by Hart, Emma
“Yeah, I’m the moody one.” He smirked and gave me a look that said he was used to her sass. “Since she’s not going to introduce us, I’m Mason. Lauren’s boyfriend.”
“Oh! Hi!” I accepted the small hug he offered me. “She’s mentioned you a few times, but hid this trip.” I side-eyed her.
Lauren sighed. “We were supposed to be here three days ago, but my car broke down somewhere in Georgia, and we ended up in a hotel for a couple of nights while it got fixed.”
Preston shuffled next to me.
“Oh, shit, now I’m being rude.” I motioned to Preston. “This is Preston. He’s Reagan’s brother,” I added to Lauren. “He’s on the other side of the curtain this year.”
Lauren wiggled her eyebrows in my direction in a totally unsubtle way. “I’ve heard about you, too! Hi!” She leaned over between us and hugged Preston.
“You have, have you?” Preston eyed me.
I pushed my bangs from my eyes. “Don’t get too excited. None of it was good.”
Mason laughed as he shook Preston’s hand. “Shit, there’s two of them.”
“There’s another Halley?” Preston looked around in disbelief. “I’m out.”
“Hey!” I shoved him. “There being two of you is the scary part.”
Lauren grinned. “So what are you guys doing? Is the booth shut?”
I nodded. “Everyone’s interested in the talent contest. We were gonna head out and get something to eat at my place. You’re welcome to join us.”
Lauren and Mason shared a look before she shook her head. “Thanks, but we’ve been inside for what feels like forever. We’ll hang here for a while, but we should get something to eat tomorrow.”
“Definitely. I’ll text Reagan and Ava and let you know where and when.” I smiled.
“Perfect! Ooh, yay!” She actually bounced when she clapped her hands. “Okay. Come on, Mase, I want one of those huge teddy bears that’s the size of a grown man.”
“It won’t fit in your—never mind,” he muttered, shaking his head. It was the kind of fond exasperation that could only come from someone who was totally in love with her. “It was great meeting you guys.”
“You, too,” Preston replied. “And if they do dinner, I know a great sports bar where we can avoid them.”
“Sports bar? They have wings?”
“You and freakin’ chicken wings,” Lauren said, almost to herself.
“The best fucking wings you’ll ever eat,” Preston said, and he wasn’t lying.
They were damn good wings at Lucky’s. I just didn’t eat them often because I had a tendency to get the sticky sauce absolutely everywhere.
I’d even gotten it on my dad once, and we still weren’t sure how.
“Sold,” Mason said, fist-bumping Preston right before Lauren grabbed his arm and dragged him away.
“See you tomorrow!” she called, waving. Mason threw up a wave, too, but it wasn’t long before they both disappeared into the crowd.
Preston watched them go for a second before turning to me. “She’s… bubbly.”
I laughed and started walking in the direction of the parking lot. “She’s pretty full-on,” I agreed. “But she’s the sweetest person I know, and just about the only person I’ve kept in touch with since college.”
“You met her in college? Where does she live?”
“Florida. Her cosmetology school—she’s a hairstylist—was close to my campus. Dad paid my fees so I have no student debt, but I had to work my way through in general like every other kid.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Part of that was getting cheap haircuts. The school had an on-site salon where their students could practice on real people once they reached a certain skill level. It cost, like, ten? Fifteen bucks? I met Lauren there in sophomore year.”
“Huh. And she came to see you?”
“I guess so. I know we’ll close the booth early tomorrow because the winner is announced during the talent contest, so I’ll probably take her for dinner so that you and Mason can visit the sports bar. But we have to be back by eight for the announcement.”
Preston had parked two cars down from me. “Don’t worry. I won’t lead him astray.” His sparkling eyes said otherwise. “Meet you at your place?”
I nodded and dug my keys out of my purse. “Whoever gets there last buys pizza.”
He smirked, then ran to his car.
Shit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
HALLEY
Fuck The Feels
I lounged against the doorframe, grinning, as Preston got out of his car. He’d pulled up right behind mine, boxing me into my driveway.
He had a face like thunder as he got out and slammed the door. “You ran the red light!”
My jaw dropped so my mouth formed a huge ‘O.’ “I did not run a red! It was amber when I went!”
“That’s basically red!”
“No, it means get ready to stop, but I wouldn’t be able to brake in time. I was committed.”
“Committed to putting your foot down!”
Okay. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. I had pressed the gas pedal a little harder to scoot through before it changed.
“I didn’t break any laws. I wasn’t even speeding. And, if I’d done something wrong, the cop who was parked outside the bar would have stopped me.” I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t be a salty bitch, Preston.”
“You’re always right, you always have to win, and you aren’t willing to accept when you run a red light,” he said, following me into the house. “I should have thought this through.”
“I didn’t run a red!”
“It was red when you went!”
“I was committed!” I said loudly, turning around and putting my hands on my hips. “I couldn’t stop. The cop didn’t stop me. Stop being a baby because I beat you here and now you have to buy dinner. Which you should have been doing anyway.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The first date was even. I won you a goldfish.”
