Page 20 of One Little Kiss
“What is?”
“You and me,” he says. “We’ll go together.”
Said so easily. Like it’s understood we’ll be each other’s dates.
Because it’s a no brainer, I remind myself.
I’m nodding like a moron, incapable of coming up with a normal, laidback response.
Why? Why does this feel weird when I’ve slept in the same bed with this guy and not had the slightest issue.
But I know. The memory of that almost kiss in the parking lot creeps up before I can stop it.
My heart stumbles as I look away out the window.
Dang it. If something’s different between us—if there’s a tension here where there wasn’t before—it’s my fault.
I did this.
I wet my lips and take a deep breath.
Which means that I can make things right again.
Right?
I’m nodding a little too eagerly as I reach for the door handle, and my smile feels a little forced. “Good idea. Let’s go together.”
He’s nodding as well, and watching me a little too closely. “That way we can all go as a group, but it won’t be weird, right? It’ll be like old times.”
I part my lips about to say yes, but at that particular moment, his gaze drops, and heat flares as I realize he’s watching my mouth.
So I never say anything. I don’t agree. I don’t disagree. I just get out, shut the door, and watch him drive away.
Will it be like old times?
I let out a shaky breath as I head up the steps to my house.
I hope so. But I doubt it. These days it feels like everything’s changing way too fast.
But I’ll do anything to keep things from changing what I have with my best friend.
Elijah’s comment about my dad’s intern comes to mind, and as I enter the kitchen to find my mom making a smoothie, I know exactly what I have to do.
She beams at me when I walk in. “You’re home!” But then her smile falters. “Oh honey, you look pale.”
And where Mara’s mom would say, ‘are you feeling all right?’ my mom says, “You should’ve used bronzer this morning, sweetie. You look like a vampire.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I’m kinda laughing, though, as I give her a kiss on the cheek. My mom isn’t perfect, but helping me look my best is her version of loving me, I suppose. “Need help?”
“No, but if you want some of my smoothie, go grab yourself a glass,” she says.
I reach for the glass and listen to the blender as I call up my texts. There’s an unread message from the intern. He does have a name. It’s Brad. But I put him into my contacts as The Intern. I click on the message. It’s another apology for having to bail early on our date and a request for a rain check.
I’d been planning on ignoring the text for eternity. But after today’s weirdness, I take a deep breath, click on his text, and start to reply.
SIX
Elijah
