by Emma Hart
Silver linings and all that.
I somehow managed to clamber out of bed without kneeing either of my best friends in the face or the stomach. It was a lot harder than it sounded since Ava was a raging bed hog.
She had at least half of my king-sized bed, leaving me and Reagan to squish on one side. Reagan had it better than I did since she was on the edge. I was squashed between two grown women, one of whom had bigger boobs than the other two of us put together.
Cough, cough, in the direction of the bed hog, Ava.
I almost fell off the end of the bed and stubbed my toe on the leg. “Ouch!”
“What?!” Ava jolted awake, almost sitting bolt upright. “Are we being burgled? Who’s kidnapping us?”
“No, you sheet stealer,” Reagan snapped, yanking the sheets over to her side. “It’s Halley waking up.”
“Although I’d totally offer you up if there was a kidnapper,” I grumbled, rubbing the back of my stiff neck. I’d spent half the night avoiding her wayward elbows.
I left the room before she could reply and locked myself in the bathroom. The thumping in my head hadn’t subsided at all, and my teeth felt all gummy like I hadn’t brushed them for a week.
I turned on the shower and brushed my teeth while it got up to temperature. It was a day for a scalding hot one, so I scrubbed at my teeth, gums, and tongue until the bathroom was filled with steam and I couldn’t see myself in the mirror anymore.
Narrowly avoiding stubbing my toe on the way into the stall, I breathed a sigh of relief as the hot water pounded down onto me.
I spent a good fifteen minutes soaking in the hot water and washing myself off. Despite my headache, I was feeling much better when I finally exited the steamy bathroom and went in search of my glasses.
I located them on the coffee table and ignored the mess that was there. Two pizza boxes, a box that had held potato wedges, empty glasses, lonely and dry slices of lime, and two empty pints of ice cream all accompanied the stack of tissues that we’d left in a pile on the floor, thanks to our cry-a-ton.
Note to self: do not watch The Notebook while drunk.
It doesn’t end well.
I clutched the towel to my chest and went back into my room. Ava was asleep again, snoring with her mouth wide open in an expression my stepmom liked to call ‘catching flies.’ Reagan was awake and on her phone, swiping her thumb up and down the screen.
She glanced over at me. “Nice hair.”
I flipped her the bird and went to my dresser. “You’re working today?”
She nodded. “Yeah. That bridal spread I said last night. Although I had a voicemail from the bride saying she wants to meet tomorrow instead as something came up.” She shrugged. “Works for me, since someone is a bad influence.” She nodded in Ava’s direction.
“You’re adults,” Ava muttered, snorting and rolling over so she wasn’t facing us anymore. “Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.”
She had a point.
“Go get a shower. I’ll get dressed and turn the coffeemaker on.” I pulled underwear out of the top drawer.
Reagan peeled herself out of bed and came over to me, plucking a peach, lace bra out of the drawer. “This makes your boobs look good.”
I looked down at it. “I don’t want my boobs to look good.”
“Why not? You should always want your boobs to look good.”
“Because there’s nobody to appreciate how good my boobs look.”
“I ‘preciate it,” Ava murmured sleepily.
Reagan took the plain t-shirt bra from me. “So do I. So should you. Wear the good bra, Halley.”
“It’s just a bra.” Was I really listening to a half-asleep, hungover person and another hungover person, albeit a lot more awake than the other?
Yes, I was.
Why?
Because I was hungover, too, and it was becoming quite clear that I was the queen of bad decisions.
“Fine.” I snatched the bra from Reagan, and she flounced off to the shower with a grin of satisfaction on her face.
I wasn’t satisfied. Not at all. What my boobs looked like didn’t matter. I punctuated that thought by grabbing some ripped jean shorts and a basic black tank top.
Ava was asleep again if the gentle sound of snoring was anything to go by, so I changed quickly and took my hairdryer into the living room. She was a sleeper, for sure, and I wasn’t the person who wanted to wake her up.
You know how they say not to wake a sleeping baby?
Yeah. Don’t wake a sleeping Ava is more like it.
By the time I’d dried and curled my hair, Reagan was done in the shower and was pouring us both coffee. I took my mug without a word and went back to the mirror to do my makeup. I held off on the lipstick because I’d apply it when I got to the tent, but I finished the coffee in record time.
When I was done, Reagan emerged from my bedroom. She was sans-makeup, plus messy, wet bun, and wearing a pair of my yoga pants and one of my shirts.
“She’s still asleep,” she said with a nod toward the bedroom. She winced ever so slightly. “Should we leave her a note?”
“Well, some of us have things to do. And I’m hoping that Annie’s bakery cart will be open at the fair so I can carb-binge before I have to kiss the world and his mother.” I tossed my trusty red lipstick in my purse and looked at the coffee table. “Should we leave her a note?”
“Already done.” She produced a piece of paper with tape already affixed to the top and pressed it to the fridge.
Ava, we’ve gone to be productive members of society. Be a doll and clean up, since the whole night was your idea. Hugs and kisses. XOXO
I clapped my hand over my mouth to hide the bark of a laugh that exploded out of me.
