Page 18 of The Kiss Class

My would-be boyfriend comes into focus with Chard vaguely nearby. His jaw is slightly slack as if confused about why my lips aren’t all over him right now. Like he’s not used to being rejected? No, it’s not that, exactly. However, I do half expect him to expose this charade and storm off, leaving me to fend away Richard on my own.

Giving my head a slight shake, in a low voice, to my knight, I say, “Not like this.”

Loud enough for the rest of the room to hear, Richard crows, “Ooh. Burn. Looks like she wants me instead.”

As if lighting both ends of a wick, my knight in a Christmas sweater and I jerk our heads in his direction, eyes ablaze.

“Do not talk about her like that,” my knight says.

“Do not even entertain that idea,” I say at about the same time.

“Well, the fact remains that I didn’t see you arrive together,” Chard counters.

My knight wraps his hand around mine. A question lights in his eyes, and I squeeze his palm.

He says, “No, but you’ll watch us leave together.”

We make a grand exit to the sound of thunderous applause and hooting with a Christmas remix bass beat in the background. The nearby onlookers have become very invested in this, whatever it is.

My hand on fire inside Seventy-four’s, he leads me out of O’Neely’s and onto the sidewalk. A sizeable portion of the pub’s patrons follow us, thrusting us into the stream of passersby heading toward the center of town and the lights display.

I try to draw a much-needed deep breath, but they sweep it from me.

In a low, rumbly voice that lifts the butterfliesin my stomach, he says, “Sorry about that. Can I walk you to your car? I don’t want that creep bothering you.”

“Thanks. I parked in the back lot.” I point over my shoulder, but there’s no break in the flow of traffic as we’re being pushed from behind...directly toward Cobbiton’s town square side entrance. Caught in the current, we can’t break free and only stop when we arrive at theMerry Kiss Mearch, surrounded by red and white lights where couples pose for a sweetly romantic kissing photo op for social media or as a keepsake.

“My car is—” I mutter because there are so many people gathered around for the lights and festivities. I can’t tell which way leads back to the parking lot.

He looks around. “Yeah. Honestly, I didn’t mean for us to end up over here, especially wearing this thing.” He pinches the sweater by the shoulder.

“It’s not the worst,” I say.

“It totally is.”

Our eyes meet, and we share a laugh that feels as much about the sweater as it does this peculiar situation.

Surrounded on both sides by throngs of people, a low murmur of people start chanting, “Merry Kiss Me, Merry Kiss Me, Merry Kiss Me.” It gets louder as the seconds tick by.

Eyes twinkling, he says, “I could Hulk my way through and lead you to safety,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“How very chivalrous. I could probably drop down and crawl away. No one would notice.”

“Oh, they’d notice,” he says, almost as if to himself.

I glance around, but the only safety and assurance I feel is with him, as strange as that sounds. He’s my hockey-playing fake boyfriend who rescued me from Richard. Now, being out of O’Neely’s and under the Merry Kiss Me sign, maybe sharinga tiny kiss would be okay. I mean, he is handsome. Strong. Steady. Didn’t ditch me when I didn’t kiss him.

I steal a peek at his blue eyes. They really, truly sparkle. With mischief? Longing? Something else?

His mouth opens and closes like he’s going to say something. Instead, he draws a breath.

I remember to do the same.

Biting my lip with my teeth, I shift closer, lifting slightly onto my toes as the enthusiastic crowd all but commands us to kiss.

Before, I thought kissing him was a bad idea. But now, is it weird that I kind of want to . . . to find out what happens?

I didn’t want to someday tell my daughters the story of my first kiss at O’Neely’s Fish Bowl—with a stranger, no less. But under a Merry Kiss Me sign is kind of romantic, right?

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