Page 84 of A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime

I slowly shake my head. “No. That doesn’t sound like much fun. I’ll just celebrate my birthday quietly.”

My father texted me a list that his assistant put together of a variety of places I could go for my birthday winter getaway, but I haven’t really looked at any of them. I’m not going to go. Maggie’s world has been completely upended, thanks to her unexpected pregnancy, and there’s no way she’s going to want to go on vacation with me, though she’d probably benefit from a few days away from her problems.

“You’re turning eighteen. That’s a big deal,” Crew murmurs.

I lift my gaze to his. “Are you eighteen yet?”

He nods.

“And what did you do to celebrate?”

“You really want to know?” He grins, the sight of his smile making my heart pound.

“Maybe I don’t,” I say warily.

Crew chuckles. “It wasn’t that bad. Spent it at our family house in the Hamptons with friends. Got really fucking high and wasted.”

I don’t even flinch over his use of the f-word. I’ve sort of become used to it. “You like using substances?”

“I smoked a little weed and drank some booze. I don’t mind using the occasional substance. It’s all about moderation. If you’re drunk or high all the time, that’s when you’re fucked.” He studies me carefully. “Have you ever got drunk, Birdy?”

I slowly shake my head. “Never.”

“Not even a sip of champagne during New Year’s? Sneaking the occasional gulp from Mommy’s wine glass when she’s not around?”

How does he even know my mother constantly has a glass of wine in her hand?

“No. I don’t like feeling out of control,” I admit.

“I won’t even bother asking if you’ve ever smoked weed.”

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s so gross. I’m not interested in smoking anything.”

“There are other ways to do it. Edibles, for one. They make some good ones that you’d probably like.”

“No, thank you,” I say primly, feeling like the innocent girl that I am.

“You need to learn how to let loose a little,” he says. “It’s not a bad thing to have fun sometimes.”

Normally, when he says that sort of thing, I end up getting offended. But I can tell by his tone that he’s not being mean about it. I think he actually believes I do need to learn how to let go, which he’s probably right, but I don’t want to do it via drugs or alcohol.

“Is that how you let loose?” I ask him.

“Sometimes. Weed mellows me out.” He sends me a look. “You could stand to try some. Gets you out of your head. Expands your mind and lets you think about other things. More pleasant things.”

I roll my eyes. “That sounds like something a pot smoker would say.”

He chuckles. “I guess I’m a pot smoker then. You sound like my mom.”

That’s probably not a compliment. “Maybe we should talk about our project? The outline?”

“Aren’t we doing exactly that? I’ve got something to add to my differences lists.” He grabs my notebook again and starts to write. “Wren doesn’t drink or smoke weed. Crew does.”

“Shouldn’t you be using your own paper to make your notes?” I ask.

“Oh yeah.” He lifts his head, his amused gaze meeting mine. “I guess I should.”

He’s teasing me. Trying to distract me. On purpose?

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