Page 15 of Friends Don't Kiss

Iclenchthewheeltightbecause what I want to do is take her hand, hold it firm, maybe pull her into me. Make her feel better without saying a damn word. There’s things a hug can do that words can’t, and right now that’s what she needs.

There’s always something about being together in the small space of a car or the cab of a truck. You share the view, the conversation, the destination, the music. You feel the other person without—most of the time—looking at them. It’s like your senses are heightened, sharpened.

At least that’s the way it is for me right now with Kiara. Sharing a car ride has never felt so intimate.

She shuts down again when I try and make light of her family. Make her see the good side of it. There’s clearly more going on than just douchebag cheating on her with her stuck-up sister. I wonder what’s up with her father? I’ve never heard her mention him.

I’m definitely not asking her now. I did enough damage today. Instead, I retreat to a safer topic. “So, when are you getting a proper vehicle for your business?”

“Soon as my favorite mechanic repairs it?” she says, and the way she does—with a smile my way that lights up the night—the way she says I’m her favorite even though I’m the only game in town, makes my brain a little foggy.

I messed things up between us with that kiss, and our friendship will need to come back from it. But damn, those lips. Soft and plump and welcoming. And the way she held herself to me, as if she was losing her balance. The way her eyes closed on instinct, and fuck me, how she opened her mouth?

“So… when’s that gonna be? You have the part?” Kiara asks.

My dick strains against the seam of my pants. “Huh? Uh, probably.” What was—oh yeah, the starter motor. “If I have it, I’ll fix it tomorrow for you.”

“You don’t have to. Tomorrow’s Sunday.” Her words are stilted. I really fucked things up, didn’t I? I need to get us back to normal.

“I’ll get the loaner back tomorrow in case I can’t fix your car.”

She narrows her eyes on me. “Why would you get the loaner back if you’re not open and giving someone their car back?”

Excellent point. Did not think that through. “Long story.” I shrug. “Seriously though,” I add, needing a semi-change of topic but going back to my primary concern, “when are you going to trade in the Corolla? It’s not what you need to deliver pastries.”

She sighs and shakes her head like I’m a little dense. “After I get my own space to bake.” She starts picking at her cuticles again, a sure sign she’s stressed.

“Why does it need to happen after?” Once Kiara started working part-time for my cousin Chris, who owns the bakery in town, word quickly got out what a great pastry chef she is. She started fulfilling catering orders out of her kitchen in the rental apartment. Then she got more business from a few hotels and restaurants.

For those accounts, she bakes on-site. It keeps her afloat, but it won’t allow her to grow.

“It doesn’t. It’s… a lot to think about, and an investment.”

“But it’d help you grow your business, yeah? A nice little refrigerated truck with your logo painted on it. I can see it…”

She stops biting her nails and crosses her arms. Or maybe she crosses her armstostop the biting. “Yeah, don’t worry, Picasso. The day I have my own van, you’ll get to paint it.” She’s looking out the window, so I can’t tell if she really means it, but a smile tugs at my lips anyway. Kiara giving me nicknames means we’re back to normal.

“What kinda truck you thinking?”

She whips her head to me. “I’m not thinking anything. Jesus, Colt, you’re so literal.”

I am literal, she’s right. “Okay, then. If you were to have a truck, what would it be? Just say the first thing that comes—”

“A VW van.”

“What? The Volkswagen Type 2?”

She shrugs. “Sure.” Her tone’s uncertain.

“The microbus?”

She crosses her arms tightly. “Yup.”

“You mean the rear-wheel drive, tiny little hippie van that can’t handle a snowflake and has shit for heat?”

She rolls her eyes. “You said the first thing that came to my mind.”

“You didn’t let me say that part, actually.”

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