Page 58 of Friends Don't Kiss

“Guys, we should go back there,” Grace says. “We’ve been gone a while. The men are gonna wonder what we’re doing.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t hear anyone knocking on the door. They don’t seem worried.”

“Why don’t we continue this at the table? Ask the guys what they think? It could be fun,” Chloe says.

Colton

The answer flies right onto my screen.

That’s a very sweet thing to say. The lemon story is a long one.

Shit. Is she planning on spending the evening in the bathroom? I look up, but the group of women is filing back to the table, Grace in front, Kiara with her gaze glued to her phone, then Chloe, and finally Willow, who’s making the cut sign over her throat, her eyes rounded at me.

I stand to go to the bathroom and pass the girls. Kiara’s scent and her total ignorance of my presence drive me wild in too many different ways. I don’t like what I’m doing, but it’s too late to back out now.

Once safely in the men’s room, I type my answer.

Kiara

His message is polite, even kind. But it feels a little like he’s giving me the brush off. “I’d love to hear a long story, but I’m out with my friends. Can we continue this conversation at another time?”

The heart is still red. I type, Sure, and the heart grays out.

Grace is leaning over my shoulder, reading my phone. “What a dick,” she says. “He hearts your profile, asks you a question, and then he says he doesn’t have time for a long conversation?”

“He’s with friends,” I explain, feeling defensive.

“So are you,” Grace counters.

“Who’s a dick?” Colton asks, pulling a chair out and seating himself. I’m relieved he wasn’t there just now, when my girlfriends told the guys that I was on a dating app and a cute guy was interested in me. I expected more overreaction from my male friends, to be honest. Granted, Grace had given them the down-low and they’d already researched him.

“No one,” I answer Colton.

He grabs my phone—why am I still staring at it? And stares right at the profile of the guy. “Yeah well, you get on a dating app, you gotta expect dicks,” he says as he gives me my phone back.

“That’s very funny.” I smirk at him. Something passes between us when our eyes lock. He’s not as resentful as I expected. And I’m more mortified than I care to admit. But when a shadow plays in his irises, I avert my gaze.

twenty-one

Colton

ThenextmorningI’mstanding outside my garage, looking to the bluebird sky for inspiration to get me out of this mess, when a 1965 Ford Mustang slows down and pulls up.

The car’s a real beauty. Bottle green that looks almost black in places. She’s buffed, gleaming under the cold sky. That kind of shine doesn’t last a day in the winter here. Her owner must be buffing her daily. I’m surprised she’s out at all in the winter. Although it’s not looking like fresh powder is coming our way today, there are patches of packed snow in front of driveways that wouldn’t do well with the way this car sits low to the ground.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound it makes. Within the familiar rumble of the engine, there’s a rat-tat-tat I don’t like one bit. The owner drives up to the pump, turns the engine off, then comes out.

I walk up to the guy my age coming out of the car. “Hi there,” I say.

“Hi.” He waves and starts filling her up.

“Nice ride,” I say. “You had it long?”

He smiles proudly. “About six months.”

Six months. Damn. “You have someone look at that noise?” I ask, suspecting the answer will be no.

The guy frowns suspiciously at me. “What noise?”

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