Misunderstandings by Tiffany King Page B

wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
    “And that’s a problem, why?” I asked, looping my legs around him so he was intimately pressed against me. My eyes fluttered closed as he crushed his lips to mine. The desire in me raged out of control. I pulled at his clothes, wanting the last barrier gone that separated fooling around from sheer ecstasy. He had his shirt halfway off when a familiar ringtone blared from the pocket of his jeans.
    “Damn,” he said, showing me the phone, which displayed “Home” on the Caller ID.
    “Yes?” he answered in a strained voice.
    “Are you on your way back?” I could clearly hear his mom thanks to our close proximity.
    “Almost. Brittni needed to finish a few things,” he answered, grinning devilishly. I pinched his arm and pushed at him, trying to get him to move off me. Even though she couldn’t see us, it felt weird to be getting it on with her on the phone.
    “That’s fine, but I need you guys to pick up a can of cranberry sauce from the grocery store. You know how your grandpa insists that the canned version is the only good kind.”
    “No problem, Mom. We’re heading out now,” Justin said, finally rising off me.
    “Thanks, son. Love you.”
    “Love you too,” he answered, ending the call. “You ready?” he asked, looking down at me where I was still sprawled out on the bed.
    “What part of ‘I’m not going’ did you not understand?”
    “You have to. Hollie made you a place card thingy and everything. You wouldn’t want to crush my poor kid sister’s heart, would you?” he asked, reaching a hand down and hauling me to my feet.
    “Why does she like me anyway? Most kids hate me,” I said, sliding my feet into my favorite boots.
    “You sure education is the right career choice for you?”
    “Yeah, ironic, right?” I answered. “Believe it or not, I enjoy it. I like the idea of teaching our next generation. Technically, kids are not scared of me. They just listen really well when I’m around.”
    “I could see that. You’ve got that drill sergeant voice nailed.”
    “Is that your way of telling me I’m bossy?”
    “Not necessarily bossy. I’d say assertive.”
    “Ha, that’s just a nice way of saying
bossy as hell
,” I said, grabbing my bag as we left. I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be leaving my room behind. Even though I fought the dinner invitation, the idea of being alone on Thanksgiving was a real downer. Who cares if we were mixing up the steps in the relationship? It wasn’t like there was some rule book that said you couldn’t join your boyfriend for a major holiday after only a few weeks of dating.
    “Oh, you still have the roof on?” I asked, tamping my disappointment at the fully enclosed jeep.
    “Disappointed?” he asked, opening my door.
    “Sort of. It’s cold as hell, but I liked the freedom of no doors or roof.”
    “It’s only until spring. You’ll appreciate it more when it’s not so frigid.”
    His words hit me like a bucket of water had been dumped on me. Spring was months away. Did he really think with our dating track records that we’d still be together by then? Sure, we were getting along well at the moment, but up until now, my longest relationship was in the eighth grade when Garrett Blinn and I decided we were a couple after a rousing game of Spin the Bottle in Tressa’s basement. We lasted four whole weeks. The first week was bliss as I added his name to every square inch of my notebooks. By week two, I was wishing I had saved a little space for other doodling. By the third week, his wet lips on mine no longer held the same appeal they had during Spin the Bottle, and by the fourth week into our relationship, I was busy plotting different ways to break it off with him. In the end, he wound up with a bloody nose and a busted lip when I punched him for trying to stick his hand down my pants during a make-out session. The tale of how he had acquired his busted lip spread like wildfire through our