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  KISS NOW, LIE LATER

  Copyright © 2020 C.W. Farnsworth

  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 author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design: C.W. Farnsworth

  Stock Photos courtesy of Shutterstock

  “My only love sprung from my only hate.”

  -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  Dear Reader

  Books By This Author

  About the Author

  One boy.

  One girl.

  Two feuding towns.

  Maeve

  I've heard a lot of things about Weston Cole. Popular. Conceited. Supercilious. He’s spent the last three years steadily dismantling my family’s legacy. I should hate him. And I did. Until I encountered him freshman year and discovered he’s also troubled. Captivating. Audacious. And when I come across him again senior year, it turns out that knowledge is even more dangerous than his suggestive smirk...

  Weston

  No girl in Glenmont is more untouchable than Maeve Stevens. She lives across enemy lines. Her father is the head football coach. Her twin brother’s their quarterback. My latest problem? One glimpse of her viridian eyes makes me forget about the decades long rivalry between our two towns. A few forbidden kisses, and the only thing I want to fight for? Her.

  End

  of

  Freshman

  Year

  chapter one

  Maeve

  Some things are set in stone. The length of a second. How many days fill each month. And if you’re from Glenmont, then you’re obligated to hate anyone from Alleghany.

  But even stone can be altered. Some seconds feel hours long. August passes too quickly; March drags too long. And a girl from Glenmont could hate how much she doesn’t hate a boy from Alleghany.

  I’ve lived in Glenmont my entire life. I know the tiny town better than the grooves of my own palm. Its small downtown area where my mother’s real estate office is located, the wooded running paths that surround the high school, the stretch of sandy beach that encircles our half of the lake. And I say ‘our half’ in acknowledgement of Glenmont’s single most defining characteristic: its hatred of the town that owns almost all of the remaining lakeshore, Alleghany. The town of Fayetteville has the misfortune of being sandwiched between us on one side.

  I have no idea how the rivalry with Alleghany started, only that it’s been a divisive force for longer than I’ve been alive. My father grew up in Glenmont; he was the hometown football star here before going on to play at nearby Arlington University, and then eventually to coach there. Based on the stories he’s told to my twin brother Liam and me, tensions ran just as high then.

  At least until last September.

  This past fall, the scales tipped. The tides changed. And not in the direction of being one big happy family singing around a campfire. Things changed for one reason, comprised of two words: Weston Cole.

  The rivalry between Alleghany and Glenmont has never been ordinary, or normal. It’s always been petty and vicious. We compete for everything, but there are striations to it. Some victories are worth more than others. At the top of the hierarchy? High school football.

  The two teams and their respective hometowns hate each other just as much on the one Friday night they clash as on the other three hundred and sixty-four nights of the year. And for several consecutive seasons, Glenmont won. Starting the very first year my father left his coaching job at Arlington University and became Glenmont High’s head football coach.

  This past fall was meant to be different. Better. It marked the start of Liam and I’s high school careers.

  I entered the halls of Glenmont High as an afterthought, but Liam entered as a legend. The heir to the Stevens football dynasty. Glenmont’s golden ticket to another four years of victory. In what seemed like a perfect twist of fate, the first game of the regular season was against Alleghany. Nothing like beating your mortal enemy to start the season off right. Instead? Liam stepped on the field as the starting quarterback, but so did another freshman. Who had just moved to Alleghany over the summer. Weston Cole.

  And we lost. Badly.

  Weston Cole stepped out onto the field and ruined the start of what was meant to be a four year legacy. That one game would have been bad enough, but as a freshman he went on to lead the Alleghany Eagles to their first state football championship during my father’s tenure.

  His name is uttered reverentially in Alleghany and with hatred in Glenmont, no more so than in my house.

  Liam has always been serious and focused, especially when it comes to football, but this past season pushed him beyond his normal bounds. I spent the remainder of my freshman year after his first clash with Weston Cole being woken up early each morning to the sound of clanging weights on the other side of the wall we share. Not the most pleasant way to start the day, but I’ve never said anything to him about it.

  Liam and I rarely discuss the rivalry, or its repercussions. I know Liam feels like he let everyone down last fall: our dad, our town, and our school. But his personal rivalry with Weston Cole goes beyond football. Liam tends to be quiet and reserved. Football is where he’s always excelled.

  I know it gets to him that Weston is rumored to have the cocky swagger characteristic of most quarterbacks. That he’s known to be popular and charming, and manages to do so seemingly effortlessly. He may be hated in Glenmont, but that doesn’t preclude him from the high school’s gossip mill. If anything, he features more prominently because of it. And the rumors are far from limited to just football.

