Page 72 of Banter & Blushes

TIFFANY

Inever knew it was possible to kiss and smile at the same time. But I’m convinced that’s what my lips are doing.

When the kiss turns more into a smile, I lean back and aim it at Colt. He slowly opens his eyes, then smiles back at me.

After a moment, his eyes trail to the toilet. “I need to fix that.”

“It’s just toilet paper, right?”

“And makeup.” He frowns.

I laugh. “It will dissipate soon enough, and we can plunge it again.”

“I need to get you a better plunger.”

“Or maybe leave your makeup on next time.” I run my fingers across his jawline. Something I’ve oddly wanted to do all day.

“It wasn’t my choice.” He blushes and half smiles.

“I know.” I pat his face, then move my hand. “Now I know why boy bands were always so cute. They wore makeup all this time.”

He chuckles. I stand, then offer him a hand. He takes it, and I pull even though we both know I couldn’t lift him if I tried my hardest.

“Your food is going to get cold. Again.”

He shrugs and wraps his arms around my waist. I hug him back and try not to get too attached. I hadn’t let myself think about what happens once he’s done shooting the video. Where he will go, how long he will be gone.

Even if I ignore it, reality will catch up with us soon. Then the distance thatcooled our relationship years ago will be back. It’s definitely something we need to address.

I’m still deep in thought when Colt speaks. “I’ve got a question.”

“What?”God, please don’t let it be about us and distance. At least let me have this hug first.

“What’s with the naked sign?”

I look at him as he stares at the sign. That question definitely lightened my mood. I giggle. “Get naked. You know, because this is the bathroom.”

He shakes his head, then releases me. “We need to get out of here.”

I laugh as he grabs my hand and pulls me through the hallway toward the kitchen. As soon as he drops it, I miss his touch. This is not good.

I do what comes natural in tense situations and focus on food and feeding people. I pull two plates from the cabinet and hand one to him. Then I uncover the foil pan. “Since we know the fajitas weren’t the culprit, feel free to dig in.”

He gives me a funny smirk, and I’m reminded of the other thing I do when I’m feeling tense—say weird things.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Do you have tea?”

“Of course.” I take a jug from the refrigerator.

“Did you make the tea we had today?”

“I did.” I smile.

“It was good.”

“Thanks.”

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