networking sites.

  I’d sent a few messages through one site and was playing a candy-swapping game when I started to lose track of time and stopped paying attention to my surroundings. Then I heard a popping noise and realized I was not alone. I looked up to see London standing a few feet away. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he had a silly grin on his face—and that popping noise had come from the tall boy, or “pounder” he’d just cracked open.

  “Couldn’t find it, huh?” London asked, stepping closer to me. Just then I noticed that he had another tall beer in his hand, which he extended and offered to me. Of course, I took the brew and immediately cracked it open before I even replied.

  “Nope,” I finally said, after taking a big sip.

  London had thrown on a T-shirt, so I no longer had to worry about being distracted by his perfect abs. Everything else about him was still distracting, though, so I had to keep reminding myself who I was dealing with. This wasn’t just some hot dude; this was London Gallagher, who’d been the bane of my neighborhood existence for so many years.

  “Thanks,” I added, looking at my beer before taking another sip.

  “It’s a peace offering,” he replied after taking a sip, as well. “We don’t have to hate each other, you know.”

  I wanted to tell London to go to hell. Of course I knew we didn’t have to hate each other, but I was sure that, if I reminded him of some of the obnoxious shit he’d done to me over the years, he’d see why I still had reasons to hate him. He’d put a lizard in my book bag when we were in grade school and used to prank call my house all the time in middle school. In high school, he spread rumors about me and said I’d given him a hand job (which, I assure you, I had not).

  Those things were just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe if he’d taken the time to think about all that, he would have brought a peace offering that consisted of more than one beer.

  I bit my tongue and didn’t say what I wanted to say. “Well, thanks again,” I simply stated.

  “You’re welcome,” London said, stepping closer to me. “I’m staying in my parents’ pool house this summer, you know—and if you’d like to come over and hang out while you wait to get into your house, that’s cool.”

  If London had invited me to hang out with him at any other point in my life, I would have laughed and instantly shook it off. Up until right then, I’d have said the last thing I wanted to do was be alone, anywhere, with him. But given my other options, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea—and given the fact that I had to pee, it seemed like a plausible plan.

  “Okay,” I reluctantly answered as I stood up. “But no funny business.” I felt like a total dork for saying something like that, but let’s face it, it needed to be said. London was sexy, but I wasn’t so hard-pressed for sex that I was gonna hook up with him…at least not on my first day home.

  Chapter 3

  The Gallaghers’ pool house had definitely seen better times. When London walked me through the door and I got a glimpse of the place, I felt bad for his parents and thought about how mine would never let me get away with what he was pulling off there.

  The furnishing and décor were all right, although dated and a little dusty, but it was the stuff around all that that was really disturbing. Pizza boxes, empty beer cans, piles of dirty clothes, baskets of laundry, and a variety of wrappers and other garbage were all over the floors. I didn’t know how long London had been home, but I’d only been out of school for a few days—and if he was on the same schedule, I was afraid to think of what the pool house would look like by the time next semester came.

  “Have a seat,” London said, patting a couch cushion as he removed a blanket and pillow that had been sprawled across the couch. The moment I sat down, I smelled body odor and weed, and I chuckled a bit.

  “Want another beer?” London asked. He was already on his way to the kitchenette to get more, and the fact that I said “yes” didn’t really change his path.

  “So you’re staying out here this summer?” I asked as soon as London returned. “How’d you convince your parents to let you do that?”

  “It was their idea, actually,” London said, handing me my fresh beer and cracking his own. “They said they were sick of seeing me lay around the house doing nothing all summer, so they suggested I stay out here…. I guess it was to get me out of their hair—you know, out of sight, out of mind. Whatever, it’s cool with me. I like having the space to myself.”

  As I eyed London’s space, I was envious of him yet again. I wished my parents had a pool house that I could stay in—and, if they did, I would’ve treated it with much more respect than he did. That fucker was taking a big gift for granted.

  “That’s cool,” I said, ignoring my more hostile thoughts on the matter. “I’m stuck under my parents’ roof—not mooching off of them, like you said earlier, but just trying to get things situated and stable until I’m ready to go out and start on my own.”

  When I said it that way, it actually made sense.

  “Yeah, sorry about giving you a rough time earlier,” London said. He sat down beside me on the couch and hung his arm over the back of it—not around me, just over the back of it. “Don’t feel bad about coming home to live with your folks. Xavier and Aurora are doing the same thing.”

  Xavier and Aurora were two other ridiculously named young adults who we’d grown up with. Both had been my classmates—and, as London just indicated, both were now back living with their parents, as well. That info didn’t make me feel any better about my predicament, though it did make me feel better in another way.

  As soon as London mentioned Xavier and Aurora, I asked h
ow they were doing, and that eventually led to us shooting the shit and him catching me up on all the gossip and happenings with other now-grown-up neighborhood kids. All told, it really was a delightful conversation. It helped ease a lot of the tension between me and London, and it helped pass the time.

  The only downfall was that I kept kicking back the tall boys during our conversation. I’d probably consumed a total of five, including the one London gave me outside, in the short time we were together, and I was definitely starting to show my buzz. London didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was a little tipsy—though I was certain that my parents would.

  I decided to slow down a little and turned my nose on another beer the next time London offered. A few moments later, I saw a set of headlights pulling into my driveway. One of my parents was home. I didn’t know which one, and I didn’t really care, either. I was excited to see them both and was grateful for all they were doing for me, yet I was also terrified they’d smell the beer on my breath and lecture me about how I needed to be more responsible. When that’s what you have to look forward to, it doesn’t matter whose face is looking back at you.

  “Time to go, huh?” London asked. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he looked a little sad to see me go. “Come back anytime you want. I’ll be chillin’ right here for most of the summer…. So, anytime you wanna hang out, just come on over.”

  London’s open invitation made me smile, and it made me feel a little bashful. I wasn’t planning on coming back to see the guy anytime soon, but, hey, I wasn’t gonna completely rule it out, either.

  “Thanks,” I replied, trying to hide my hearty smile in my shoulder. “And thanks for the beer, and for keeping me company.”

  I stood up and walked toward the pool house door, and, in an instant, London was behind me. He was walking close enough to me that I could feel his presence, but not close enough so as to infringe upon my personal space.