Page 39 of The Kiss Class

For a long, lingering moment, Pierre looks me up and down. Then he startles, belatedly realizing that I’m gripping a tree like a shield.

Hands clammy, I thrust it toward him.

He says, “This doesn’t look like official Knights business.”

“As my text pal, I didn’t like the idea of you not having a Christmas tree.”

“That’s thoughtful, but I was hoping that as your Kiss Class instructor, you came by for lessons.”

My body ignites and I wonder if my festive shirt is flame retardant. No one talks to me like that. Not like,How dare he!But the most attention I get from a guy is, Can I borrow your first-period notes?

“I shouldn’t come in.”

“We don’t have to kiss.”

His flirty eyes sparkle. The way they make me feel tells me that if I step foot over this threshold, that’s exactly what we’ll do.

And I want to, even though it’s probably a bad idea.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I can’t believeyou got me a Christmas tree. It’s kind of adorable,” I say, touched by Cara’s thoughtful gesture.

“It’s not a big deal. Even though we won’t really be home for Christmas, my sisters insisted we have one, so I figured Not-Nolan should have one too.”

“Not Nolan?”

“I haven’t updated your contact in my phone from Knight in Shining Armor, aka the Zamboni driver, aka Nolan, aka not you.”

“What will my new contact name be?” I ask with a grin.

“Professor Frenchman,” she says, eyes shining.

“Hmm. Should I be flattered or offended?” I’m not sure what to make of the moniker.

“Neither. You’re my Kiss Class teacher and you’re French Canadian. Maybe it’ll be a fresh start.”

I let out a breath because I could use one of those. “Let’s see, where should we put this little guy?” I pick up the tree which is about as tall as a meter stick.

“We put ours in front of the window, but this many floors up, I doubt anyone will be able to see it.”

All the same, I move a table in front of the broad windows overlooking the city and place the tree on top, stand and all. “Perfect.”

Only, Cara remains in the doorway, and that is not perfect . . . and I am not Nolan. I’d rather he deal with the repercussions of kissing the coach’s daughter, but I hate the idea of anyone’s lips on hers even more. Well, except mine.

Crossing the room in several long strides, I pick Cara up just like I did the tree, plant her on the floor inside the door, and then close it.

She yelps and then giggles slightly as if she can’t help it.

“It wouldn’t be right for you to come all this way, bring me a tree, and not help decorate it.”

“I don’t want to impose,” she demurs.

Ignoring that because there’s no one I want here more, I ask, “Can I get you something to drink? I have eggnog.” I picked it up because I miss my family. We’ve only spent the holidays apart a total of three times. While it’s not a huge deal, it’s a little lonely up here on the eighth floor all by myself.

Cara’s teeth sink into her lip. “I was going to pick some up but wasn’t sure if you were on Team Eggnog or Team Ew Gag. Some argue that it’s like drinking a glass full of goo.”

I chuckle. “You just sketched a disturbing picture.”

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