Kiss Me Not (Kiss Me 1)

Preston had parked two cars down from me. “Don’t worry. I won’t lead him astray.” His sparkling eyes said otherwise. “Meet you at your place?”

I nodded and dug my keys out of my purse. “Whoever gets there last buys pizza.”

He smirked, then ran to his car.

Shit.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – HALLEY

Fuck The Feels

I lounged against the doorframe, grinning, as Preston got out of his car. He’d pulled up right behind mine, boxing me into my driveway.

He had a face like thunder as he got out and slammed the door. “You ran the red light!”

My jaw dropped so my mouth formed a huge ‘o.’ “I did not run a red! It was amber when I went!”

“That’s basically red!”

“No, it means get ready to stop, but I wouldn’t be able to break in time. I was committed.”

“Committed to putting your foot down!”

Okay. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. I had pressed the gas pedal a little harder to scoot through before it changed.

“I didn’t break any laws. I wasn’t even speeding. And, if I’d done something wrong, the cop who was parked outside the bar would have stopped me.” I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t be a salty bitch, Preston.”

“You’re always right, you always have to win, and you aren’t willing to accept when you run a red light,” he said, following me into the house. “I should have thought this through.”

“I didn’t run a red!”

“It was red when you went!”

“I was committed!” I said loudly, turning around and putting my hands on my hips. “I couldn’t stop. The cop didn’t stop me. Stop being a baby because I beat you here and now you have to buy dinner. Which you should have been doing anyway.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The first date was even. I won you a goldfish.”

“Yeah. Uranus is dead. Found him floating in the mixing bowl this morning.”

I wasn’t surprised at all, but I clutched my hand to my chest and pretended to be shocked. “One day, Preston, and you’ve already killed the first gift I ever gave you. Did you even try to keep him alive?”

He leveled me with a look. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me.”

“Oh, all right.” I dropped the act. “Everyone knows those fish last for a week at best. Did you at least give him a proper burial?”

“Flushed him down the toilet this morning.”

I nodded solemnly. “May Uranus rest in peace.”

Preston rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked away.

“Wait,” I said quickly. “That came out wrong!”

He blew out his cheeks and held it for a second. That was it. He laughed hard, grabbing my kitchen table to steady himself.

“So immature,” I muttered, turning away so he didn’t see my own laughter that was bubbling beneath the surface.

That was exactly why I’d refused to use the stupid name.

Nothing good came from calling anything Uranus. Ask science teachers who have to teach teenagers about the planetary system.

Yeah.

I pulled an unopen bottle of wine from the fridge and set it on the table. “Would you like some wine?”

He was still laughing.

He was just… standing there. Bent over my table. Shaking. Laughing. Like I’d just done an entire stand-up comedy act or something.

So I did the only thing I could do at that moment.

I stepped closer to him and smacked his ass.

What? It was a great ass, and it was sticking right out. It was prime for smacking, so that’s what I did.

“Shit!” He was still chuckling even as he straightened up. “What was that for?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, getting the corkscrew and shoving the point into the cork in the wine bottle. “Also, you’ve been here ten minutes and not once have you either complimented my kitchen, ordered pizza, or fed the raccoons.”

“Your kitchen is lovely, it’s too early for the raccoons, and I can order pizza right now.” His lips still twitched with the after-effects of his laughing fit. “And no, I don’t want wine. Do you have beer?”

I yanked the cork out with a satisfying pop. “Do I look like I keep beer?”

“Don’t worry. There’s some in the trunk of my car.”

“Why is there beer in your car?”

He winked. “I’m an optimist. A prepared one at that.”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him as he headed to the front door and outside to his car. Was it normal to carry beer around in the trunk of your car? What did he do with it? Was it provisions in case his tire blew out and he was stranded at the side of the road?

Did he have an entire emergency kit in there?

I mean, I did, but there wasn’t alcohol. I had enough canned and dried food to survive a zombie apocalypse, though, so there was that.

I could also keep a football team in Gatorade that I switched out regularly.

Look, working in a library, you read a lot of books. Some of those are dystopian.