Page 26 of Hating the Book Boyfriend

"She's with me. I ran into her while I was running my errands." It's only a partial lie. He doesn't know that she was my errand.

"Oh…" he draws off. "How far out are you?"

"We are about five minutes out," Josephine answers for me, drawing my eyes to her. "I was at Holly's meeting a friend. Colton waited to give me a ride back."

"As long as you're safe and on your way back. Come see me in the office when you get in so we can review the numbers I mentioned this morning."

"Okay, I will. Bye, Archie," she says as she reaches across the center and taps the button, clicking off the call before returning to her seat.

"You didn't need to do that. In fact, I don't want you doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Lying to your brother," my hand tightens around the wheel. I don't want to come between them.

"I didn't lie. I met a friend at Holly's, and you gave me a ride back."

"Yes, but we both know you were using it to explain the time we've been gone. We haven't been at Holly's this entire time."

She shrugs. "It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. If anyone lied, it was you and your errands comment."

"Excuse me, I didn't lie. I was in town to, in fact, run errands." I flip open the center console between us and pull out the box of Benadryl I bought at the drugstore while I searched for her.

"Good. You'll need that as evidence to corroborate your errand story when we get back. I know you heard the speculation in his tone the same as me."

I can't argue with her on that. While Archer may have been slightly relieved she was with me, there was a speculative pause on his end. "I heard it. Just do me a favor…" I turn to her as we pull up to the house. Her eyes connect with mine, and I add, "Never lie for me, especially not to Archer."

"Fine," she quirks a brow. "If he asks how my night went, should I tell him his best friend tried to kiss me for the third time?" I clench my jaw and close my eyes. This is so fucked up. When I open them to speak, she beats me to it. "That's what I thought." She opens the door and climbs out before ducking back in and saying, "Don't ask me again."

"Josephine—" My words are cut short when she slams the truck door.

"Damn it," I curse as I hit the steering wheel. I've never worked this hard for one kiss in my life. I watch her stompback into the house. Do I wish she would have been an adult and talked things through? Yes, but I also royally fucked up yet again. That's the second time she asked me what would happen next if we pursued things, and I stumbled. What she doesn't understand is it's not that simple. I don't know how to answer for a future I'm scared to let myself dream. Right now, three facts are at the forefront of my mind: I don't want to lose my best friend, I don't want Josephine lying for me, and I don't want to lose the girl.

I climb out of the truck, close the door, and kick a rock. "This is exactly why I don't date." Relationships are nothing but a roller coaster of emotions; one minute, you're on top of the world watching your dream girl sleep, and the next, your fucking kicking rocks. But as I shove my hands in my pockets and stare up at the house, I see her silhouette pass by, and it's then that I know I'm gone for her because all I can think about is getting my next high. Fuck.

CHAPTER 15

JoJo

It's been three days, three damn days since Colton drove me home, and I slammed the door in his face. Was the move immature? Yes. It was not one of my best moments, but I couldn't help myself. The tension in the house has been intense since he decided to visit my brother for the holidays. I've been avoiding him like the plague until I simply couldn't. In the bathroom, he expertly pushed every one of my buttons. I tried to chalk up his momentary loss in judgment to the severity of his rash. He'd been suggestive, but asking for a kiss was next level. I thought my rejection slapped some sort of reality back into his ask. I fully expected to wake up the following day and return to orbiting each other in silence, knowing who I am and who he is will never change.

However, that didn't happen. If anything, he woke with a renewed call to fan the flames, and when I doused them once more, he came looking for me. It took every ounce of self-preservation I had not to cave and let him kiss me at Holly's Tavern. Colton has always been stupidly attractive. He's the typical American preppy boy: popular, likable jock, rocking ahigh and tight fade, and coal-dark eyes that stop you in your tracks every time they connect with yours. The boy may have traded his boat shoes and polos for suits and ties, but my favorite is the one who walked into the bar three nights ago. The man who picked me up wearing worn boots, denim, and flannel. That's my type. So, when he started saying all the right things, leaving with him wasn't a question, but I had to make him work for it. I couldn't risk showing all my cards, not when it comes to him. There are too many landmines, and our history is too sordid.

That history is why I agreed to get in the truck with him. I thought we'd start working through that past and discuss where that leaves us now. He seemed so sure of things he wanted to say, so I waited. I waited so long that I fell asleep. I blame him. Had he not fucked with my head in the bathroom the night before, making sleep nearly impossible after I left him on the couch, then maybe, the warmth from the heat coupled with his cologne wouldn't have lulled me into a slumber. If I hadn't fallen asleep, perhaps I wouldn't be in the barn at midnight, icing away my feelings into Santa hats, snowflakes, and Christmas trees.

I knead the bag of icing in my hands a little harder. "It's always his fault," I say aloud out of frustration. "Great, not only am I baking cookies at midnight, but now I'm talking to myself." Grabbing a pair of scissors, I cut the tip of the icing bag. "Only four dozen to go," I drone with a sigh just as the door to the barn opens. My eyes immediately connect with the ones I've been trying to avoid. I don't bother to roll them or acknowledge his presence before continuing my task. He has himself to thank for that. He told me not to lie to Archer, but when I asked him if I should give him the truth. Silence.

"So it's going to be like that huh?" I hear the door close before his boots on the wood floor echo closer. "I know why you slammed the door in my face. I guess I deserved it, but?—"

"Just save it, Colton. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but apparently, it needs repeating. I don't need your apologies or your buts. If you can't tell, it's late. I have cookies to ice, and I don't care to talk."

He's quiet, and because I don't dare risk looking at him again and falling under his spell, I have no idea what he's thinking, but I should've known thwarting him wouldn't be easy. Rather than turn on his heel and leave as requested, he joins me on my side of the table, and I mentally curse myself for thinking I could sneak out here in the middle of the night unnoticed. I'm wearing my old farm boots, an oversized farm logo tee, and sleep shorts I should have thrown away five years ago. I look like a mess, which seems only fitting considering that I am one mentally.

"Fine, we won't talk. At least let me help you with this. I know tomorrow's a big day." I don't stop decorating my cookie or acknowledge his request to help. I want to kick him out as much as I want him to stay. Tomorrow is the Friendsgiving party I'm hosting at the barn. It's a photo shoot for the farm and our new line of winter brews, but it's also doubling as a mixer of sorts for Jacob and Avery, not to mention catching up with old friends. I want tomorrow to be perfect; it needs to be perfect, and I could use the help. But his help is not the good kind. "Which ones should I start with?" I slide a pan of snowflake cookies in front of him. They're the easiest cookies to decorate, seeing as they are already in perfectly formed shapes. All he has to do is add white icing and sprinkles. I put a bag of white icing next to the pan and reach across the table for one of the snowflakes I decorated earlier for reference. "White icing, white sprinkles. I will try and not be offended that you believe this is all I can handle." I chuckle on the inside, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making me laugh.

We've been icing cookies for nearly fifteen minutes when we both reach for the skip button on my phone when the song "ISaw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" comes on. Our fingers touch, and I hate the way we both linger, but worse than that, I'm mortified at the response the exposed hairs on my arm reveal. My skin is pebbled, and each strand of hair feels practically as tall as the Rockefeller Christmas tree. I know he sees them too. I don't miss how his eyes subtly trail my arm before he says, "Worst Christmas song of all time."

I might not be able to control how my body reacts, but I can control my phone. "First of all, you are wrong. 'Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer' is the worst Christmas song ever, and second, don't touch my phone."

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