Present tense, p.1
Present Tense, page 1
PRESENT TENSE
KELLY KAY
Present Tense
Copyright © 2022 by DECORATED CAST LLC by Kelly Kay/Kelly Kreglow
All rights reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, public domain and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are coincidental, or if an actual place, they are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for the author or third-party websites and their content.
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Published by Decorated Cast Publishing, LLC
Created with Vellum
To dear, dear S
Who taught me a wall and a boundary are two totally different things. And in doing so changed my life.
DEFINITION
pres·ent tense
noun GRAMMAR
a tense expressing an action that is currently going on or habitually performed, or a state that currently or generally exists.
ALSO BY KELLY KAY
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Keep Paris
Keep Philly - exclusive newsletter novella (book 1.5)
Keep Vegas
FIVE FAMILIES VINEYARD SERIES
LaChappelle/Whittier Vineyard Trilogy
Crushing, Rootstock & Uncorked
Stafýlia Cellars Duet
Over A Barrel & Under The Bus
Gelbert Family Winery
Meritage: An Unexpected Blend
Residual Sugar
Coming Soon
Pietro Family
Langerford Cellars Book
CHITOWN LOVE STORIES
A Lyrical Romance Duet
Shock Mount & Crossfade
A Lyrical Spinoff Standalone
Present Tense
CARRIAGE HOUSE CHRONICLES
Funny, steamy, smart novellas for when you don’t know what to read next. Released randomly throughout the year!
Follow Me - Now available
(Rockstar, second chance, forced proximity)
Sound Off - Coming soon
Enemies to Lovers, reverse grumpy sunshine, close proximity set in the music world
Something Good - Fall
(Age gap, nanny, single dad, rockstar)
For the Rest of Us - Holiday
(M/M, holiday, marriage in crisis, one bed)
EVIE & KELLY’S HOLIDAY DISASTERS
Hilarious Rom Com novellas with Evie Alexander
VOLUME ONE
Cupid Calamity
Cookout Carnage
Christmas Chaos
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. LIAM
2. JILLIEN
3. LIAM
4. JILLIEN
5. LIAM
6. JILLIEN
7. LIAM
8. LIAM
9. JILLIEN
10. LIAM
11. JILLIEN
12. LIAM
13. JILLIEN
14. LIAM
15. JILLIEN
16. LIAM
17. JILLIEN
18. LIAM
19. JILLIEN
20. LIAM
21. JILLIEN
22. LIAM
23. JILLIEN
24. LIAM
25. LIAM
26. JILLIEN
27. LIAM
28. JILLIEN
29. LIAM
30. JILLIEN
31. JILLIEN
32. LIAM
33. LIAM
34. JILLIEN
35. LIAM
36. JILLIEN
37. LIAM
38. JILLIEN
39. JILLIEN
40. LIAM
41. LIAM
42. JILLIEN
43. JILLIEN
44. JILLIEN
45. JILLIEN
46. LIAM
47. JILLIEN
48. JILLIEN
49. LIAM
50. JILLIEN
51. JILLIEN
52. LIAM
53. JILLIEN
54. JILLIEN
Epilogue
Hey Kel, What Else Can I Read?
Acknowledgments
a little about me
SHOCK MOUNT
PROLOGUE
JILLIEN
Past
23 years ago
Oh my God. I’m so done with all of this and want to go home and sleep in my own bed. We got back from Italy, like, late last night. Back from the Fletcher/Thompson Italian Christmas our parents dragged us to. I know I would sound completely spoiled if I complained to anyone. I’m so lucky, I guess. But it was so long. It was cool, but whatever. Lisa was a bitch the last couple of days. I mean, ten days is too long with people who aren’t really your family. I’m sooo thankful Liam was there. And his dad is cool and funny. My dad is a dork and drank too much Limoncello, like, every night.
But our moms were the real show. They dressed up every day like Italian Vogue was scouting for forty-year-old bridge club women to be models. Hats and loud dresses. There was a day they wore gloves all day. And not for warmth. Leather gloves for fashion, like in Roman Holiday.
They both overused Italian phrases they thought they understood, but always mixed them up with some Spanish, as well. As if we couldn’t be more insulting as loud Americans. It was hella embarrassing, and I thought I would die thousands of deaths when they talked to real Italian people. They were all, “Scusi, this is bella.” Everything was bella this and bella that. Never venturing into bellissimo or piacevole. They forced us to look at tiny little translation books for hours on the plane. Liam and I speak more Italian than they do from studying during one freaking flight.