  The ceaseless lights of Glenmont’s football stadium flash by on the right, and I add being on the track running sprints to the list of things I would rather be doing right now. I was the only freshman to make Glenmont’s varsity girls soccer team, and I’m
determined to do more than just ride the bench sophomore year. I have a training plan for the entire summer already mapped out, even though the last day of school was only yesterday.

  When my best friend Maggie saw it, she rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they’d fall out of her head. But I can’t help it. Like Liam, I tend to be serious. Steadfast. Predictable. I’m a rule follower. A planner. Some would call me boring. Maggie did, until I agreed to tag along on this outing. As a result, I’m currently in a car with Maggie and her older sister, headed to a party in Fayetteville.

  I make the safe, responsible choices so that other people can make stupid ones. Which is the main reason I’m spending my night attending this Fayetteville party. Some sophomore guy Maggie met outside her dance studio invited her, and I refuse to let her become a crime statistic. Our other two best friends, Brooke and Sarah, left this morning to be camp counselors in Maine for the summer, and I knew if I refused to go Maggie would forge ahead alone.

  Apparently, I’m a naturally cynical person, since Maggie doesn’t seem to have any similar reservations about meeting a random guy at a stranger’s house. But I’ve always been guarded with anyone unfamiliar, likely a result of growing up sheltered in a small town.

  Or maybe it’s because I’m a Stevens. Known to everyone in the county as Coach Stevens’ daughter and Liam Stevens’ sister. I always know any misstep I make will be reflected back on them.

  “Come on, Maeve!” Maggie pulls me from my musings. I glance outside the car to see a small cabin situated next to a wooded stretch of trees. Hordes of teenagers mill about. Rap music pumps through invisible speakers.

  We’ve arrived.

  “You’re sure about this?” I hedge as she opens my door like a chauffeur. “We could just head to my house for a sleepover . . . ”

  I’m not antisocial by any stretch, but I much prefer the company of my friends, or at least familiar faces, to that of drunk strangers. And since Fayetteville is considered to be neutral territory, there could even be Alleghany students here.

  “You already agreed,” Maggie sings. I groan as I climb out of the backseat of her sister’s car.

  “I’ll be back at midnight!” Maggie’s sister calls before driving away, taking my only escape route with her. This party is on the very outskirts of Fayetteville, directly alongside the small stretch of shoreline not owned by Alleghany or Glenmont. As we draw closer to the cabin, I can see the moonlight reflecting off the glassy surface of the lake through the trees ahead. It’s beautiful, but the scenic view also means I’m stuck until Maggie’s sister returns. It would take me at least two hours to walk home from here.

  Maggie drags me over to the largest crowd of people, correctly surmising it’s where the alcohol will be located. I raise an eyebrow at her as she fills a red cup with the malty liquid enclosed inside the metal keg.

  “This is all I’ll have,” she promises me. “They used to give beer to little kids, Maeve!”

  I scoff at her reasoning as I flip open the top of the red and white cooler resting on the dirt ground next to the keg. It’s filled with more beer, this time bottled, and some cans of soda as well. I grab a cola and take a long sip. The carbonation tickles my throat, and the cold liquid chills my esophagus.

  I set the chilled can down on a nearby tree stump so I can unknot the flannel shirt tied around my waist. I shrug it on over the thin tank top I’m wearing, glad I opted to wear jeans. Most of the girls here are dressed in skimpy skirts or dresses, acting as though it’s already mid-summer rather than barely June. I’d be surprised if the temperature is still hovering above sixty degrees. Maggie gives my worn cotton shirt a disdainful glance, but I can see goosebumps raised on her arms thanks to the glow of the cabin’s floodlights.

  “Do you see him?” Maggie asks, glancing around the crowds of people anxiously.

  “That would require knowing what he looks like, so no,” I respond dryly, picking up the can of soda and taking another sip.

  Maggie rolls her eyes. “I told you, he has blonde hair and brown eyes.”

  “Maggie, half the guys here have blonde hair,” I inform her as I glance around. “And I can’t tell what color anyone’s eyes are.”

  Maggie sighs. “Well, it’s not quite 10:30. That’s when he said he would be here.”

  “Here’s hoping you found the only punctual teenage boy to ever exist.” I raise my can in a mock cheers.

  Maggie checks the time on her phone again. “Would it kill you to be a little more supportive?”

  “Mags, I’m here. That’s as supportive as you’re going to get. I could be asleep right now. You know I’m running with Becca at six.”

  “I can’t believe you’re actually sticking to that insane training plan you made.”

