The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She blinked at him in bemusement. “Did you really just punch him in the eye?”

“That little shit was about to force himself on you. Again. No one forces you. Ever.”

Philip lowered the hand from his quickly swelling eye to stab a finger in Michael’s direction. “We’re on a date. There was no forcing involved.”

Stella pushed away from Michael and adjusted the purse straps on her shoulder. “I’m going home now. Alone. Good night.”

“Stella, wait.” Philip tried to follow her, but Michael stepped in his way.

“You heard her. She’s going home alone.”

When Philip looked like he might press the issue, Quan came up beside Michael. His hands hung loose at his sides, but he was poised for violence, his eyes cold. “Do we have a problem here?”

Philip took in the barricade formed by Michael and Quan and backed off. His mouth worked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, he clenched his jaw shut, glanced longingly in Stella’s retreating direction, and left.

Michael squeezed Quan’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Quan’s lips quirked, and he tipped his head toward Stella. “You should go check up on her.”

“Get a table. I’ll find you there.”

He ran after Stella and fell in step beside her, but instead of slowing down, she increased her pace, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead.

“I had the situation under control. Don’t forget I own a Taser.”

Her abruptness and impersonal tone snuck right underneath Michael’s guard and irritated the shit out of him. He still dreamed about her daily, and she was seeing other people. It hadn’t even been two whole weeks.

“Couldn’t wait to test your new skills out, I see.”

She grasped at her purse straps and walked even faster. The sidewalk ended, and her heels clicked over asphalt as she marched down the now-residential street toward her house.

“If you wanted to sleep with him, you were going about it all wrong. You should have let him kiss you. Why didn’t you? Nerves?”

“Go away, Michael.”

“I want to know why you didn’t kiss him. He’s what you want. Isn’t he?”

She froze in her tracks. Her chest worked on rapid breaths as she stared to the side. “Why are you following me and talking to me? I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act or what I’m supposed to say.”

“We can’t act like friends?” He’d thought they were that, at least.

She met his gaze. Beneath a mixture of streetlights and moonlight, her eyes looked watery and vulnerable. “We’re friends?”

“I hope so.”

“That doesn’t work for me.” She stepped away, her jaw stiff and her eyes narrowed. He thought she was angry until tears started tracking down her face. “I don’t want to be your pity friend.”

His chest constricted at the sight of her tears, and he quit breathing. “Who ever said anything about pity?”

She swiped at her cheeks as her chin quivered. “You did. You said you were done helping me but I still wasn’t enough. You said it, and you meant it. You can’t take it back now.”

“I never said you. I said we.” He swallowed hard. “You never once thought I meant me? That I’m not enough for you?”

Guileless eyes searched his face, wide from her lack of understanding. “Why would I ever think that?”

“Because I’m a prostitute, and my dad is a criminal.”