Page 74 of Blood and Buttercups

“I’ve been set up before and have been coerced into a few double dates that I almost instantly regretted.”

“What part is exhausting?”

“The part where I have to pretend to care about their small talk.”

I bark out a laugh, delighted. “You’re awful.”

He smiles a little, meticulously cutting the peel off the mango like he’s done it a hundred times.

“But you cook. I’m sure that makes up for your prickly personality. And plenty of girls are dumb enough to date handsome jerks if they’re good in the kitchen and decent kissers.” Feeling wicked, I add, “Ohhh, is that the problem? Do you suck at kissing?”

He sets the knife down, giving me a droll look. “That’s not an issue.”

I shrug one shoulder. “If you say so.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Noah rounds the counter. My pulse jumps, and a hot knot coils in my stomach.

Was I goading him on purpose? Maybe.

I swivel in my barstool, keeping my eyes on him, until my back is pressed to the edge of the counter. Noah stops in front of me, his expression hard, his eyes holding dark promises. “Do you want me to kiss you, Piper?”

“What?” I breathe, playing innocent.

“It seems like you’d like me to prove my skill.”

He sets his hands on either side of the counter, caging me in as he leans forward.

My heart hiccups and then begins racing. The man is huge, and he has me surrounded.

And I like it.

I like it a lot.

But Noahdoesn’tkiss me. His cheek brushes mine as he leans close enough his breath tickles my ear. “But there’s a flaw in your plan. I don’t have to prove anything—I know I’m good.”

I let out an embarrassing little peep.

“And, Piper, if you hadn’t friend-zoned me, you’d know too.”

Noah turns his head slightly, playfully running his bottom lip over my earlobe. Then he returns to his smoothie prep with a knowing smirk on his lips.

16

I’m washingmy face in the master bathroom, trying to figure out how to prove Ethan attacked me, when a text buzzes on my phone.

Though it might be anyone—Olivia, Max, my parents, my mobile phone company telling me I can save two hundred dollars if I upgrade today—my heart seizes because it could be Ethan.

And hearts, though often flighty, are sometimes right.

I stare at Ethan’s name, terrified to unlock my phone and see what he said. My heart begins to pound, and I break into a cold sweat.

Too chicken to look on my own, I swing the door open and hurry through my bedroom, calling Noah’s name before I even reach the hall.

He must be able to tell that something is wrong from my tone because two seconds later, his door flies open, and he charges out of his room, sans shirt, in a pair of low-slung workout shorts. And just to show you how freaked out I am, I’m not even checking him out.

“Ethan texted again.” I shove the phone at him.

“What did he say?” he demands, taking it and then growling when he doesn’t know the passcode.

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