Never Stop Falling Read online

  Seriously. How much more proof do I need that she and I are made for each other? We practically share one mind, always in sync, regardless of how ridiculous this conversation is.

  Braiden takes a swig of his beer, his lifted eyebrow filled with scrutiny. “How do you know they don’t have twelve-inch fangs, Benster? It’s not like you’ve seen one before.”

  Cori lets out that cute little laugh I love. “No, I haven’t, so I tell you what. You, my friend, will be the first to know when I come face to face with one.”

  “Are you mocking me? You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

  Gemma, still uninterested in the conversation, fiddles with her hair but manages to put in her two cents. “Braiden man, I don’t know what you’re on right now, but I want some.”

  Defeated, Braiden makes an attempt at his final argument. “You all wait and see. When we’re being invaded and shit, remember this conversation.” His aqua-blue eyes look to Tess for sympathy. “Tess, baby, you agree with me, right? You’re a smart chica. You can’t honestly tell me you think we’re the only life out in the universe. Please tell these smart asses how wrong they are.”

  Tess combs her fingers through her long, auburn hair as she stares blankly at the television, a confused scowl on her face. “Did you just call me baby?”

  I lean up from the couch and tap the side of Braiden’s head. “Don’t call her baby,” I scold and walk back to the stool at the kitchen counter. Call me overprotective, but I think Braiden may have a thing for my sister. I’m just not sure how I’d feel about that if it were true, but my thoughts are too preoccupied with Cori to ponder it.

  Even as Braiden continues with the alien conversation, spewing out one ridiculous theory after the other, my eyes never leave Cori. Everything about her is so damn beautiful—the spark in her smile, her infectious laughter, the way her wavy, brown hair frames her face.

  I keep telling myself to just do it. Tell her how I feel. Yet every time I gather the courage, it decides to royally screw me, kick me in the balls, and abandon me, bidding me a premature farewell. Adios. Adieu. Sayonara. Basically telling me to fuck off in every way possible.

  Because as great as the idea of Cori and me together sounds in my head, I could easily flush an eighteen-year friendship down the toilet with my admission.

  “I mean, come on. There is no other explanation for the fact that the ancient Mayans built almost the exact same pyramids as the ancient Egyptians—and in very similar ways. And on opposite sides of the world.” Braiden’s voice trails back into my ears and snaps me out of my daze. “I’m telling ya. Extraterrestrials, man. They were here back then. They’re here now. And they sure ain’t going anywhere.”

  Tess rotates her body toward Braiden and leans her arm across the back of the couch. She rolls her eyes at him before facing me, but he doesn’t see it. “Nicholas, please tell me we’re not going to sit here all night. Let’s go down to The Boardwalk and watch the fireworks. Please,” she begs, her eyes wide as she tilts them in Braiden’s direction, practically pleading for me to rescue them from hearing any more of this.

  “Yes, please,” Gemma stresses, leaving the couch as she makes her way to the kitchen and tosses the bottle in the trash. “If I knew we were going to be sitting on this couch all night, listening to doofus over here talk about God knows what, I would have stayed home. At least I could have been in my PJs, curled in my bed with my celebrity trash magazines.”

  “It’s not too late. The night is young,” Cori shamelessly taunts when Gemma seats herself back on the couch. Though Gemma doesn’t respond, the death stares the girls give each other say more than enough.

  “Fine,” I agree. “We’ll go down to the beach. Everyone needs to calm down, right now.”

  Standing up, Braiden stretches his arms above his head, releasing a long, lengthy yawn. “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m going to go and tinkle.” He starts down the hall. “And before we head out, would anyone care to come and talk to the floating genie with me? If so, meet me outside,” he yells as he makes his way to the bathroom.

  Tess and Gemma raise their hands in unison, like school-aged children, giggling as they leave the living room. I roll my eyes, thankful I chose not to drink tonight, since clearly I’ll be the one driving everyone around for the rest of the evening.

  Cori and I are left in the living room, alone…and uh, well, this is uncomfortable. Even the screams and explosions blaring from the television aren’t enough to fill the awkward silence.

