Kiss Me Not (Kiss Me 1)

“I told you to start running at least once a week.”

“I told you to fuck off,” she wheezed. She held up a finger as she took a moment to catch her breath. “Phew. I really need to start running.”

“No shit,” I said dryly. “Running something other than your mouth would be something I’d pay to see.”

“Hey, do you want this wine I smuggled in or not?”

“First, why bother? You know it’s legal to drink during the fair, and Barney always makes sure there’s plenty for this cookout. Second, you didn’t smuggle it in. You’re not a pirate.”

“You’re right. If I were a pirate, I’d have made you walk the plank by now.” She pulled an insulated bottle from her purse and handed it to me. “Here. Before I change my mind, you hypocrite.”

“How am I a hypocrite?”

“You run your mouth more than anyone I know.”

“Yeah, but I also run my legs, which means I can actually run away if I piss someone off. You’d run ten feet and collapse into a little heap on the ground.” I grinned and turned. “Come on. I can smell the food from here.”

She sighed. “I hate it when you’re right. Is Ava already here?”

“Mm. She said she’d meet us here.”

“I guess she and Butler are back on.”

“They’ll have broken up again by the weekend. She really needs to try dating other people.”

“I’ll drink to that. I love her, and I support her life choices, but if I have to listen to one more crying monologue about Butler Ferris, I’m going to knock her out.”

I didn’t want to be that person—Reagan already had it down—but I had to agree. There are only so many times you can watch your best friend make bad choices before you stop being nice about it.

We had one, maybe two, more episodes of that in us.

Depending on our mood.

Maybe three if she was lucky.

Of course, we wanted it to work out. We loved Ava and we… well, we tolerated Butler, to be honest, but he made her happy when they were together. The problem was that they were both downright miserable when they weren’t together, and there was a lot of shouting and arguing during that period.

As long as they lasted the fair. I didn’t think I could handle doing the competition and being an agony aunt in the middle of it.

We crossed the rest of the empty fairground in silence. There were imposing fairground rides that ranged from high-flying, swinging things that gave me a case of the hives, to the Ferris wheel, to the multi-lane, giant slides that gave me nightmares thanks to a sliding incident when I was six.

Stalls were set up, breaking up the rides that would be lit up like Christmas trees in a few days. The milk bottle and shooting games and stupid little things where you could win a goldfish that would die within a week were interspersed with food stalls serving everything from foot-long hot dogs to corn dogs to freshly made lemonade and cotton candy.

We passed the huge pirate ship that rocked side by side that Ava had once thrown up on—we’d been drunk teenagers—and approached the huge tent that made up the Ferris’ barbecue stall.

It was buzzing with life. The daylight wasn’t quite waning yet, but there were solar-powered lights stuck into the ground around the tables that made up their area. Wooden picnic benches were set all around, as were a few bistro-style table and chair sets.

Me and Raegan joined the line waiting for food from the counter. The rich scent of barbecued meat filled the air, and a long table set off to the side was filled with all kinds of side dishes and condiments—salads, coleslaws, sauces. You name it; it was there.

We were almost to the front of the line when a nearby table opened up. Raegan bolted for it, almost knocking somebody over, and snagged it by jumping on top of it.

Slightly dramatic, but whatever.

I grabbed us both some food and joined her.

She slid her plate across the table. “Did you find out who your competition is yet?”

I shook my head. “I tried calling my dad, but he didn’t pick up. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Or right now.”

I jerked around at the familiar, deep voice that had haunted one too many dreams in my life. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Preston Wright slid his tall, muscular frame onto the bench opposite us. He had the same, bright blue eyes as Raegan, but he still had his natural hair color, unlike his younger sister.

It was a rich dark brown, the color of a vat of melted chocolate, and it was cut close to his ears but longer and swept to the side on top. He had cheekbones that not even a sculptor could create, and his annoying perfect lips were surrounded by stubble that was at least two days old.