Technically, it was her idea. It was what she said she’d be doing if she hadn’t been at my place, so…
Reagan and I left my house, locking the door behind us. She waved as she got into her car and pulled out, and I returned the gesture until she disappeared from view.
I didn’t live too far from the park where the fair was, so I opted to walk instead. The fresh air would surely do me some good, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I was confident driving.
There was a lot of margaritas last night.
Despite the warmth that was already beating down on me thanks to the morning sun, I turned in the direction of the fair and started walking. It was around ten-thirty, and I waved at a few neighbors as they drove past me. I exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Hebert, who was watering her rose bushes in her front yard right before I turned off from the street and walked onto the main road that would take me to the booth.
I ducked my head down so that nobody else would talk to me. I wasn’t feeling up to talking to people today.
My head still hurt.
I really had to become a responsible adult at some point before my next birthday.
I blew out a long breath. My mind tracked back to yesterday, to the bet I’d made with Preston. It’d been a terrible idea since the moment he’d proposed it, but I couldn’t resist a bet. I blamed Ava and Reagan for it since we’d been betting with each other for years—we’d bet suckers in elementary school, scented gel pens in middle school, makeup in high school, and money ever since.
Not once had we ever bet a kiss.
Our feelings for the opponent notwithstanding.
I’d gotten away with it, though. Only just. Surely. There was no denying it; I’d outsmarted the bet, and I was damn glad I’d won.
What would I have done if he’d won?
What if he’d actually kissed me?
It was a scenario I’d all but put out of my mind since I’d run out of the booth last night. My quick, late-night visit to the bank had occupied my attention until my best friends had shown up on my doorstep with margarita fixings and distracted me.
I’d happily forgotten that I now had to spend the day with Preston.
What did he think about how I’d skirted around the kiss?
Did he think I did it because I didn’t want to kiss him?
Did he think I did it because I wasn’t exactly a dater?
Did he think I did it because I was trying to not make it awkward?
God, I hoped it was the last one. That was the most accurate one. Kissing Preston would be nothing short of absolutely, totally, completely, utterly, wholly awkward.
Worse than showing up to a school presentation in just underwear.
We’d all had those dreams.
I meandered down the street. I was in no hurry to get to the booth since there was more than enough time before it opened. In fact, I was probably trying to ignore it.
If I went to the booth, I’d see Preston.
Reagan’s comment last night about him having a crush on me had stuck. I felt like a teenage girl wondering if the cute boy in math class liked me.
She had a point, and I hated to admit it. I didn’t like Preston because it was easier to avoid him than to admit that I had feelings for him.
He wasn’t all that bad. He was handsome, thoughtful, and he was smart enough not to be swayed by the people in this town who looked at him and saw dollar signs.
Believe it or not, that was really quite attractive.
More than that, he made me laugh.
I hid that a lot. I didn’t want anyone to know how I felt about him—and I especially didn’t want him to know.
Maybe I was just making up excuses to pass the time at this point.
I didn’t have to justify why I felt the way I did about someone.
No matter how much I wished I didn’t want Preston. The fact remained that I did. I was attracted to him. I liked him.
And a part of me wished I’d kissed him properly yesterday.
It was a stupid, dreamy, wishful part of me, but a part of me all the same.
I flashed my pass at the guard at the gate and entered the fairground. I beelined right for Annie’s stall and almost squealed when I found that she was open.
With a hot ham and cheese croissant and a fresh coffee in my hands, I took a detour on my way to the kissing booth and instead, headed toward the pond off to the side of the park.
It was quieter here since it wasn’t officially part of the fairground area. I ducked away from the booths and headed well away from the already buzzing hub of the fairground.
I walked past the picnic benches to the grassy area and dropped onto it. The blades tickled my bare thighs, and it took me a moment to find a flat enough area to rest my coffee on.
“You know, if you just used the benches, you wouldn’t have to search for a spot for your coffee.”
I jerked around at the sound of Preston’s voice. He was standing a few feet away, wearing a light blue polo shirt and white shorts. He was almost preppy, but the stubble that dotted across his jaw was a little too rough for that look.
He needed to be clean-shaven to pull that off. Maybe add some loafers. A little scarf around the neck.
Wow. I watched too much TV.
“If I wanted to sit on the benches, I would be, don’t you think?”
“Who knows with you?” Preston dipped under the plastic barriers that I was sure were repurposed police crime scene tape. “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing out here?” I shot back.
“I followed you.” He chuckled to himself and sat a few feet away from me. “Now you answer.”
I held up the croissant before tearing a bite out of it. It was the perfect hangover cure.
“Ah. That’s right. You drank too much last night.”
“I wouldn’t say too much.”
“Reagan was drunk-texting me how hard you were all crying over that movie.” He pulled his phone out. “There was even a selfie.”
There was a—
Oh, shit, there was.
And it was on Preston’s phone. Right there. In front of me.
Yup.
I grimaced at the photo of me in the background with mascara trails running down my cheeks. “Not the worst photo that exists of me.”
“There are photos worse than that?” He glanced at his phone screen. “Did they kill a raccoon or something?”