  Though, I guess it could be worse. Nothing says uncomfortable like watching a man being bludgeoned to death by a ten-foot alien, and poor Jonesy the Cat has to bear witness to it all.

  “Cori, are you okay with the plan?” I casually ask, keeping my focus on my camera as I pick it up off the counter. “You know, going to the beach to watch fireworks? You weren’t too keen on the idea earlier.”

  My peripheral vision catches her movement when she turns her head in my direction. “Yeah. Whatever. It’s cool,” she responds, turning her attention back to the TV.

  Cool, I got a sentence out of her this time, albeit a short one, but a sentence nonetheless, complete with a contraction and a four-letter adjective. We’re making progress here.

  My eyes leave the camera and find their way to Cori, scanning her long, freshly-bronzed legs and moving up and over the perfect curves of her chest, the ends of her long, brown locks splayed over it. I’m not oblivious to her nerves, but she appears relaxed, with one arm draped over the top of her head and the other wrapped around her beer. It takes every ounce of willpower not to photograph her right now, just like this, but I’m certain it would only raise the awkward level another notch. I ought to leave before I change my mind and do it anyway.

  “I’ll meet you guys outside. I need to grab a few things before we leave.” Only, there isn’t anything for me to grab, other than the confidence that has seemingly shriveled up with my balls. Now, there’s a sightly image.

  I make it to my room and close the door behind me. Leaning against it and knocking my head into it repeatedly, I scold my stupid brain for following my stupid heart into this stupid situation.

  Why did I have to fall for Cori? Things would have been simpler if I’d fallen for Gemma instead. But even the idea of that feels wrong. To date Gemma, or any other girl for that matter, would only be a deception of my heart.

  Feeling defeated, I walk to my desk and set my camera down. I white-knuckle the back of the chair, leaning all my weight against it, and stare out the open window. Dusk has begun to settle in, setting the night sky ablaze in a deep orange as it cascades through the trees like wildfire and engulfs the room in a reddish glow.

  All at once, the click of my door opening and shutting grabs my attention, and I turn to find Cori bracing her back against it, silent and staring. And panting.

  Panting.

  Sweet Jesus. Her chest heaves up and down in rhythm with her fluttering eyelids, and it wakes up every nerve in my body. She firmly braces her hands and backside against the surface of the door. Am I fucking crazy for being jealous of an inanimate object? Because I’d move heaven and earth to switch places with it; I want to be that door beneath her.

  Her eyes—those gorgeous, almond-shaped, brown eyes—trace their way to mine. I’ve looked at Cori a billion times over the course of our lives, and I know her eyes like I know my own. I’ve seen the tired, sleepy eyes. The joyous and the hopeful. The eyes that try to be brave even in the worst situations. The eyes that scream for adventure. The curious eyes. The angry. The disappointed. I’ve seen them all.

  Except for these. I have never seen these eyes. But, I know them anyway because they are a reflection of my own.

  They’re heavy and wanting.

  She pushes herself off the door and strides across the room toward me. When she reaches me, the edges of her sandals bump against the toes of my shoes, her chest mirroring the panting motions of my own. Her face is only inches from my aching lips, and she carefully studies th
em.

  “Cori, what are you—”

  “Just shut up,” she commands, cutting me off. “Don’t talk.”

  Her eyelids close, mine following suit, and as soon as I feel the touch of her lips on mine, I go completely numb. My pulse explodes out of every pressure point in my body, and it’s the only reason I think I haven’t fallen comatose. It’s like Cori’s lips have short-circuited my brain and paralyzed my limbs. I curse my stupid hands, hands that should be combing through her long hair or holding her perfect fucking waist, but they just dangle at my sides, unmoving.

  Shock has me wound in a straitjacket, and if only I could hop out of my body, I’d slap the crap out of it, because I’ve only thought about this for-fucking-ever!

  Suddenly, she pulls away. Her lips quickly release mine, and our eyes open in unison to see each other’s curious stares.

