The Bookworm's Guide to Dating (The Bookworm's Guide 1)

“Twenty of them?” My eyes bugged. “How the hell are you supposed to get twenty of them in your car?”

“That’s what I said!” She paused.

I didn’t like that.

“What did you do?” I asked, staring at her with my fork paused mid-way to my mouth.

“Um.” She scratched the back of her neck and looked away as she shrugged off her sweater. “I volunteered you.”

“Kinsley, I am not going to drive to Creek Hill to pick up twenty balloons that are shaped like chickens and ducks.”

“I kind of promised I would make you.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“I can’t! I have to open the store!”

“I have a job.”

“It’s Saturday. You’re not working this weekend.” Kins folded her arms across her chest. “You have to. They already called the store and bought them.”

“Jesus Christ.” I rubbed my temples. “Why am I always getting dragged into this shit?”

“Because our grandparents are ridiculous,” she said without batting an eyelid. “You should be thankful you didn’t have to see the argument about which duck was going to wear the bow tie.”

“Wouldn’t it be the male?”

“You’d think.” She picked her fork back up and twisted it in the spaghetti. “Mabel still insists it’s a girl. Problem is, ducks can be hard to sex. It’s usually when they start quacking or laying, and they’re too young to lay yet.”

“Why do you know so much about ducks?”

She blinked at me. “Our grandparents are insane, Josh. And I have access to Google. I was settling an argument.”

“Didn’t they already have that?”

“What part of them being insane don’t you understand?”

That was a very good point. I also had no doubt they would still be arguing about the gender of the damn duck for the next six months. Mabel would probably set a camera up in their duck house and make sure it laid to be right, and even then she’d still argue it.

“So what is happening tomorrow?”

“You have to drive to Creek Hill at nine to pick up the balloons at nine-thirty and drop them off at the retirement home. Then we have to show up again at eleven-thirty to be ready for the parade at midday.”

This was so fucking ridiculous, and I said as much.

Sighing, Kinsley set down her fork. “I know that, but what can we do? We have to go and pretend like we care so they’ll move onto something else.”

“Do you really believe they’ll do that?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied. “But it’s all I have left to hold onto, Josh. Don’t ruin this for me.”

She looked so forlorn all I could do was laugh at her. She pouted for a moment before she laughed right along with me, and we ate the rest of our meal in an amicable silence that was broken only by the clinking of our forks against our plates.

When we were done, I collected them both and put them in the sink while she disposed of our trash in the can. We moved through to the living room where we unanimously agreed on putting the next episode of Schitt’s Creek on. We were on episode three of season five, and Kinsley nestled in next to me so we could watch.

“I can’t believe you signed me up to buy a ton of balloons,” I muttered, trailing little circles on her forearm with my fingertip.

“I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.” She choked back a laugh and tilted her head back to look up at me. “I am not doing it. I don’t care.”

I sighed. “You’re really lucky I like you, you know that?”

“Oh, yeah? And what would you do if you didn’t?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be getting twenty poultry-shaped balloons in my truck tomorrow,” I said dryly. “But here we are.”

She jabbed her elbow into my thigh, making me wince. “Shut up.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She scrambled to sit up and faced me. “You’re very argumentative today.”

“So would you be if you had to pick up twenty—”

“Oh, my God. They’re just balloons and they won’t fit in my car. Stop being a baby.”

“Make me.”CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – JOSHrule twenty-one: there’s only so long you can hide before you get found.“Make you shut up?” Kinsley raised her eyebrows. “What? By like stuffing a sock in your mouth?”

“Not exactly.” My lips twitched, and I pulled her onto my lap so she was straddling me.

She pouted, flattening her hands against my chest. She barely needed to wriggle before I felt my cock hardening against her, and that made her pause.

“Don’t say it,” I groaned, dropping my head back against the back of the sofa. “If you wore those yoga pants over here, and I can’t rip them off you, I’m gonna need another shower.”

Laughing, Kinsley pressed her forehead against my shoulder for a moment, then sat back up again. “I’d prefer if you didn’t rip them. These were pretty expensive, and I like them a lot. You can… peel… them off.”