Woke Up Like This(36)
The crowd goes wild for his speech. I’m having déjà vu of the applause after Renner’s student council campaign speech. Maybe Renner’s calling isn’t teaching gym. Maybe he should be a professional speechwriter. Or a motivational speaker.
I don’t know who started shouting “Kiss her,” though I suspect it was Ollie. But soon, everyone is cheering us on, clinking their cups, and demanding a kiss.
“Come on, give her a kiss,” Renner’s aunt yells, phone poised to capture the moment on video.
My eyes meet Renner’s, and we exchange a look that silently says, Shit. But then the corner of his lip raises in that signature smile and my breath hitches. My head whirls with a foreign feeling, something I don’t quite recognize.
“We don’t have to . . . if you don’t want to,” he whispers.
“Um, I—” He loosens his hand around my waist, sensing my reluctance. Every logical, rational part of me says that J. T. Renner is the absolute last person in the world I want to kiss. But not kissing him at our own engagement party, in front of all our friends and family, would only lead to suspicion. Right?
For a hot second, I’m entranced. Hoodwinked by his unnatural gift with words. By the way the orange sky has illuminated the tiny gold flecks in his green eyes like tiny, fiery beacons. I imagine I’m character in a movie. The main character who withstands a torrential downpour and subsequent pneumonia, all for that grand gesture. The character who throws caution to the wind and accepts another’s love.
And I do it. I kiss him.
FIFTEEN
I’ve kissed three guys in my life, but I’ve never been the kisser. The one who leans in and makes first contact.
And now I know why.
Renner isn’t expecting my lips to crash into him like a Mack Truck. As I close in, his eyes widen like saucers in abject terror.
But it’s too late. I’ve propelled myself forward with too much momentum. Our noses smash together, punctuated by the hard clank of my teeth against his upper lip. And there it is, the faintest metallic taste of blood.
Ouch.
Nonetheless, we’ve done it. We’ve kissed, at least in the technical sense.
“There,” I say through an epic sigh of relief, the tips of my fingers zipping with adrenaline as I pull back.
I expect anger or frustration for ruining the show. But instead, the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “Was that . . . a kiss?” he whispers, eyes trained on mine, as though we’re the only people in this backyard. As if all eyes aren’t on us.
“I think so?”
He pulls me in and chuckles softly, chest rising against mine. “Somehow that’s worse than your hand-holding. You nearly knocked my teeth out.” He touches his front teeth, feigning concern that they’re still there.
If I had to kiss Renner, why did I do it so poorly? In front of a crowd, no less. He doesn’t have anything else to razz me about.
He leans in to try again, forehead grazing mine. From this angle, I can see the thick swoop of his lashes. The slight cluster of freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. The way his lips quiver as I inch closer.
He tilts his head to the left, running his thumb over my jawline to cup my chin, leaving me breathless. His lips slide into an earnest grin that nearly sends me adrift. It reminds me of that very first day of school. For that moment on the bleachers, I’d been charmed by his sunlight. His effortless smile. That intoxicating lemony scent.
I only realize I’m shaking when he squeezes my hand, which manages to slow the wild thrash of my heart.
Unlike me, he comes in slow and tentative. This is how it’s done, his body says, catching my bottom lip with a softness I didn’t know him capable of. His lips draw apart, then slide back together, a little deeper than before. His beard hair tickles the side of my face ever so slightly, lighting up every cell in my body. Our lips melt together seamlessly in a way I’ve never felt. Like opposites colliding. It feels safe, yet electrifying.
A part of me, a part I didn’t know existed, is desperate to pull him closer, run my fingers through his thick, silky hair, recapture his lips with mine. But he pulls back.
Before I can register what the hell just happened, he’s lapping up praise from the party guests. He shouts something to my mom that I can’t hear over my ringing ears.
And then he leans in and says, “Nice show, huh?”
Whoop, there it is. None of what just happened was real. It was all for show. The speech. The kiss. Because of course it was.
Renner deserves an Oscar for that performance.
For the rest of the night, our guests ogle us like we’re some famous penguin couple in a zoo. Renner’s speech fooled everyone.
Since our kiss, there’s a heightened awareness between us. It’s like whenever Clay enters the classroom and my heart cartwheels. I get a little clammy, my hands clench in my lap, and I can’t help but wonder if everyone notices how freakin’ weird I’m acting.
Not that I have a crush, by any means, but Renner is in my peripheral vision no matter where I go in Ollie’s backyard. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I keep catching his eyes lingering on me too. When I’m not being awkward, stuffing my face with Tostitos and heaping buffalo chicken dip, I master the art of evasion. I deflect difficult questions like, Are you excited for the wedding? Do you think you’ll cry when you walk down the aisle? It’s easy enough, so long as I remain vague and avoid the temptation to tell everyone it’s canceled. And after seeing the joy on my mom’s face, we’ll need to think of a gentle way to drop that bomb.