  “I’m sorry,” Cori breaks the silence. Her eyes drift back to my lips, only to look away immediately, shaking her head. “I just...I just needed to know…” She hesitates, bringing her thumbnail to her teeth like she always does when she’s nervous, and I can tell she’s conflicted over whether or not she actually wants to say what she’s thinking out loud. “I’m sorry, but I had to see if kissing you would be like kissing a brother.”

  If that straitjacket thought it could hold me back, boy was it wrong.

  I don’t hesitate. Hesitating would give her time to fully analyze that joke of a kiss—which I take full responsibility for—and coming to a conclusion based on that kiss alone, well then, I wouldn’t blame her for thinking she just kissed a brother. If this is my one shot with Cori, I’m not bowing out this way. This girl is about to get the best damn kiss of her life.

  I cradle her warm, flushed cheek with my hand and stroke my thumb across her soft skin. Her body acknowledges my touch with an explosion of tiny goose bumps on her arms, her eyelids growing heavy and hooded. Wrapping my other arm around the curve of her waist, I draw her body into me and crush my mouth against hers. Cori’s lips respond upon impact, parting, moving in sync with mine. The taste of beer lingers on her warm, wet tongue, uniting as one with her vanilla scent as they invade my senses. It’s like I’m drinking vanilla-flavored beer, a flavor made only for me, and it’s so damn good. If this is how addiction starts, then I’m fucking screwed because I want to keep drinking her until I can’t see straight.

  A thousand volts of electricity ricochet between us, our bodies defying the laws of physics as we soak up every ounce of energy, giving this kiss one hell of a life. Cori’s fingertips tread lightly along my stomach before she flattens her palms against my shirt and slides her hands up my chest. I swallow hard when she digs her nails into my shoulders and fists my shirt, pulling me into her so tightly I can’t tell whose heart is winning for the fastest beats per minute because it feels like a pretty close race. I weave my arms around her waist, my hands finding their way to the soft skin beneath the hem of her tank top, and I swear, if I wasn’t completely insane for her before, then someone better commit me because I’m done for now.

  I shift her around, our lips continuing to indulge in each other as I lift her up and rest her ass on the edge of the desk. She hooks her legs around me, her way of telling me to keep going, not to stop, and I happily oblige, allowing my body to completely melt into hers. I grow fervent and eager, breathing heavily, my mouth devouring hers while my hands grip firmly at the smooth skin of her waist. My body craves more even though my head warns me we should probably take it down a notch.

  Perhaps if it didn’t feel right, then I would put the brakes on it, but everything about this feels as natural as breathing, like Cori’s lips were made for the sole purpose of kissing mine.

  It makes me wish I’m the only guy she’s ever kissed, but it doesn’t seem likely; we’ve never had that conversation. Not that I really want to know who she might’ve been making out with, but it stings to think that some other guy may have gotten a taste of her—because damn, the girl can kiss. And though reality may deem me delusional, like I’m living in some fairy tale land where everything goes my way, screw reality. Because I will do whatever it takes so that my lips are the only ones Cori ever kisses. I could do this forever, tangled in Cori—lips, hands, legs, and all—and nothing would ever stop it.

  “Corinne! Nicholas! We’re ready to go!”

  Except for that.

  Reality has taken form in the distant sound of Tess’s voice as it travels from beyond my closed door. Our eyes fly open in unison, and our lips slowly cease their tumultuous fire. Breathing heavily, Cori slides her tongue across her bottom lip, and it takes all my willpower to stop me from taking her lip between my teeth. Instead, I place a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth before forcing myself to step away. Just as I do, the doorknob turns, and Tess walks through the door.

  “So there’s this party we’re going to stop by—” Her voice trails off as soon as she sees us, Cori sitting on the desk, and me standing directly in front of her. It isn’t the most compromising position, but it isn’t the most innocent either, at least not for two people who are merely friends.

  My head whips around in time to see a faint smile creep up on my sister’s face. Her eyes are heavy and a tinted shade of red, for obvious reasons, and though her perception may be altered a bit, I sense that my highly intuitive sister can clearly comprehend what she just interrupted.

  “We’ll be right out,” I respond, as if standing here between Cori’s legs is no big deal.

