Page 51 of Can't Kiss the Chef

THINGS BYRON CAN DO TO EARN LOLA’S FRIENDSHIP BACK

1) Bring me coffee to every class

2) I get to get to take Mia for a sleepover once this semester

3) You have to clean out Cookie’s stall three times

4) One full catered dinner for me and my roommates where you need to convince your roommates to be shirtless waiters

5) Get mani and pedis

6)You teach me how to skate

7)Plan a day at the Westvale Fall Festival for our friends and us

8)Do the ropes course at Fall Fest

Crossing off number seven, I make room for task number eight. It’s almost simultaneous, once I save the list, I hear a notification ping behind me.

“Oh, I’d wreck that course.” A familiar voice comes from behind me.

I’m rolling my eyes before I even turn around.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to speak, Byron,” I pause for dramatic effect. “I think someone my size might have an advantage for this one.”

His shoulders drop. He knows I’m right. His six-foot-one frame is good for a lot of things. I think we just agreed keeping his balance on a rope strung between two trees isn’t one of them.

“One day, we’ll put this to rest, Pips,” he says before throwing his arm over my shoulder. “but today is about drinking.”

He hands me a light beer and offers his can for cheers, and I tap his. His eyes are intensely glued to mine. I’m a little startled.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out.” I ask, genuinely concerned that he might be having some kind of mild stroke.

“Haven’t you ever heard that if you don’t look someone in the eyes when you’re cheersing, you’re doomed to seven years of bad sex?” His posture straightens like he is about to start a presentation at a medical conference, but his eyes gleaming with that same silliness that reeled me in that first night at Jasper’s.

It takes me getting on my tiptoes to reach his shoulder and shove him back.

“You and those damn jokes. I really thought you were about to tell me something serious.”

“Me, serious?” He flicks his wrist at me.

How foolish of me for even thinking he could be serious. Isn’t that the problem with a man like Byron; they make you yearn for something they’ll never be capable of giving you.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the rest of our group stepping out of the elevator. I finish my beer in one long swing.

“What is going on with you and Byron,” Indy whispers in my ear as she races to catch up to Margo and me.

“Nothing,” I murmur. Picking up the pace so we are out of earshot of everyone else.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

I feel it growing inside me. The anger. The resentment. The embarrassment. I take it out on my friend.

“I don’t know what you saw, but stop romanticizing it in that pretty little head of yours,” I tell her in an attempt to hide my feelings. “Plus, Dalton is waiting for me at the tent.”

I beeline to the booth that Dalton texted me he’d be at. He’s easy to spot in his Ralph Lauren collared sweater and perfectly parted hair. He’s waiting for me, a beer in each hand.

“Hey beautiful,” the smile that spreads across his face when I finally find him can only be described as panty dropping. “This is for you.” He leans and gently kisses me.

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