  “That’s the point of a training plan. You stick to it,” I reply. “You have a schedule for dance, right?”

  “It doesn’t include getting up when it’s barely light out!” Maggie contends.

  “Don’t you have cheerleading camp this summer?” I ask.

  “No, did I forget to tell you? Samantha’s parents bought a beach house in North Carolina. She’s spending the summer there and cancelled camp.”

  “Of course she did.” I roll my eyes. The cheerleading team is by far the most popular girls sports team at Glenmont High, which I can only surmise is based off the uniforms they wear since they put very little effort into anything else.

  “You’re wearing your judgy face, Maeve,” Maggie teases.

  “I know I am,” I grumble. “Do you know the average number of attendees at our games last season? Fifteen! After twelve hours of practice a week! You guys gossip for one hour at most, and the whole school shows up for the cheerleading competition. It’s infuriating!”

  “Hey, I was one of the fifteen spectators,” Maggie reminds me.

  “I know,” I sigh. “Rant over.”

  Maggie laughs. “Just ask—” She abruptly stops talking. “He’s here!”

  I follow her gaze, and sure enough, a blonde guy is walking over to the cabin with two darker haired boys. He’s looking around anxiously the same way Maggie’s been doing ever since we first arrived.

  “How do I look?” Maggie asks, fiddling with the hem of her light pink dress.

  “You look gorgeous,” I assure her.

  “Okay, wish me luck!” Maggie says before taking off in the guy’s direction. I watch as she approaches him. As soon as the blonde boy spots her, he gives her a bashful grin of greeting before introducing Maggie to his companions.

  Satisfied he’s not a serial killer, I pull my phone out of my pocket and send Maggie a quick text letting her know I’m walking down to the lake and to text me if she needs me. I skirt the assembled partygoers and slip between two large maples into the wooded stretch separating the cabin from the lake. A carpet of moss covered with years of decaying leaves muffles my footfalls as I head deeper into the woods. The shouts, loud music, and laughter start to gradually fade away.

  I stumble down what seems like it was once a path, but years of neglect have left it overgrown and gnarled. I’m grateful for the worn sneakers I’m wearing as I navigate the uneven terrain.

  A sigh of relief escapes me when I spot a fallen log up ahead, just before the growth begins to recede in response to the less hospitable, sandy soil surrounding the immediate lake. Quickening my pace, I almost fall when my foot gets caught on an errant tree root. Finally reaching my destination, I plop down on the dead tree, looking out at the calm, dark surface of the water. The thick canopy of leaves above only allow a few small patches of moonlight to filter down to the forest floor.

  I balance the red can of cola on my denim-clad knee so I can pull my blonde hair out of the messy ponytail I’ve had it in all day. It tumbles down around my shoulders in a comforting curtain, and I take a sip of soda, finally relaxing for the first time since we arrived.

  It’s not until an unfamiliar voice speaks that I realize I’m not alone. “Are you drunk?”

 
I almost drop the can I’m clutching as my eyes dart to the right, trying to peer through the darkness that surrounds me. A shadowed figure is barely visible on the opposite end of the log. It moves closer to me, and I tense, wondering if I should run. Scream.

  A beam of moonlight illuminates the silhouette, and I immediately recognize who it is.

  Weston fucking Cole.

  I’m sure he has an actual middle name that’s not a profanity, but that’s how he’s known in the halls of Glenmont High. Weston fucking Cole.

  This is only the second time I’ve seen him in person, and the first time up close. His light brown hair is windswept, and his white teeth gleam in the darkness. Even though he’s sitting I can tell he’s tall. Imposing.

  He’s also staring at me expectantly, and I realize he’s waiting for me to answer his question. “It sounded like a herd of elephants was coming through the forest,” he elaborates.

  I hold up the can of cola. “Not drunk. Just clumsy.”

  He nods, looking relieved, although I can’t help but notice he’s clutching a beer bottle himself. I hate hypocrites.

  I’m about to stand and leave when he speaks again.

  “I’m Weston Cole.” His voice is deep and confident, but absent of the arrogance I expect to hear based on the stories I’ve heard about him.

  “I know,” I admit. “I’m Maeve,” I pause, tempted not to share my last name. Reluctantly, I add, “Maeve Stevens.”

  Weston’s eyes widen slightly, giving me a better glimpse of their distinctive cerulean shade. “Ah.”

  I sigh. “You know who I am.” It’s a meaningless statement; of course he does.

  “I know who your father and brother are,” Weston confirms.

  I look over at him and smile slightly. “Not many people make that distinction.”