Page 94 of The Accidental Text

“You ready, adrenaline junkie?” I say, looking over at him.

“I need a kiss for good luck first,” he says. Pointing to his cheek.

“You don’t really deserve one,” I say.

“Just give me a kiss, woman.”

I’m standing so close to him, I barely have to lean in to kiss him. Just as my lips are about to meet his cheek, he swings his face around, and instead my lips meet … lips.

It’s a quick kiss. Just slightly longer than a peck. It’s the second time this week that a man has stolen a kiss from me. But unlike the one with Dawson, I find that I wish this kiss were longer; I want there to be more.

Chase gives me a devious little grin after, his nonverbalreply to what I’m sure is a very deer-caught-in-headlights expression from me. Then he turns, counts down from three, and we jump.

Chapter 26

He never kissed me again. I thought there might have been a moment after the second frigid plunge, when he held me again to help warm me up. That time, it wasn’t just his body heat that helped—his nearness had my heart beating double time and my blood pumping again.

As we hiked back to the car, the sun setting along the way, I started to wonder if it was all in my head. Chase never said anything about it, never once brought it up. I almost asked, but then didn’t. It was just a kiss … that I still keep thinking about.

It’s now Sunday night and he’s been texting me all day, just like old times, and it kind of annoys me. I think I want him to think of it as more. I think I want it to mean more. How did he go from Chase toChase?

Hannah and I are currently sitting in our mostly dark apartment,The Real Housewives of Beverly Hillsplaying on the television. Trashy reality TV is one of our favorite things.

“I think I like Chase,” I blurt out during a commercial, no longer able to keep it in.

“Oh, yeah?” Hannah says. “Glad you finally caught on to that.”

I swing my head to her, the light from the TV dancing around her face. “What?”

“It’s been obvious to me for a while,” she says.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

She reaches over and pats me on the hand. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, her voice full of faux condescension, “you needed to realize it for yourself.”

“Well, I do now. And … he’s leaving.” I slump back in my seat.

“Only for six months.”

“That’s a long time.”

“You’re also assuming he likes you back.”

I whack her on the arm. “You’re supposed to be my best friend. My cheerleader, remember?”

“I’m just keeping it real.”

“Do you think he does?”

She contemplates this for a second. “I don’t know. I haven’t spent all that much time with him.”

“That’s true.”

She pats my hand again. “What does your heart tell you?”

I pull my chin inward. “Since when do you care what the heart says?”

“Well … I have one. I’m pretty sure.”

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