Page 34 of The Kiss Class

Despite what Cara may think, given my reputation, she does know how to kiss. The one we shared last night was remarkable. Unforgettable.

Does going along with this, if only to get away with kissing her again, make me a bad person? If so, I don’t want to be good. Santa can send me straight to the South Pole, or whatever it is he does with people who’re on the naughty list.

CHAPTER SEVEN

What have I done?

The arrangement with Pierre is questionable, but I’m not going to lie, it feels like a very good thing. However, this is so unlike me.

A hum makes my body buzz with anticipation. I’m like a bumble bee that’s had way too much nectar.

If I were still at school, I’d regret putting myself out there with Pierre. However, winter break me isn’t sorry for proposing kissing lessons with him.

Something pokes me in the ribs. “Ouch.”

Anna withdraws a piece of evergreen swag. “Help me decorate the banister.”

I reply, “But we’re not going to be home on Christmas day. What’s the point?”

“We still have five days to enjoy the decorations until everyone disperses,” Ilsa answers from her perch on a ladder as she strings lights around the arched opening between rooms.

Dadaszek got busy with team meetings, so we didn’tend up getting a tree as planned. Then my sisters and their spouses got distracted, so decorating has spread out over a few days.

“Aren’t you a bah humbug,” Anna says.

“I thought fixing you up with Richard or Nolan would knock you out of this rut.” Ilsa plugs in the lights as if illuminating something about me that only they saw.

“I’m not in a rut.”

“Turns out you were riding high on your own love story,” Anna sing songs.

Ilsa adds, “Didn’t see that coming.”

Because it isn’t true.

“Pierre and I weren’t in love,” I fire back before lowering my voice. I never know whether our father is lurking. “We were, um, hanging out.”

Ilsa scrunches her nose. “That’s so freshman year. It’s time for you to leave college.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.

Even though I’ve only been back in Cobbiton for about a week, it’s as if I lost some of my luggage in transit. I feel strangely lighter like I left some baggage behind. But what was weighing me down? I made the brave decision to transfer out of law school for the graphic design program, and yet that doesn’t quite give me the boost I’d hoped for. But it is progress in taking charge of my life.

A sigh escapes. My sisters each hold a piece of sparkly, silver garland and wrap me up then draw me to my feet. A Christmas carol remix with a dance beat plays through the speakers, and we start to bop.

As a smooth voice croons about true love at Christmastime, a surprising and unbidden thought floats through my mind like the faint snowflakes outside.

Maybe part of me truly does like Pierre. That can’t be right. It’s probably first-kiss syndrome.

It was a really good kiss, though.

I can’t fixate or obsess over him.

There’s no way I can actually like the Frenchman.

I have to convince myself otherwise. He’s not good for me. Plus, I have to focus on school and finish up in the new year. Meanwhile, he’ll probably go back to making every puck bunny’s fantasies come true.

Later, while my sisters and I fill out Christmas cards, I accidentally start to doodle Pierre with his hockey stick lassoing a figure that looks faintly like me.

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