Page 65 of Can't Kiss the Chef

Byron:

Everyone should be that excited to be around you.

I leave the message open on my desk so I can stare at it for a few seconds in between each step of my makeup routine. It’s like I’vebeen conditioned to think nobody would be excited to be around me. I know that’s not necessarily true. I have friends that I know like spending time with me. It’s just hard not to feel like people just tolerate being around me. It’s how I thought my family has felt for as long as I can remember. I’m moody, opinionated and would rather be with my horse than people.

I quickly swipe on my mascara before throwing on a beanie and sneakers. Unfortunately it’s too early for a shot, so a piece of gum will have to help calm my nerves.

I tuck the rest of the package into the back pocket of my jeans and head to the front porch determined to have a fun day.

Unlike my friends, who love the change from summer to fall; because it means the start of their respective sports seasons, I hate it because it gets so freaking cold. Luckily I’m not waiting for long when Byron shows up in Marcus’ car. Oliver is using my car this morning and since Indy–and her car– is at the guys’ house setting up for the party this is the only option we had left.

You hear it before you see it. Fumes fly out of the exhaust. It’s a true man’s truck and not made for someone who is fun-sized. It embarrassingly takes all my strength to pull myself up and settle into the passenger seat. My chest is heaving when I peer at the driver’s side. I finally catch my breath, for it to be instantly taken away again by Byron’s devastatingly handsome smile.

His long blonde hair is peaking out from under his Westvale Hockey beanie. His blue eyes glow with mischief. His lips curled into a smirk. The one that helps him charm his way out of anything, that baby face doesn’t fool me—well, not anymore.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I don’t mean it in a self-conscious way, but in a he’s definitely up to something way.

“It’s officially October.”

“It is.” I nod along, not sure where this conversation is going.

Byron hold’s his hands out in front of him palms up. He shakes them a couple times. His eyes grow wide, like I’m the weird one for not deciphering his coded language.

“The month of our births’. He says in a British accent.

“You watched the new season of Bridgerton without me!”

“Wait, the new season is out? That’s not,” he shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You promised me a joint birthday party last year, and I’m simply reminding you of that fact.”

Those plans were disregarded the second I saw him in New York City. Don’t come after me, I now know I should have asked him who he was with. We can’t change the past. It was supposed to be a big celebration now that our friends knew about us. A party for the ages.

“Don’t give me some sob story about how that was then and this is now. We are friends with birthdays a day apart. One of them being on Halloween. It’s the perfect way to celebrate.”

Mine is the day before Halloween, and of course, Byron’s had to be the day after mine. I used to find that endearing; now, it is just annoying.

“I mean, we will probably be hanging out anyway,”

I inhale deeply, running my clammy palms down the front of my jeans.

“So I guess we can have the party.” I roll my eyes playfully before adding, “I want nothing to do with the planning, but I’m expecting big things.”

Give an athlete a challenge, and you’ll probably get a pretty good party out of it.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lowy, it’s going to be epic.”

“I’m going to fucking kill my brother.”

Two hours and a sore frozen butt later, I’m driving Byron—with a sleeping Mia in his lap–to the on-campus shelter to meet Jalen and Ivy.

I reach over to the center panel to take full advantage of the heated seat. I need it to ease the pain and help the bruising I know is spreading on my ass cheek at this very moment.

“You okay?” He asks, placing his hand on mine. His eyes burrow into my soul. He almost got away with it, almost. The left side of his lip is slightly tilted up.

“Wipe the smirk off your face. You are going to get paid to skate for a living and I don’t think I’ve been on a pair of skates since I was in elementary school.”

He takes the hand that he was absent-mindedly running down Mia’s back and pats my thigh twice.

It’s an innocent gesture. I really mean that. But why is it making my chest tighten and my cheeks heat?

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