Kiss Me Not (Kiss Me 1)

“And that’s also your opinion.”

“Probably more people agree than disagree, and majority rules and all that.” She clipped the first rope on one of the poles and tossed me some. “Get started over there when you’re done.”

“Yes, boss.” I threw the ropes to the other side of the tent since it wasn’t far and grabbed two more poles. “But to circle back, you’re wrong. I do have feelings.”

“Feelings inside your pants don’t count, Preston.”

I snorted. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t do one-night stands?”

“Until it sounds believable.”

“You’re never going to believe me.”

“Probably not.” She peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “But I think it’d be fun to make you try to convince me.”

“Why do you care?”

“Kids come to this kissing booth. I don’t need them seeing a bunch of women trying to turn you on while kissing you.” She clipped the final rope of her side into place.

“You care a lot for someone who doesn’t like me.”

She turned her head, offering me a withering look. “Look, Preston, this isn’t going to work if we’re just going to fight the entire time.”

“Who’s fighting? I’m not fighting with you. You’re the one with the stick so far up your ass it’s coming out of your ears.” I snapped one of the ropes in place. “And you’re taking it out on me.”

There was silence for a minute before she sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a rough afternoon.” She dipped her head, and her short hair covered her face before she reached up and pushed it behind her ear. “Your sign doesn’t look that bad, by the way.”

Turning my head, I met her eyes, a smile playing on my lips. “Don’t lie. It looks like shit.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded, masking her laugh.

Jesus, this was going to be a long week.

***

I took a long drink from the beer bottle as I typed one-handed. Finishing the email before I finished my long slug of beer, I hit send, then pushed the laptop to the side.

Technically, I shouldn’t be drinking and working, but spending hours alone in a tent with Halley Dawson was more than enough to make me drink.

I’d put myself into a drunken stupor by the time the fair was over. It was probably frowned upon to be a part of a kissing booth contest while drunk.

Fuck me dead.

It’d been a good idea at the time. Beat Halley at her own game. Steal her crown just because I felt I could and, yeah, raise money at the same time. The fair really wasn’t my thing, and she had every right to question my being there.

I was surprised that she hadn’t pinned me to a wall and interrogated me further. That was her style—information, information, information. It was probably the librarian in her.

My front door opened a touch, and a familiar flash of purple filled the tiny space there.

“What the fuck do you want?”

My sister grinned. “Hello to you, too.”

“Go away, Reagan.”

“I have pizza.”

I paused. Shit. She knew just what to say to make me pay attention. “Fine. Come in.”

She slipped in with two pizza boxes balanced on one hand and kicked the door shut behind her. “Works like a charm every time.”

“Yeah, for what it’s worth, I don’t want to spend my evenings with my little sister.”

Reagan stopped and looked around my apartment. She even put one hand against her forehead as if she was looking for something. “Yeah, I mean, your company is overwhelming. I can barely move. Is this a rave?”

“Sit down and bring me that pizza, you pain in the ass.”

She glanced toward the kitchen as she joined me in the living room. “Did you eat already?”

“What did I just say?”

She put them down on the coffee table and grabbed the smaller box, then took the armchair. “I don’t care, to be honest. I wasn’t really listening.” She pulled a slice out, folded it in half, and took a huge bite out of it.

My sister ate like a man.

I opened my box and pulled out a slice.

“So. How goes the kissing booth?” Reagan asked.

“Why don’t you ask your best friend?”

“I did. There was a lot of cussing plus a demand that I fuck off.”

“That sounds like Halley.”

“Uh-huh.” She shoved the crust into her mouth and nodded. When she finished, she said, “You look like someone beat you with a twelve-inch dildo.”

“Reagan.”

“What?

“Can you reign it in tonight?”

“No. I’m not a horse rider. Can you pull your dick from your ass and I don’t know, fucking smile?”

“Can you shut your fucking mouth?”

She grinned, folding another slice of pizza in half before shoving it in her mouth again.

Well, technically, she did what I asked.

“I know what you’re fishing for, and I’m not going to give you what you think you want.”

“I know what I want. I want a six-foot-two firefighter with a tattoo sleeve and a rescue chihuahua,” she replied. “I don’t want a basket full of catfish I’ll have to ship to Louisiana for a catfish sub.”