The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

Is that your office on the 3rd floor with the lights on at 6PM on a Saturday?

She dropped her protein bar and stood up to look out the window. A familiar form leaned against a lamppost in the parking lot. She immediately dodged out of view, too humiliated to be seen.

Her phone buzzed with another message. Come down. We need to talk.

She sank back into her chair. This was it. He’d come to end it. Her thumbs shook as she composed a short response. Just tell me via text message.

I want to talk to you in person.

She threw her phone onto her desk and crossed her arms. She was tired and embarrassed. She didn’t need to witness the dissolution of their arrangement in person. Or were there additional things he wanted to talk to her about? More things she’d done wrong?

Maybe she shouldn’t have apologized to his mom? Had that been creepy and intrusive? Why couldn’t she get anything right?

She ran her hands over her hair and attempted to slow her breathing. Did she have to apologize for apologizing?

The phone buzzed yet again, and she flipped it over with the tip of a trembling finger so she could read it.

I’m going to stay out here until you come down.

She rubbed at her temple. Her head throbbed, and sweat glued her clothes to her body. She needed to go home and shower.

Might as well get this over with.

She tossed her once-bitten protein bar into the trash, saved her work, and powered down her computer. Tossing her purse over her shoulder, she shut the lights off and left the room.

The empty halls and low-lit cubicles usually comforted her. Tonight, they made her lonely and sad. As she strode to the elevator, she wondered how long it would be before this feeling went away. A week? A month? She wished everything could go back to normal—like before she’d met Michael. These highs and lows in emotion were exhausting.

The click of her heels on marble echoed through the reception area, and she made herself push the front doors open and walk outside.

Michael shoved away from the lamppost and dug his hands into his pockets, looking like his usual gorgeous self in the glow of the streetlights. “Hi, Stella.”

“Hi, Michael.” Her chest tightened and began aching. She drummed her fingers against her thighs until she caught him watching and fisted her hands.

“My mom told me you stopped by the shop.”

That was it. She’d really done the wrong thing. Her heart plummeted, and her face threatened to crumple. She schooled her features into place. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have done that. I couldn’t bear knowing I’d hurt her. I never mean to hurt people, but I do it all the time. I’m working on fixing this, but it’s so complicated, and I just—I just—I just . . .”

He stepped toward her until they were separated by an arm’s length. “What are you talking about?”

She stared down at her shoes. She was so tired. When would this be over so she could go home and sleep? “You’re angry. Because I went to see your mom. That’s intrusive.”

“I’m not, actually.”

She lifted her gaze and found him watching her with sad eyes. “Then . . . I don’t understand.”

“As your practice boyfriend, shouldn’t I be here? It’s getting late.”

She took a surprised breath. “After everything I said at your mom’s, you still want to have a practice relationship with me?”

“Yeah. Things are complicated with my family, and I should have prepped you ahead of time. I’m sorry I didn’t think to do that.”

When he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, she was too stunned to speak. He was apologizing to her?

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

She tensed at his nearness, unsure what to do. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“When was the last time you ate?”