“Yeah. Uranus is dead. Found him floating in the mixing bowl this morning.”
I wasn’t surprised at all, but I clutched my hand to my chest and pretended to be shocked. “One day, Preston, and you’ve already killed the first gift I ever gave you. Did you even try to keep him alive?”
He leveled me with a look. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me.”
“Oh, all right.” I dropped the act. “Everyone knows those fish last for a week at best. Did you at least give him a proper burial?”
“Flushed him down the toilet this morning.”
I nodded solemnly. “May Uranus rest in peace.”
Preston rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked away.
“Wait,” I said quickly. “That came out wrong!”
He blew out his cheeks and held it for a second. That was it. He laughed hard, grabbing my kitchen table to steady himself.
“So immature,” I muttered, turning away so he didn’t see my own laughter that was bubbling beneath the surface.
That was exactly why I’d refused to use the stupid name.
Nothing good came from calling anything Uranus. Ask science teachers who have to teach teenagers about the planetary system.
Yeah.
I pulled an unopen bottle of wine from the fridge and set it on the table. “Would you like some wine?”
He was still laughing.
He was just… standing there. Bent over my table. Shaking. Laughing. Like I’d just done an entire stand-up comedy act or something.
So I did the only thing I could do at that moment.
I stepped closer to him and smacked his ass.
What? It was a great ass, and it was sticking right out. It was prime for smacking, so that’s what I did.
“Shit!” He was still chuckling even as he straightened up. “What was that for?”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, getting the corkscrew and shoving the point into the cork in the wine bottle. “Also, you’ve been he
re ten minutes and not once have you either complimented my kitchen, ordered pizza, or fed the raccoons.”
“Your kitchen is lovely, it’s too early for the raccoons, and I can order pizza right now.” His lips still twitched with the after-effects of his laughing fit. “And no, I don’t want wine. Do you have beer?”
I yanked the cork out with a satisfying pop. “Do I look like I keep beer?”
“Don’t worry. There’s some in the trunk of my car.”
“Why is there beer in your car?”
He winked. “I’m an optimist. A prepared one at that.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him as he headed to the front door and outside to his car. Was it normal to carry beer around in the trunk of your car? What did he do with it? Was it provisions in case his tire blew out and he was stranded at the side of the road?
Did he have an entire emergency kit in there?
I mean, I did, but there wasn’t alcohol. I had enough canned and dried food to survive a zombie apocalypse, though, so there was that.
I could also keep a football team in Gatorade that I switched out regularly.
Look, working in a library, you read a lot of books. Some of those are dystopian.
Also, Netflix.
Preston joined me back in the kitchen and held up a six-pack of beer. “See? Emergency stash.”
“Is that something you always keep in your car? Next to a flashlight and a radio?”
“You have a flashlight and a radio in your car?”
I paused. “No.”
I totally did.
“You do, don’t you?” Preston pulled one can out from the rings and popped the top. “You have an entire emergency kit.”
“You never know when you’re going to get stranded in the dark, in a place with no cell signal, and no civilization for miles. Also, there might be zombies.”
“Do you ever drive to places without cell signal and no civilization?”
“Of course not. I might get lost, though.”
“You could just use GPS.”
“I could get carjacked.”
“They’d spend five minutes with you and run away.” He leaned back against the counter. “All you’d have to do is talk to him about your randy raccoons and hope he isn’t a wildlife enthusiast.”
“If he were, I’d invite him over to see them.” I sniffed and put down my glass. “He’d probably appreciate it.”
“And then burgle you while you pee,” he finished dryly. “And to finally answer your question, no, I don’t always keep beer in my car. I ran by the store during our break earlier and bought some, just in case.”
“You can only drink two, or you can’t drive home.”
His response was to wiggle his eyebrows at me.
“I don’t sleep with people on the second date,” I said firmly. I hadn’t slept with anyone in a while, actually, but that wasn’t the point here. “You can sleep in my spare room, and I’m locking my bedroom door.”
Preston held up his hands. “I’m a gentleman, Halley.”
“Has the gentleman ordered pizza yet?”
“Wow. You are a hard woman to please.”
“Not really. Wine, yoga pants, raccoons, books… I’m fairly simple.”
“Sure.” His tone said he did not believe me. At all. “Pizza?”
“Pepperoni, please. With a cheese-stuffed crust.”
“Fancy,” he muttered. “One pepperoni with a cheese-stuffed crust and one Hawaiian.”
I froze. “You eat pineapple on your pizza?”
He paused, his finger hovering over his phone screen. “Oh, no. You’re a pineapple denier.”
I gasped. “You’re a pineapple warrior!”
“That’s not even a thing!”
“Yes! It is! It’s like those people who march the streets for what they believe in, except yours is pineapple on pizza!” I picked up my glass and shook my head. “This is a disaster. I can’t date someone who eats pineapple on pizza.”
I went out to the back porch. It was still too early for the raccoons, he was right, but it wasn’t for me to sit on the swing and drink wine.
