by Emma Hart
“Hey, do you want this wine I smuggled in or not?”
“First, why bother? You know it’s legal to drink during the fair, and Barney always makes sure there’s plenty for this cookout. Second, you didn’t smuggle it in. You’re not a pirate.”
“You’re right. If I were a pirate, I’d have made you walk the plank by now.” She pulled an insulated bottle from her purse and handed it to me. “Here. Before I change my mind, you hypocrite.”
“How am I a hypocrite?”
“You run your mouth more than anyone I know.”
“Yeah, but I also run my legs, which means I can actually run away if I piss someone off. You’d run ten feet and collapse into a little heap on the ground.” I grinned and turned. “Come on. I can smell the food from here.”
She sighed. “I hate it when you’re right. Is Ava already here?”
“Mm. She said she’d meet us here.”
“I guess she and Butler are back on.”
“They’ll have broken up again by the weekend. She really needs to try dating other people.”
“I’ll drink to that. I love her, and I support her life choices, but if I have to listen to one more crying monologue about Butler Ferris, I’m going to knock her out.”
I didn’t want to be that person—Reagan already had it down—but I had to agree. There are only so many times you can watch your best friend make bad choices before you stop being nice about it.
We had one, maybe two, more episodes of that in us.
Depending on our mood.
Maybe three if she was lucky.
Of course, we wanted it to work out. We loved Ava and we… well, we tolerated Butler, to be honest, but he made her happy when they were together. The problem was that they were both downright miserable when they weren’t together, and there was a lot of shouting and arguing during that period.
As long as they lasted the fair. I didn’t think I could handle doing the competition and being an agony aunt in the middle of it.
We crossed the rest of the empty fairground in silence. There were imposing fairground rides that ranged from high-flying, swinging things that gave me a case of the hives, to the Ferris wheel, to the multi-lane, giant slides that gave me nightmares thanks to a sliding incident when I was six.
Stalls were set up, breaking up the rides that would be lit up like Christmas trees in a few days. The milk bottle and shooting games and stupid little things where you could win a goldfish that would die within a week were interspersed with food stalls serving everything from foot-long hot dogs to corn dogs to freshly made lemonade and cotton candy.
We passed the huge pirate ship that rocked side by side that Ava had once thrown up on—we’d been drunk teenagers—and approached the huge tent that made up the Ferris’ barbecue stall.
It was buzzing with life. The daylight wasn’t quite waning yet, but there were solar-powered lights stuck into the ground around the tables that made up their area. Wooden picnic benches were set all around, as were a few bistro-style table and chair sets.
Me and Reagan joined the line waiting for food from the counter. The rich scent of barbecued meat filled the air, and a long table set off to the side was filled with all kinds of side dishes and condiments—salads, coleslaws, sauces. You name it; it was there.
We were almost to the front of the line when a nearby table opened up. Reagan bolted for it, almost knocking somebody over, and snagged it by jumping on top of it.
Slightly dramatic, but whatever.
I grabbed us both some food and joined her.
She slid her plate across the table. “Did you find out who your competition is yet?”
I shook my head. “I tried calling my dad, but he didn’t pick up. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Or right now.”
I jerked around at the familiar, deep voice that had haunted one too many dreams in my life. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Preston Wright slid his tall, muscular frame onto the bench opposite us. He had the same, bright blue eyes as Reagan, but he still had his natural hair color, unlike his younger sister.
It was a rich dark brown, the color of a vat of melted chocolate, and it was cut close to his ears but longer and swept to the side on top. He had cheekbones that not even a sculptor could create, and his annoying perfect lips were surrounded by stubble that was at least two days old.
And, just in case it wasn’t clear: I had a bit of a crush on him.
It was annoying. I didn’t even like Preston, yet my vagina fluttered a little whenever he was nearby. The traitorous little bitch.
He leaned forward on the bench, meeting my gaze as a smirk played on his lips. “You want to know who your competition is this year?”
My stomach sank. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about kissing, Halley.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Reagan waved her hands. “You’re her competition in the kissing booth?”
Preston nodded. “The organizers came to me and asked me. They want to spice things up a little—give Halley some actual competition.”
So they picked the hottest guy in Creek Falls? Awesome. Just awesome.
Reagan looked him up and down. “So they picked you?”
“It’s not my fault if they think I can kick Halley’s ass.”
I snorted. “In your dreams.”
“Hey, I already have a line of women waiting to kiss me.”
“No, you have a line of women hoping you’ll sleep with them so they can accidentally get pregnant and trap you.”
“And the money,” Reagan added. “Since Dad sold off half the company…”
Yeah, who knew being a florist could make you millions? I didn’t. But since their dad sold half the company, we all knew now.
“I don’t have one-night stands,” Preston interjected. “I can be both a bachelor and a celibate man.”
I stared at him flatly. “You’re celibate.”
“Why do you think I’m entering a stupid kissing contest?”
“Because you like winning.”
“I do like winning. Especially if I get to beat the town’s golden girl.” He grinned.
“Who’s beating the town’s golden girl?” Ava slid around from behind us.
