Page 28 of Filthy Rich

“Hot?” I hate that now my voice is wobbling.

Bea’s nose scrunches. “Hot.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s just Jake’s version of charitable outreach, but even so, it wasn’t bad.” I cough. “Not bad at all.”

“Then why are we binging ice cream?” Bea’s lip curls. “Should we be celebrating instead?” Her eyes light up. “Because I’ve known Jake for a very long time, and I’ve never seen him do anything charitable.” She leans forward. “Never ever.”

I laugh. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No.” Bea shakes her head. “It is true. Jake’s many things, but charitable isn’t among them. And he also only kisses someone he doesn’t want to kiss if they’re paying him a lot of money.” Now her smirk is one hundred percent back in place.

So she’s saying that if he kissed me, and no one was paying him. . .he wanted to do it? Now my hands are wobbling again as I set the ice cream next to the others on the tray. “It’s different for me,” I say. “Because I’m your friend. He wanted to help me because of you.”

“Maybe.” Bea stares at me for a second, and then she spins on her toe and grabs the laptop to pull up Netflix.

“The Kissing Booth?” I can’t help my snort. “Really?”

“It has a great kiss scene,” she says. “And I want to see whether it’s better than what I just saw. . .”

We’re both laughing as we try the different ice creams. The show’s worse than I remember it being, but strangely compelling, too. We both have a good time making fun of it. And I can’t help noticing that the couple in the show gets their start with a kiss that isn’t quite the normal ‘post-date-lip-mash’ that most things start with.

Just like the kiss I just had.

My fingers brush against my lips.

And my phone rings.

It’s an unknown number.

“Who is it?” Bea peers over the tray of melting ice cream. “Is it. . .” Her eyes widen and she whistles. “First he kissed you, and now he’s calling you?”

“Wait.” I wave the phone at her, because it’s displaying a number I don’t have saved. “Is this Jake?”

Bea rolls her eyes. “Of course it is.”

My heart accelerates. Do I answer it? Do I ignore it? Right before it can go to voicemail, I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, there,” a man with a pronounced Southern accent says. “My name’s Roy, and boy do I have a great offer for you.”

My heart sinks.

“Today only, I can offer you fifty percent off on an auto-warranty extension.”

“Um, that’s okay,” I say. “My warranty’s fine.”

The accent disappears. “I’m kidding,” Jake says. “It’s me.”

I choke a little, but I hope he can’t hear it through the phone. “I knew that.”

“You did?”

“I mean, I—well.”

“Bea gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.”

I glare at her and mouth, “A little heads up next time.” Next time she gives a movie star my number at his request? Breathe, Octavia, breathe. “Well, since we’re dating now, I guess it’s fine.” I snort.

“About that.”

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