And argue the toss about the atrocity of pineapple on pizza.
“There’s nothing wrong with pineapple on pizza.” Preston joined me, beer in hand, and sat on the other side of the swing.
“There’s nothing right with it.” I shifted so that one of my legs was on the swing. “Preston, pineapple is a fruit.”
“Shut up. It’s fucking not, is it?”
“I don’t think I like your attitude.”
“I don’t think I like your attitude,” he shot back. “Pineapple on pizza is the best thing ever.”
“Fruit does not belong on a pizza!” My voice was slightly shrill at the end. “Fruit is healthy. I’m not eating pizza to be healthy. You wouldn’t put strawberries or banana on a cheese pizza, so why is pineapple okay?”
“It just… is. I don’t know. Ask the Hawaiians!”
“Actually, fun fact, the Hawaiians didn’t create it.”
Preston frowned, the lines in his forehead becoming deep furrows. “Really? Then why is it called the Hawaiian?”
“There’s some Greek Canadian guy who claims he created the ham and pineapple pizza. I think his name is Sam something. He called it the Hawaiian after the name of the pineapple he used.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, French fries weren’t created by the French, either. They came from Belgium.”
“How the fuck do you know this random shit?”
I sipped my wine. “I’m a librarian. There’s an encyclopedia of random shit up here.” I tapped my temple with two fingers. “You overhear things. That was how I learned about the Hawaiian pizza. I heard two high school kids arguing over it.”
“Who won?”
“Nobody. They did a Twitter poll, and it was fifty-fifty. I kicked them out after finding them making out in the paleontology section.”
“Isn’t that the designated make-out aisle in the library?”
“No. T-rex deserves better than that, Preston. He was an icon.”
“He’s also been dead for sixty-five million years. Pretty sure all his fucks dried up when the asteroid hit.”
Fair point.
“I’m just saying. Libraries are for books about kissing—not actual kissing. Unless it’s a proposal.”
Preston’s eyebrows shot up. “A proposal in a library?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Is that insane? I saw someone in McDonald’s propose. It happened on a plane I was on once. If it’s normal at thirty-six-thousand feet, what’s wrong with a library?”
He took a moment before he answered. “That makes total sense. Wow, you really weren’t kidding about how often you’re right.”
“I don’t kid about being right. Just like you apparently don’t kid about kissing.”
He smirked. “I don’t.”
“You did. You kissed my cheek.”
“Are you still salty about that?”
“Yes. I thought you were going to kiss me properly. Way to tear a girl down.”
“I did kiss you properly.”
“After I had a bitch fit.”
He shrugged. “I was keeping you on your toes.”
“No, you were doing what I’d done to you the day before.”
“And that bitch fit, Halley, makes you a hypocrite.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t. He was kinda right about that. “Except I went right in for your cheek, and you actually told me that you wanted to kiss me.”
“I’ve kissed you a few times since then. Can you focus on those instead?”
“No, because then I’ll get distracted and forget to make you feed the raccoons.”
“Halley, you could be in labor and you’d still demand someone feed the raccoons.”
“Actually, I’d make sure they were looked after before I went into labor. It’s not exactly a surprise, you know. Childbirth is guaranteed
after pregnancy.”
“Well, I hope you have all boys because this world doesn’t need another you.”
“Oh, please. There could never be another me. I’m far too unique for that.”
“Remind me again why Reagan and Ava spent the entire morning telling me all about your lack of self-confidence?”
I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Because I have raging mommy issues and use sarcasm as a form of defense?”
He looked as if he was going to say something but stopped dead. “I’m sorry. That was too far.”
I shrugged. “It’s a fact. I do have mommy issues, and I do use sarcasm as a form of defense. Honestly, I have plenty of self-belief, but I do struggle with confidence.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Not in my eyes. Think of it like this.” I moved so my wine was resting on my knee. “I believe in myself. I know I’m good at my job and that I can achieve anything I put my mind to. The world is my oyster and all that cliché bullshit. I know that. I believe that I can do anything I want if I just work hard enough.
“On the other hand, a part of me is always whispering that I’m not good enough. That it’s all ridiculous, I’m ridiculous, and nobody actually cares about what I’m doing. That voice is a demon that was born of years of me wanting my mom to pay me attention after my parents divorced. If she doesn’t care, how can anyone else?”
Preston tilted his head to the side. His eyes were full of gentle curiosity, but none of the pity or sympathy that I usually got when I spoke about my family issues. It was… nice.
“You keep all of that inside every single day and still manage to be an upstanding, functional member of society? I had no idea until today.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why you need to be kind to everyone you meet. It doesn’t matter how kind or friendly or outgoing someone is. You have no idea what battle they’re fighting on the inside. Sometimes all you need to do is tell someone their hair looks great and you can change their entire day.”
“Halley?”
“Yeah?”
“Your hair looks great today.”
My cheeks flushed. “You said that because of what I just said.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t make it any less true.” He grinned and leaned forward, tugging gently on my hair. “You’re right, by the way. We should be nicer to people. You included.”
