Page 16 of The Kiss Class

Knight in Shining Armor: I win King of Corny.

Knight in Shining Armor: I can’t believe I sent that to you. It’s so not my style. Don’t tell a soul. Promise?

Me: Considering you made me actually LOL, it’s a deal. I won’t tell anyone, and we can be text pals. Signing off for now.

Knight in Shining Armor: Over and Out, Girl of My Dreams.

Getting to my feet, I push in my chair and blink a few times, not quite registering what I read.

Girl of My Dreams?

What does that mean? What happened to being text pals?

Is there a Flirt thesaurus? A translation guide or some other kind of manual?

Eyes glued to my phone, I make my way to the front of the Fish Bowl. It’s nearly nine o’clock, and that means I’ll soon turn into a pumpkin, and O’Neely’s will transform from family friendly to fist and fight friendly.

Just then, a guy gets up from the booth with the women who came in at the same time I did.

Is this Richard? Had he been with them the whole time?

His button-down shirt untucked, he marches toward me and stumbles over a chair leg. He casts a glare as if the wooden object jumped in his way.

Waving at me, he slurs, “Hey, I’m Richard. Are you Carla?”

Had he been here all along?

I open and close my mouth, trying to come up with something snappy to say about keeping me waiting. The best I can do is, “No, I’m not Carla.”

“I was supposed to meet some chick for a blind date. Thought maybe it was you. Doing my college roommate a favor.” He snorts.

Chard? Is this Calvin’s friend from UNO?

He looks me up and down and then puffs his lips. “I was just getting to know the locals, if you know what I mean. But maybe we should get to know each other better even if you’re not Carla.”

“Maybe not,” I say, stepping back, which only seems to invite him into my space.

He gusts me with stale alcohol breath and twirls a piece of my hair around his finger.

“Dominick the Donkey” plays in the background, and people sing along to the “Heehaws.”

I start to swat Richard’s hand when he takes hold of my mine and brings it to his shoulder at the same time, he plants his other one on my waist. I jerk away, but he doesn’t let me go.

I look around. Is anyone witnessing this?

Catching movement in my periphery, a low and menacing voice grinds out, “Hands off my girlfriend.”

An arm connected to an ugly Christmas sweater slings around my shoulder, gripping me close. I gaze up to see that it belongs to a man with heavy-lidded blue eyes that spark when our gazes meet. He’s the attractive guy among the hockey players throwing darts. A flutter passes through me. I quickly glance away.

“If she’s your girlfriend, then why was she sitting alone at the table all night?”

“It wasn’t all night—” I start, stomach swimming with nerves.

“She’s not a fan of darts or guys who’re drunk and disorderly,” says my knight in an ugly Christmas sweater.

Richard pokes the embroidered Santa face in the nose on the sweater, “Well, I’m no fan of yours, either.”

My knight flicks Richard’s hand away. “I don’t want fans like you.”

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