“Me,” Preston replied.
“In what?”
Reagan smirked. “He’s Halley’s competition in the kissing booth contest.”
Ava froze with one leg over the bench. “Shut the fuck up.” She turned to look at me. “That’s a joke, right?”
I put a slice of cucumber in my mouth in response. My face probably already said what I was thinking. I didn’t really have much of a poker face.
She groaned and dropped onto the bench. “Now I’m losing for sure.”
Preston laughed. “You bet again, didn’t you?”
“Of course we did,” she snapped. “Our friendship is based upon ridiculous bets that Halley always wins, and I somehow always end up losing.”
I held up my hands. “You bet Reagan on this. Don’t bring me into it. And while you’re bitching, you could have a little faith in me. I haven’t won four years in a row for no reason.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t been up against Creek Falls’ answer to fucking Thor before.”
“That’s gross,” Reagan muttered.
Preston laughed again. “Creek Falls’ Thor, huh? I can live with that.”
Sigh. He was. Kinda. Ugh. “It’s just a bit of fun, okay?”
“You live for this contest. It’s your favorite thing,” Ava said. “How can you just say it’s a bit of fun?”
“She’s downplaying it for when I beat her.” Preston leaned over and took a sausage from my plate with a wink.
“Do you mind?” I peered at him over the rim of my glasses. It wasn’t the best idea in the world because it made him a little blurry.
Actually, no, wait. That was a great idea. It meant all his stupid, handsome features blurred together, and there would be no clit
clenching if I couldn’t see him clearly.
“No.” Preston tore a huge bite off the end of the sausage. “I’m hungry.”
“The line is right over there.” I cocked my thumb over my shoulder. “There’s more than enough food to go around. Get your own.”
“Why do I need my own when yours is right here?”
“Preston,” Reagan snapped. “Leave her alone.”
“You’re right.” He held up his hands as he moved his tall, strong body away from the table. “She gets the pleasure of my company for the next week—I’m sure she needs tonight to let that sink in before she gets excited.”
I stared at him. “The only sight of you that excites me is you walking away.”
He clutched his chest. “You wound me.”
“Carry on, and I actually will.” I twirled my fork in my hand.
Preston laughed, walking backward. “The week is still young, Halley.”
Ugh.
He was right.
It was young. Too young. And one week competing against him was one week too long, if you ask me. I couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a glorified, oversized tent and having the object of my dumbass crush sitting mere feet behind me.
Kissing other women.
What would undoubtedly be a long, long line of other women.
Preston Wright was Creek Falls’ most eligible bachelor. Ever since his and Reagan’s parents sold fifty percent of their florist chain, the Wright family was worth seven figures. Preston stood to inherit fifty percent of that, but he was on a tidy little salary for whatever it was he did in the company.
There were a lot of women in Creek Falls who had their eye on him. Of course they did—that was where his wallet usually was. On his person.
Yes, I was jaded. At least that was what my thrice-married mother would tell you. I was more of the view that I was realistic with a dash of pessimist.
The only time I was optimistic was when I was opening a bottle of wine. There was a hole of optimism to be found at the bottom of one of those babies.
I didn’t actually care that Preston would be kissing other women.
I needed to say that. Loud and proud—but not so loud that he could hear me and get the wrong idea. Well, the right idea. But the wrong one at the same time.
I didn’t care. Honestly, I didn’t.
The lady doth protest too much and all that bullshit.
I digress.
I didn’t care.
If I said it a lot, did that make it truer?
Probably not. That wasn’t how it worked.
But still—I didn’t care. The idea that he was going to do it just feet from me on the other side of a curtain wasn’t a desirable situation, but I could handle it.
I was a librarian. I lived and breathed books. Those damn things had some situations in them, you know? If I could handle some fictional people ripping out my heart, I could handle this.
That’s what I was going to tell myself.
I turned my head and found both Reagan and Ava’s eyes on me. “What?”
“Did you know you’ve been staring a hole in Preston’s back since he turned around?” Reagan asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
Ava grabbed Reagan’s insulated wine bottle and unscrewed the cap. “It’s not that surprising, is it? She’s had a crush on him forever. Now she gets to listen to him playing catch with a bunch of other women’s lips.”
“Do we have to discuss this right now?” I said.
“Yeah, Ava,” Reagan continued. “It’s tough enough for Halley. She knows she’s going to lose this year. Give her a break.”
“Is there no support for the underdog these days?”
“Yes, Reagan was supporting the underdog, but now we’ve switched.” Ava swigged from the wine bottle. “My money is on you, Hals, but let’s be honest—you don’t stand a chance against Preston and his band of merry bitches.”
Reagan sniffed. “They’re not all bitches.”
“Isn’t Lindsay Rinna trying to get in with him?”
I snorted. “She’s a bitch.”
“One snake, Halley,” Reagan pointed out.
“Yes, and it was one snake too many.” I pushed away my plate of food. I wasn’t hungry anymore. “It doesn’t matter. I’m under no illusions about my lack of a relationship with Preston. We barely even get along, never mind anything else. My crush is just that—a crush. I’m attracted to him. That’s all it’s ever been and all it ever will be. Now, can we drop it?”
