Page 55 of One Little Kiss
He’s never seen her laugh so hard she’s curled up in a silent ball, making cute high-pitched squeaks as she tries to regain her breath.
He doesn’t know her.
She’s not his to know. Not like that.
Neither of them see me at first, not until I’m right on top of them.
Dominic’s eyes widen and he comes to a stop, which has Noelle stopping too.
“Eli?” She’s breathless—from dancing or laughing or batting those damn eyelashes of hers, I have no idea.
Eli.
She called me Eli. My jaw clenches so tight I hear my teeth clack together over the sound of the music.
Noelle frowns, her lips pouting a bit as she tries to read my expression. “What are you doing?”
“Claiming a dance with mydate,” I say.
I sound…awful. Rude. The worddatecomes out with a derisive sneer.
I don’t sound like me. Noelle blinks, and then her eyes widen with surprise.
“Hey, uh…why don’t you calm down, bro.” Dominic’s looking between the two of us, but I don’t look his way.
“What are you doing?” Noelle repeats herself, but this time her voice is low and meant for my ears only.
My nostrils flare and my fists clench as I struggle for calm.
Too late.
“Do, uh…do you two need a minute?” Dominic asks Noelle.
“Yeah. Excuse us.” Noelle does not sound amused or apologetic. She doesn’t glance at Dominic either, her gaze is still fastened to mine like she can’t look away.
I know I can’t.
She grabs my arm and yanks. I don’t think either of us care much about the looks we get as she storms toward a side exit, hauling me behind her with a surprisingly strong grip.
For a half a second, I find myself marveling at how she is the only girl in the world who can stomp through a crowd wearing heels like that.
But then we’re outside, and the early winter wind hits me smack in the face. Noelle doesn’t seem to notice the chill as she spins around to face me, eyes blazing. “What. Was. That?”
“What was that?” I repeat, my brows high and my voice louder than intended as I jam a finger back toward the dance floor. “Better question. What was that?”
Her mouth gapes as she sees my anger.
My very real, very unlike me, very jealousy-fueled anger.
“Do you like him?” I demand.
“What?”
“Do. You. Like. Dominic,” I grit out.
AndGod. Do you like him? I sound like a tween girl.
Some latecomers pass by in the parking lot and they look our way.