I’m hiding in the basement of a random neighbor’s house. It’s New Year’s Eve. I stole a bottle of champagne and all the good appetizers—they’re gone now. It’s the millennium new year, and I’m kinda hoping that Y2K isn’t bullshit. I don’t want to go to school the day after tomorrow. And it would be nice if all the computers in the world got their memories wiped. My grades aren’t what my parents would like, and my dad will fucking rage when he finds out. I may have skipped out on school to go to New York to see Will Smith give it Big Willie Style with some friends the night before my ancient civilizations test. Ironic, since I was headed to Rome so soon after the test.
The party is raging on upstairs. We’re two doors down from my house and I just want to go home. I’m bored and I do not want to talk to Lisa right now. She told me Clark Harris told her he would never like me in a million years. First of all, how does she even know Clark Harris? And second, he might someday. If he ever stops macking on Jodie. Whatevs. Shit. Someone is coming down here. I lie flat on the couch, hoping they’ll just go away.
“I can see your argyle socks.”
“Thank God it’s you. Close the door.”
“What’s your damage?” Liam flops down on the edge of the couch. He’s just as over this fucking non-holiday break as I am. I pull out my bottle and hand it to him.
“You stole this?” I nod. “Did anyone see you?” I shake my head. “We’re going to get in trouble.”
I shake my head again. “I’m very good at not getting caught. Just drink up.”
He shrugs, then jerks his chin to me in approval. He looks cute in his jeans and tucked in blue oxford. Our parents made us kind of dress up. So I’m in an old Rolling Stones T-shirt I found and a denim miniskirt.
“Cool. Thanks.” He takes a sip, then sits up a little. He holds the bottle out in front of him and says, “Scusi. Mi amigo. This is bella. This bottle is bella. This basement is multo bella bonita biblioteca bella.” I laugh.
I respond by picking up a pillow and turning it in my hands. “The craftmanship is bella. The leather on the stitching is muy bella.” He cracks up. We both start laughing and can’t stop as we make fun of our moms. He passes the bottle back.
I say, “Bella.” He laughs again.
We hear our idiot parents upstairs screaming, “Five, four, three, two, one.” Liam leans back, smiling, and I get this insane idea. I get a lot of them, but this one is good. I scoot to the edge of the couch close to him, then straddle him, my skirt lifting out of the way. I have tights on, so who cares. He can’t see anything. His eyes, like, bug out of his head.
“Just go with it.” I lean to his face and say, “Happy New Year.” And I push my lips to his. I’m thirteen, why not kiss him? He pushes back on me, then wiggles a little. Then I’m not sure what I feel. It’s like the remote or something is stuck under my butt, but I ignore it. I pull my lips back and smile at hi
“Is that ok? Am I any good?” I ask.
He reaches out to my hips. “You’re ok, but we should probably practice.” I hit him. But why not? “And this time, open your mouth a little.” My eyes light up. Yes. This is the kind of practice I need. Hone my skills for Clark Harris.
“Frenching. Right?”
But before he answers, he’s kissing me with his tongue. I mean, his whole tongue, and it’s weird and wonderful. I just let my tongue lay there and play goalie. It keeps popping up when he gets a little too deep. But then I lean into him a bit more and I think I like it. I let my tongue swirl around his and I’m getting the hang of this. I’m kissing Liam and it’s not super fucking weird.
“This is awesome,” he says, and I answer while still kissing him with an uh-huh. I’m all flippy in my stomach and my insides are squirmy. His hands move a little like he’s thinking about finding the edge of my shirt. Am I doing this right? And is he going for, like, an over the bra move? How do I feel about this? It’s totally possible he’s just being nice. But I like it, so maybe over the bra is cool. But then, when I put my hand on his shoulder, there’s a slam of the basement door, and I leap backward off his lap. I trip and go down to the floor. Liam grabs, like, two pillows and puts them where I was sitting.
“Yuck. Cut it out. What the hell are you two doing? That’s gross. We’re like cousins.”
Lisa makes me feel bad again. It’s her gift. Some days, she’s great like the best friend you could ever want. Fun and silly. She’s totally great and then she’s like a switch flipped, and she’s kind of mean or makes fun of me until I feel bad. I always shake it off, but still, it’s totally lame.
Liam answers and his voice is lower than it was twenty minutes ago, “Get out, Lisa. We’re just hanging out.”
I stand up from the floor. “Why? We didn’t do anything wrong.” Kissing is totally fine. I think sex is probably going to be fine, too. No big. And it’s not like we’re going to do anything else. I mean, were we? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t want to go all the way. But I like kissing him.
“Eww. As if. It’s totally gross. Jillien, your mom is completely freaking out that she can’t find you. So there’s that.”
“Fine.” I grab my shoes and look at Liam. He kind of smiles. Lisa turns and leaves the room. I go to follow her.
