Kiss Me Not (Kiss Me 1)

Reagan tilted her head to the side. “She’s right. I really don’t care. In fact, I’d be happy that the years of mooning over him would finally be over.”

“I do not moon over anyone,” I replied shortly. “You are the one with the obsession over my feelings, not me.” I paused to throw my trash in the almost-overflowing trash can and licked my fingers. “I’m going to do this, and you’re going to help me win. Line up three times if you have to. I’ll even give you the money to do it. I have to win.”

My best friends shared a look.

“Fine,” Reagan said, resigned. “Although I think this is a terrible idea.”

“All the best ideas start out as terrible ones.” I grinned and waltzed off toward the kissing booth tent.

I was going to kick his ass.

***

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheating,” Preston said through the curtain after Reagan and Ava had dropped their third kisses on my cheeks.

“What’s cheating?” I said innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what you’re doing, Halley. You recruited Tweedledee and Tweedledum to kiss you repeatedly so you’d win.”

“It doesn’t matter how the money gets raised, Preston.”

“I’m not talking about the money. I’m talking about your blatant effort to beat me in the bet today.”

I glanced at my board that had a healthy number on already. “That is the point of a bet, isn’t it? To win?”

“I should have asked Lindsay to help me out.”

I bristled. I really hated her. “Why? Is she your type?”

“So what if she is?”

“I was only asking. There’s no need to get defensive.”

“You’re the one who got defensive. There are people in Maine who heard that bitterness.”

“Whatever. Don’t get your panties in a twist just because I’m winning,” I shot back, straightening myself on the stool as more people were let into the tent.

“We’ll see,” Preston replied.

We would see. I was going to win this today—and nothing would change that. Plus, thanks to Reagan and Ava, I already knew I was winning by ten clear points.

It didn’t sound like a lot, but that was ten kisses.

And ten kisses was a lot.

I turned my attention away from him and to the young guy who was approaching the stage. There were only forty-five minutes left of the booth today. There was no doubt this would be the worst forty-five minutes of the week.

Regret was starting to seep in over the bet I’d brought back to life.

What if Preston did kiss me properly? What did it mean? Did it mean he did like me like that? I still couldn’t see it in my mind—we were different people—but what if he did?

Jesus, I was like a schoolgirl over here.

What had I done to myself?

Why had I agreed to his bet in the first place?

Reagan was right. This was a terrible idea.

Terrible, terrible, terrible.

My stomach was already fluttering like a group of butterflies had been let loose in there. I had to lose, didn’t I? Then he’d win the bet, and I could kiss his other cheek so he had one on either side.

Matching kisses.

Person after person moved their way across my stage, dropping one-dollar bills into the bucket and stopping to kiss me. I kissed lips and cheeks and hands. I had my cheeks kissed, and my dad even stopped by and kissed my forehead with a wink.

It was the only bright spot of the day.

Mostly because he was still there by the time the booth closed, and him being here meant that the inevitable was delayed for a little longer.

“Hey, Dad!” I jumped off the stage, my sneakers squeaking against the wood, and he wrapped me in a hug.

“Hey, Halley. I’m doing a walk around of the fair and thought I’d stop in and see my favorite girl.” He squeezed me against his side. “Has your mother stopped by yet?”

“No. She hates the smell of the tent.”

Dad paused and sniffed. “I suppose it does smell a bit like dust and stale hot dogs, doesn’t it? Is that a half-eaten churro in your bucket, Preston?”

Preston slid the bucket over to him, and the way his nose wrinkled answered the question right away. “People are gross.”

I nodded my agreement. “Well, looks like you’re doing the bank run today because I’m not touching that money.”

“It’s just churro.”

“That wasn’t mine.” I gave him a pointed look. “Keep an eye on your bucket.”

He saluted me. “Yes, ma’am. Are you sure you don’t want to run for office one day?”

I pursed my lips.

Dad chuckled, releasing me. “She’s far too impatient for that. Plus she won’t be able to read, and we all know that’s a deal-breaker.”

“You say it like I permanently have a book attached to my person,” I grumbled, knowing it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Do you have a book in your purse right now?”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped. I did. A worn-out copy of Little Women was nestled in the zip pouch of my purse to keep it safe. “That’s really not important.”