Page 26 of The Kiss Class

Pierre stiffens. “My apologies, sir. I hear it loud and clear.” He gazes at me with a plea in his eyes. Speaking slowly, he says, “Badaszek, I mean,amour, I’m sorry. You broke my heart, and I was trying to make you jealous.”

I realize Pierre doesn’t even know my first name and is following Dad’s lead since he calls everyone by their last names—until recently, I was Badaszek Three, the baby. Anna was Badaszek One until she took the last name Bannanna, and Ilsa was Badaszek Two until she married Kangaroo Jack and became McMann.

Pierre really must not have seen the photos and videos of us kissing splashed all over the internet, otherwise, he’d be on a one-way ticket back to Canada. I store away this information for later because if his reputation is as well-earned as I’ve heard, wouldn’t he be eating likes and comments for breakfast to get an early morning hit of fan affection?

Pierre studies his hands, then peers up at me, gaze imploring. “I’m going to make a promise to both of you. I’ll back off and focus only on the game.”

My father nods approvingly.

A sudden heaviness drops through me.

Drawing a deep breath, Pierre turns to me and adds, “Along with wearing this ugly Christmas sweater for the remainder of the month. Just so you know how much you mean to me, you won’t catch me with any other women, no puck bunnies or female fans. You have my word.”

I have a pretty good handle on my state of mind, but the room shifts slightly as Pierre gazes into my eyes. The silver flecks shine like a special kind of northern sun on this man.

Cara, resist the pull of this blue-eyed rascal!

I drop my gaze to his chiseled jaw.

Cara, do not think about how your hand brushed against it or when he cupped yours.

His lips quirk, and I lock on them, recalling every sensation of them pressed against mine last night.

Cara, nothing about the kiss was real. Don’t trick yourself into thinking otherwise.

But how could something that perfect set me on fire?

He called me his girlfriend. Rescued me from Richard. Pierre and I kissed. Now, he’s making a solemn vow to be loyal to me? I almost buy what he’s selling. But I gathered enough about the Frenchman to know that he’s the biggest flirt on the ice. Not boyfriend material. I have to resist his charm. To remember that all hockey players belong in the penalty box.

I nod slowly in response, too confused to trust myself to speak.

Pierre has a male model look about him. I tell myself that if he couldn’t play hockey, he’d get along just fine in the world and has a cocky attitude like he knows it.

Time to flip the tables. Getting to my feet, I say, “I’ve heard this all before, Pierre. My life is in Los Angeles. Yours is here. We can’t be together. But I hope you keep your word about not dating anyone during the holidays. Maybe a break will help you realize what’s important and you’ll finally find someone special.”

His expression craters. Forget being a male model, the guy could get an acting career. Heck, me too. We could be a two-person performance team, taking to the stage across the country.

Giving my head a little shake, I say, “Dadaszek, sorry about all this. It won’t happen again.” I hurriedly exit the office.

However, one thought sticks in my mind like hot glue on a foam and felt snowman.

I do want to kiss Pierre again. A lot.

When I get to the minivan, my phone beeps with a message.

Anna Bannanna: Send proof of life. Dadaszek was in a mood this morning. Not even “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” got him to rock around the Christmas tree.

Me: We haven’t put up the tree yet. Anyway, the doughnuts were a hit and . . .

I’m about to tell her about how Pierre and I pretended to have a past, but this seems like something best explained in person. My stomach whorls and I bite my lip. Or not.

A little thrill works through me at the idea of having a clandestine relationship with Pierre. Like a moving picture, I imagine our rendezvous in Los Angeles. No one knows it’s fake. Not even my sisters. This means I could use the on-and-off relationship as cover to get them to stop playing Cupid One and Cupid Two.

It’s all a total lie but way more exciting than studying UX/UI design principles on a Friday night.

I finish typing the message, telling Anna that I’m on my way home. I’d saved a few doughnuts to bring to my sisters and their spouses. Instead, I take a bite of each one. Partly because the sweet dough provides a much-needed stress release and because it’s their fault I’m in this situation after setting me up with Chard.

No doughnuts for them!

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