  “Okay, but what I came to tell you guys was that Chase Parker rented a suite down at the Dream. Says he has the perfect view for the fireworks, so if you two are down, we’re going to head over there. Unless, you know, you have other plans.”

  My little shit of a sister. “Yes. No.” I quickly retract my answer after realizing I said yes to her last thought. “Whatever. The party is fine. We’ll go to the party.”

  Tess nods before she saunters out the door, still with that smirk plastered across her face, a smirk that says we let her in on a little secret. She won’t tell. She’ll just dangle it in my face and use it as bait to get what she wants or do as she pleases. But at least for now, I don’t need to worry about her telling Gemma, and God forbid, Braiden. If he finds out, we won’t hear the end of it, and Cori and I need to figure this out first.

  Staring at the floor, Cori braces her arms on the edge of the desk, and I can only assume she’s as nervous as I am. When I cup her flushed cheek with my hand and bring her gaze to mine, she leans into my touch. Her full lips form a sweet smile that reaches her eyes, and somehow eases any uncertainty weighing down my thoughts.

  As much as I’d like to leave this room knowing where we stand, I realize the possibility of that is slim. It would be like scattering a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle all over the floor and putting it together in a matter of minutes. It’s virtually impossible.

  We won’t piece together the entire puzzle tonight, but when I look into Cori’s eyes, I’m not too concerned.

  Because I know what the final picture will look like.

  Holy. Hell. I definitely did not kiss a brother.

  The taste of Nick lingers on my throbbing lips as I’m unable to escape the euphoric paralysis of his kiss. I’m breathless, like I just ran a marathon, and my body aches, but not in the weary, painful way a runner might feel after completing one. These are definitely good aches, the kind that leave a trail of goose bumps along every contour of your body. The kind that come from the kiss of a lifetime. A total heart-stopper. The best damn first kiss a girl could ever have.

  That’s right. My first kiss. And Nicholas Kelley gave it to me.

  I know what you’re thinking. Corinne, the risk-taking, outgoing party queen has never been kissed? Just because I like to have a good time doesn’t make me the school tramp. It’s a little cliché, isn’t it? That promiscuity goes hand-in-hand with popularity ninety-five percent of the time? Well, on second thought, maybe it’s true, but mad props to the five percent that know how to t
hrow it down while keeping a good head on their shoulders and, most importantly, keeping their legs closed (patting myself on the back). I’ve never really had an interest in kissing any of the guys at our school. Not Aiden O’Neil, or Chase Parker even. There is no denying the magnitude of Chase’s hotness, but the dude’s as dumb as a rock, and neither he nor any other guys do it for me.

  Until now.

  As the sky begins to draw its curtains on daylight, we drive down Pacific Avenue toward the Dream Inn, the sun’s deep orange embers reaching out over the ocean for one more breath of day before nightfall pushes it below the horizon.

  The drive is silent—at least between Nick and me. The Three Stooges in the back seat, however, can’t stop laughing and seem to think everything is funny, including the deer crossing sign on Glen Canyon Road, on which some immature moron had drawn a huge penis on the image of the deer. Alright, I guess even when you’re sober, that’s a little funny, but Moe, Curly, and Larry back there can’t let it go, even after Nick presses hard on the brakes of his black Jeep Wrangler, jerking everyone forward to quiet them down at a stoplight.

  “Whoa. Easy with the brakes there, Bandit,” Braiden says to Nick. When Nick doesn’t respond, Braiden shifts his weight forward and leans each of his elbows on the edge of our seat backs. “You two are awfully quiet,” he observes. I grow tense at his unexpected observation and quickly look over at Nick, who has his hands gripped tightly at ten and two on the steering wheel. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

  “What?” Nick and I say in unison, our eyes growing wide as we look at each other.

  Dammit. Does Braiden know? Why would he call us lovers unless he had some sort of an inkling? Not that Nick and I are lovers. We’ve only kissed, and that could hardly constitute us as lovers. Wait, do I want to be his lover? And why do people have to use that word—lover? It sounds so corny, like it should be strictly designated as cheesy soap opera vocabulary. Tess chuckles, and I’m almost certain she’s going to give us away, if she hasn’t already, but she doesn’t say a word.