Kiss Me Not (Kiss Me 1)

“Can you even throw a ball?”

I finished the last of the wine in my can and crunched it up.

“If that was supposed to be a display of your strength, it fell flat.”

“I carry books. I’m strong. But the can wasn’t exactly big, was it?”

Preston held up his hands. “Okay. Go kick my ass at the milk bottle stall.”

“If you win a stuffed animal, do I get both?”

“I wouldn’t dream of giving my not a date anything other than all my prizes that I win.”

“What a gentleman you are, Preston Wright. Even if you have been kissing other women all day.” I grinned, catching my tongue between my teeth, and swung my legs over the side of the bench to stand.

His laughter was loud and infectious, and by the time he was on his feet, I found myself giggling under my breath.

He trashed our wrappers and put the tray on the designated stand before joining me again. He looped one arm around my shoulders like he’d done it a thousand times before and guided me toward the exit. “Ignoring all the women I’ve kissed today,” he said, barely stopping his chuckle. “I’m going to kick your ass at the milk bottles.”

“I doubt that.”

“I played baseball in high school. I’ve got one hell of a right arm.”

“Is that your spanking arm?”

“For someone who didn’t want to go out with me, you’re awfully confident.”

I cupped my hands over my mouth and laughed, dipping my head until my chin touched my chest. “I just… I don’t know. Nothing about this was supposed to make sense. We aren’t even friends, Preston, yet here we are…”

“Getting along like we’ve been best friends for years?”

“Well, yeah. This might be the only time we’ve ever been alone.”

“Have you considered that might be why we’re getting along? Neither of us have any expectations for this since you’re so adamant it’s not a date. It’s just two people who kissed spending time together.”

“Well, to be fair, we kissed before we’d ever really gotten along.”

“Maybe kissing really does cure all.” He grinned and, releasing me, darted ahead of me to the milk bottle stand.

I refused to run so by the time I’d caught up with his long-legged gait, he already had the balls on the platform in front of him and was ready to go. I handed the woman on the other side five dollars for three balls and got into my battle stance.

In other words, my feet were positioned to be as wide as my hips, and I was ready to go.

Yes, I was competitive.

No, it wasn’t always one of my better qualities.

“Three… Two… One.” Preston counted us down, and we both threw the first ball at the exact same time.

I felt like a freaking Pokémon trainer, throwing the ball over my shoulder like I was aiming for something worth shooting for.

In reality, I was throwing a baseball at old milk bottles.

That’s right. This was glamorous as fuck.

We threw all our balls until we were out. Neither of us had managed to get all the bottles down.

“Another go?” asked the woman as she went behind the stands and retrieved the milk bottles. “Five for three balls again.”

“I got it,” Preston said, pulling out five bucks. He handed it to her and took the offered three balls. Those three were a bust, too, so he took another three.

Yet another bust.

I nudged him when he pulled out another five. “Maybe a goldfish is more your speed.”

“Nope.” He cracked his neck. “I’m going to win, damn it.”

“You know the prize is a stuffed animal.”

He pointed to the back, left corner. There was a stuffed raccoon hanging from the rafters by its tail. “That stuffed animal.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You know you can’t show that to the real ones. I think Paul is reaching puberty. He was humping my fence post the other night.”

“We’ll discuss your naming of wild animals later. Name the stuffed one instead.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“So is you naming wild raccoons. Name it, damn it.”

“Lily. Fine, it’s Lily.” God only knew Betty was only birthing boys these days. I knew because she always let me check her babies. She hadn’t had a girl in three years.

Preston cracked his knuckles. “Watch me win you Lily.”

“I’ve watched you not win her three times now.”

“Support would be nice.”

“I’m sorry, I left my pompoms at home tonight. I can probably find a YouTube video, though.”

“Of you?”

“No. I was never a cheerleader. I was being sarcastic.”

“Waving books would probably take someone’s eye out.”

“I’ll take your eye out.”

He peered over at me with a grin as three more balls were placed in front of him. With a few rolls of his shoulder, he grabbed the first ball. He threw it, and all the bottles collapsed to the floor below.

The woman cackled out a laugh. “You’re the first this year. What’s your prize, sir?”