Page 7 of One Little Kiss
That’s when it hits me. She’s not like the vapid women I usually date. This woman is real. No designer labels, no airs or pretense. She’s someone you bring home to mom, and that intrigues me as much as it terrifies me.
“So,” she drags out, “I should get back to studying.”
I stutter, realizing I’ve been silent for an uncomfortable amount of time while studying her intently. I already know she has a tiny freckle just above her lip. That her eyes are the most unique shade I’ve ever seen. And her lips? Fuck me. Her lips were made for pure sin. “Jesus. S-Sorry, my mind wandered. I just realized I should let my brother know I’m going to arrive a day late.”
She relaxes and gives a half smile. “No worries.”
Unlocking my phone, I shoot Loch a text.
Colton: I won’t need a room after all. Appreciate it, though.
Lochlan: If you’re going to my competition, I’ll kick your ass.
Colton: You can try, but we both know that wouldn’t happen.
I chuckle, then put him out of his misery.
Colton: Nah, just hanging at the airport, hoping the flight will take off sooner than expected.
Lochlan: Right. Because that happens ALL the time. (eye roll emoji)
Lochlan: Who is she?
I forgot this asshole knows me almost as well as my brothers.
Colton: Not sure.
Lochlan: And you don’t want the room because?
Colton: I already know she isn’t a one-night stand kind of girl.
Lochlan: Good-bye, mate. It was nice knowing ya. Now who will be my wingman?
Colton: Whatever, dude. You’re talking to Peter Pan, remember?
I hate the nickname, and it feels like a lie even as I type it. Now more than ever.
Lochlan: Right. Good luck with that.
Colton: (Middle finger emoji) (High five emoji)
Lochlan: Room’s available if you change your mind.
Colton: Thanks.
Turning to Winnie, I feel my smirk slip into a full, toothy smile when I find her watching me.Winnie? Where the hell did that come from?
“All set, Peter?” Her smirk matches mine, and I know without a doubt I’ve just met my match. My equal. A troublemaker disguised as a sexy angel.
My jaw nearly comes unhinged.
“You read my texts?” I ask aghast and a little impressed that she didn’t even try to hide it.
“It’s hard not to when your font size can be read from outer space,” she deadpans.
Glancing from her to my phone, laughter erupts from deep in my soul. She’s right. The font size is as big as it goes so I can read while on the rowing machine. I usually remember to adjust it after a workout, but I was in a rush this morning and must have forgotten.
“Guess Peter may stay a lost boy, but Colton is showing signs of aging.”