Liam grabs my wrist. “You ok?”
I grin at him. “Totally. It was bella. Happy New Year.” He jumps up and pulls me into a Liam hug, squeezing too hard. But I don’t mind tonight. I wrap my arms around him a little tighter. He’s the only one in the world who completely understands my family’s crazy. The hug is different, but better. My mom yells from upstairs and I tear myself away.
I skip out of the room, and he calls after me, “Happy New Year, Jillybear.”
1
LIAM
PRESENT
The smell of bayberry candles drag my eyes shut for a second. Like a holiday trance, I imagine a Rockwell gathering all around me. But then I flick my beard, adjust my tie, and survey the room. My house is filled with drunk-ass friends, a persnickety mother, and cats who are darting in and out of everyone’s legs, terrified of being stepped on but also afraid of missing out on some kind of action. The traditional Fletcher family holiday party is in full swing. It’s Mom and I throwing the party now, the last of the real Fletchers. I no longer consider my sister a Fletcher since she crossed the river for her suburban Jersey married life.
I see my friends, Deb and Heather, peeking into the house. We clerked together fresh out of law school, and after the last couple of years, it’s nice to see they’re my friends and not my ex-wife’s. I greet them with hugs.
Deb has a shit-eating grin. “I brought you a present.” She says as she removes her scarf.
“Not necessary.” She always remembers an occasion or a host gift.
“This couldn’t be helped.” I move to hug her wife, Heather.
Heather’s voice is boisterous as she says, “You’re going to freak.” There’s someone else just beyond the power couple. I look over Heather’s shoulder and my whole body pings like it’s been hit with high voltage. In the door frame is Jillien Thompson. Snow gently falls behind her as her face beams a mischievous smile I know all too well.
Jillien was a family friend and buddy of my sister from our privileged childhood and the imaginary love of my youth. Our fathers worked together and there were many family vacations and holiday gatherings. I swiftly move toward her.
“Holy shit! Jillien fucking Thompson. Why are you in Philly?” I turn to Deb and Heather, who laugh as Jillien takes a bow.
“Told ya you’d freak.” Heather slaps me on the back, and the women enter my living room, leaving the two of us alone. I reach behind Jillien to close the door and all sense of decorum is quickly draining from my body.
She’s as beautiful as a memory. Her cherry lips smile broadly at me. The snow is flecking her blondish hair as it gently brushes her shoulders. She stands taller than I remember. I’m six foot three inches and often have to stoop a bit to chat with women. But she’s meeting my gaze. My heart is out of my chest before I can stop it. Her soft and feminine scent is pushing my adrenaline into overdrive. I haven’t seen her up close in about twenty years, except for Facebook. Our eyes connect, and she trips over her first words. Not something she usually did. If memory serves, she tends to speak before she thinks. I tend to think way too much before I do anything.
“Fletch. Hope it’s ok if I crash the party.” She gives me a sassy little smile, and it’s better than Christmas lights. She bites the bottom of her lip, and it’s precisely the flash in my mind of her at sixteen. With her feeble attempt at wit, she moves to hug me. Instinct takes over.
“Of course it’s ok, but I need to do something first. Please indulge me. Blame the mistletoe.” I lean forward.
“Wait,” she whispers with a wide-eyed, adorable expression. I lick my lips. “Really?” She opens her mouth wide in surprise.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. How could you not know I’ve been dying to kiss you?” I joke since we haven’t seen each other in decades. She smiles, and it lights up the fucking house.
“I must have missed the email notification. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Her face lights up and she nods as if she’s intrigued. The idea of fulfilling an age-old desire is too overwhelming. I swiftly wrap my arm around her waist and pull her flat against me. She gasps and places her hands on my shoulders. I cannot stop myself. She may run away screaming, but I have to touch her. I drift the back of my hand along her downy soft cheek. It flushes a trail of where I’ve been. I get closer to her and she takes small breaths of anticipation. It’s both sexy and adorable at the same. Jillien Fucking Thompson, finally in my arms. I won’t waste another opportunity. I take her lush and lovely lips quickly. I kiss her for the second time in my life.
She yields instantly. I want her to know it’s more than a hello, welcome to my house kiss. I hover, teasing her, and unbelievably, she moves into me, and I feel her kiss me back. We’re in this together. Definitely not a friendly kiss, but somewhere in between. Our lips are slightly parted and wet. I don’t lick into her mouth like I’m desperate to do. I want to taste her, but I back off and keep it somewhat chaste. After we linger on each other’s lips for a minute, I pull back into a broad smile and whisper, “I’ve wanted to do that for twenty-five years.” Then I release her reluctantly. Her heavenly scent worms its way into my bloodstream and warms every part of me.
