Page 128 of Never Kiss and Tell

Bailey breaks the kiss when it starts moving toward sex in the middle of the street.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispers when Andi calls again.

“See you tomorrow, princess.”

I watch her walk away, a feeling of dread washing over me.

Fuck, why can’t I just tell her I’m in love with her?

Bailey

When Saturday morning dawns, the bed is cold where Charlie should be. My chest aches to see him. I guess I didn’t realize how accustomed I’ve grown to waking up next to him in the last two weeks.

It seems strange, leaving tomorrow. California just . . . doesn’t seem like home anymore.

The sun shines bright through the hotel windows as I make my way out to the main area of the suite.

I stop in the doorway, my eyes brimming with tears. Andi’s already in the makeup chair, her eyes closed as a makeup artist applies her eye shadow.

“Happy wedding day.”

The artist stops when Andi opens her eyes and beams at me.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” I lie, stepping to the small kitchenette and pouring myself a cup of coffee. The smell awakens my senses and my mouth waters. “You?”

Andi lets out a sigh as the makeup artist resumes her work. “I slept great. Don’t tell Tom, but it was nice to get a break from his snoring.”

I laugh and plop down in the seat next to her. After just two weeks, I feel lost without waking up to Charlie’s warmth. I can only imagine two years later.

“Are you excited?” I ask. A second makeup artist comes out of nowhere and smiles at me. She starts cleaning my face with something cold that smells like cucumbers.

“I’m . . . happy.”

I side-eye her as my makeup artist, Catrice, I can see from her name tag, preps my brows.

“You don’t sound happy.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I guess, I thought I would be so elated.”

“Well,” I say carefully. I’m unable to look at her because Catrice is doing my eyes, but I feel like Andi’s watching me, gauging my reaction. “I think you’ll be happy when you see how pretty you look in your dress.”

She laughs, though it doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“Tom’s going to shit himself when he sees you.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve never seen my brother so . . . so attentive to someone he’s dating.”

“I am not dating your brother,” I groan.

I open my eyes and glare at her. She smirks, peeking at me as the artist puts mascara on her other eye. “Oh, sorry. Just screwing his brains out.”

“Are you mad at me? For not saying anything sooner?”

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