Ava and Reagan shared a look that said they would drop it.
For tonight.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
HALLEY
Harems and Hostility
“Halley!” Stephen, my future stepdad, took a big step toward me and wrapped me in a bear hug.
To be honest, he was the only one of my mother’s partners I’d ever liked. Except for my own dad, of course. As it was, Stephen would be her fourth husband unless they fucked it all up before that.
It was an option. The woman had been engaged six times, married three, and God only knew how many relationships.
She was a serial dater, a serial bride, and she could advocate her own divorces at this point, never mind anyone else’s.
She probably earned a commission from her lawyer for referrals.
“Hey.” I returned Stephen’s hug. “Is Mom here?”
“No, she’s at the town hall. Something about fireworks.”
I rolled my eyes as their German Shepherd, Zeus, came bounding out and almost knocked me on my ass on the porch. “Hey, buddy.” I ruffled his fluffy neck and let him lavish me with attention.
He was the only male doing it, okay? A girl had to take her kicks where she could get them.
He finally calmed down, trotting into the front yard to his favorite bush to do his business.
“What do you need?” Stephen asked, motioning for me to follow him inside.
“She has the ropes for the booth. She told me she’d bring them by this morning.”
“Ah—of course. And she forgot. They’re in the garage.” He stopped in the hall and grabbed a keychain from the hooks on the wall. “You got your car?”
“Nah, I thought I’d toss them over my shoulder and walk them across town.”
He laughed. “I’ll load them into your trunk. Are you okay setting them up? The posts are pretty heavy.”
“I know. I’m the one who sets them up.” I grinned and moved to open the garage door. I heaved it up and over my head with it creaking as it moved. The garage flooded with light, and the dirty, old gold posts glinted in the sunlight.
“How do they get so filthy sitting in a garage?” Stephen mused, looking at one.
“I have no idea. They’re just plated.”
“Do you ever think that running the booth is more hassle than it’s worth?”
I snorted as I fingered one of the red ropes. “Every year. But I don’t have a choice—as long as I’m the champion, it’s my responsibility.”
“You can quit, you know.”
“I can’t. I like winning.” I grinned.
He laughed, moving one of the posts and looking at it. “Yeah, you get that from your mom. Hey, look—I can wash these off for you. I have the power washer. It’ll take me twenty minutes.”
I bit my lip. “Don’t you have things to do?”
“Yes, but it’s last month’s accounting, so…” He winked. “You can wait, or I can bring them down to the booth for you. Will I be able to drive over the ground?”
“Yeah, I can give you a pass. I have some in my car. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Halley. I need to take Zeus out soon anyway. Leave them with me and go and do what you need to do.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a one-armed hug with a gentle squeeze that he returned. “You’re the best.”
“Don’t mention it. Until your mother gets mad at me, that is.”
Laughing, I ducked out of the garage and pulle
d my keys from my pocket. “I’ll put it away with the rest of your favors!”
“Hey—how are the raccoons? Did that food tray help? I meant to call and ask.”
I grinned at the mention of my nightly visitors. Last year, we’d reached a truce when I’d started putting peanut butter sandwiches out on my porch for them in exchange for them leaving my trash the hell alone. They were also little thieves, and they’d stolen several of the metal food bowls I used for them. Stephen was a handy guy, and he’d made me a feeder that was now attached to my porch.
“Oh, yeah. Boris—he’s the boss—spent thirty minutes trying to get the bowls off the porch before he gave up. I think he enlisted the help of Betty, but she’s kinda lazy.”
“You know they become pets if you name them, don’t you?”
“Don’t try that. Mom attempted that when I was a kid and saved all the wildlife, but I still named them all.”
“I know, but I thought I’d give it a go.” He grinned. “I’m glad the bowl unit works. You go back to the booth, and I’ll get started here.”
“Thank you!” I grabbed him a pass from my car before I waved and got into my car before steering it out of the driveway. I headed back in the direction of the fairground. The traffic was light since the tourists didn’t come pouring in until the fair actually started, and I made it across my small hometown in mere minutes.
I waved at the officer who was guarding the entrance to the fairground. The young guy barely glanced at me, and I wondered what the point of the passes was if he wasn’t going to check them.
My car pottered over the uneven grass until I reached the booth. The huge, tatted purple velvet curtains were open, and a frown crossed my face as I pulled up in front of it.
I got out of my car, grabbing my bottle of water and purse, and walked to the tent. Nobody was supposed to be here except me today, and I knew I’d left the curtains drawn and the rope tied. “Hello?”
There was no answer.
I crept inside, slowly looking around. I couldn’t see anyone here—there weren’t exactly many hiding spaces in a tent where the interior was nothing other than a small wooden stage split by another horrid purple curtain.
I set my purse on one of the small tables that held all the paint for the sign and looked around again. Someone had definitely been there—there was an empty sandwich wrapper on one of the other tables, and I walked over to it like I was Sherlock freakin’ Holmes or something.