“Funny.” I took another bite of my croissant and ignored his laughing. If I had to tell people that I fed the raccoons so they’d leave my trash alone one more time…
“I’m kidding. I think it’s cute that you care about them.”
“It’s cute?”
“Sweet? Adorable? Nice? There really aren’t many other words to use to describe it.”
“Nice is so bland. Sweet is for you, and adorable is simply a synonym for cute.”
“It’s kind of hot when you go all librarian.”
I jerked my head around and, with an eyebrow raised, gave him a questioning look. “It’s kind of hot? Wow. You need to get out more.”
“Librarians are hot.”
“Have you met Mrs. Hovington?” I asked, referring to the Head Librarian and my boss. She was four-foot-nine, wore glasses that were around six inches thick, favored scratchy wool sweaters, and her orthopedic shoes were the things of nightmares.
He nodded. “I have. Is she still as scary as she was when we were kids?”
“That look over the glasses is quite intimidating. Especially when you have late fees. Or I don’t put all the returns away quickly enough.” I scrunched up the wrapper from my croissant and reached for my coffee. “I think she’s retiring next year. Maybe more kids will come to the library then.”
“Nobody comes anymore?”
“Not when the storytime is deemed ‘too loud.’”
“Wow. What an old spoilsport.”
“Like you ever went to storytime on Sundays when you were a kid. Reagan did, but I never once saw you there.”
Preston followed me as I got up. “I never said I did go, but as a big brother, I appreciated getting rid of my annoying little sister for an hour a week.”
“The bond you two share is precious.”
“I prefer to use the word ‘tentative.’”
I rolled my eyes and dipped under the plastic tape. “Well, whatever it is, it sure is something.”
We fell into step alongside each other. Neither of us said a word, although I did steal a glance at him once or twice as we passed the Ferris Wheel. Reagan’s words from last night kept coming back to me, rattling around in my mind.
She said he had a crush on me.
I knew it was insane. There was no way he did, but that didn’t mean I could stop thinking about it. She’d planted the seed in my mind, and even though I knew she’d done it deliberately, it didn’t change a thing.
Damn her.
She knew exactly what she was doing when she said that.
We made it back to the tent without bumping into anyone. It was weird to see the tent completely empty without lines already forming out the front, but at the same time, it was nice.
I didn’t get that rolling stomach feeling when I walked in.
I set my coffee down on the edge of my side of the stage and pulled myself up to sit next to it. Preston walked the length of it, straightening out the rope barriers, stopping every now and then to check they were straight while he ran his fingers through his hair.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. If he didn’t have a crush on me, why would he suggest the bet he did yesterday? Was there a way to find out if there was any truth to Reagan’s statement?
A best of three, maybe? And hope that I actually won one so he had to kiss me?
He’d looked shocked last night when I’d kissed his cheek. Maybe he had been expecting me to kiss him properly. Sure, I’d chickened out and gone for the loophole, but would he do the same if he had to kiss me?
“Hey, Preston?”
“Yeah?” He looked over at me from the door of the tent.
“You wanna do a best of three?”
“For what?”
“That bet, yesterday.”
He grinned. “Why? ‘Cause you los
t?”
“I don’t have to give a reason.” I sniffed. “But yes, a best of three of yesterday’s bet. Whoever loses overall has to add five to the winner’s tally.”
“You know all I have to do is kiss one more person than you today and I’m going to leave you in the dust in this entire contest?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “You’re right, but it doesn’t mean that you’ll beat me. I’m ahead of you overall right now. You probably need the helping hand.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Fine. I’ll take the risk if it means I can win the entire thing.” He crossed the tent over to me. “Same stakes as yesterday?”
I nodded without saying a word.
His eyes met mine, and he held my gaze for the longest moment, so long that my heart beat a little faster. “You’re on.”
He held out his hand, and I put mine in his.
We shook.
And I hoped like hell that I’d win because I wasn’t sure I could get away with kissing his cheek again.
I also kinda, maybe, a little bit, wanted him to kiss me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – HALLEY
Pucker Up
“You’ve lost your mind,” Reagan whispered to me as we were handed our fries. “Do you know that?”
“I know I have, but it’s all your fault. You were the one who said he had a crush on me.”
“I think he does. I don’t know. I’ve never waltzed into his apartment and actually asked him.”
Ava sighed. “It is your fault. If you hadn’t said it, she’d be getting on with her day. She can’t kiss his cheek again, Reagan.”
“I’m going to win,” I said resolutely. “But you two have to come in and kiss my cheek. I need your help to make sure he loses.”
Reagan rubbed her hand down her face. “Halley, have you thought this through?”
“No.”
She blinked as if she was expecting me to argue. “Okay, fine, listen to me. If Preston loses, he’ll probably kiss you properly.”
“That’s what she’s counting on, dufus,” Ava chimed in.
Reagan elbowed her, making her miss her mouth with her ketchup-laden fry and hit her cheek instead. Ava scowled at her.
“He’ll do the very thing you tried to avoid just twenty-four hours ago. Are you really sure it’s a good idea?” Reagan carried on. “I know how you feel about him. Do you really want to live the rest of your life knowing what it’s like to kiss someone you don’t think you can ever be with?”
