Page 71 of The Kissing Booth
I touched a fingertip gently to my cheek, and winced, becauseman, that hurt!
‘Does it look bad?’ I asked, sounding like a little kid.
He chuckled. ‘No. It’s just a graze. You might get a bit of a bruise though... Actually, we should probably clean it. Knowing you, it’ll get infected, andthenit’s gonna look bad.’
I didn’t laugh. I just pouted at him for mocking me.
But he was right: I should clean it up – there were all kinds of things – dirt and oil and cobwebs – around the garage.
I got to my feet, Noah’s hand on my back steadying me. I was fine to stand on my own, but I didn’t shake him off. I liked it. It felt nice, having Noah’s arm around me. Like it belonged there.
Man, I really havegotto stop reading so many of those cheesy romance books!
I winced.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, waving him off. ‘It feels like I’ve broken my butt, but I’m fine. It’s nothing.’
Slowly, I straightened out again. There. Everything was okay. Noah regarded me for a long moment, then shrugged.
We went back into the house through the door connecting the games room and the garage. Noah glanced down the hall before pulling me up the stairs and into his room. He kicked the door shut, and I sat on the edge of his bed as he went into his bathroom.
I wriggled a bit; my butt hurt.
‘You’re such a klutz,’ Noah chuckled, suddenly two steps away from me.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Not always.’
‘No. Only half the time.’
He crouched in front of me. After shooting me a sorry smile, he took my chin between his index finger and thumb – oh, so gently – and turned my face slightly. I just sat there, doing my best not to wince as he wiped my cheek with a damp washcloth, then put some sanitizer cream on, which really stung.
‘Sorry,’ he said when I winced for the fourth time.
‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you to pass me the wrench.’ He sounded annoyed – but he wasn’t angry at me, I knew. ‘That was a stupid thing to do.’
‘It’s fine. Really. It was an accident, and my fault anyway. No biggie.’
He didn’t say anything; though he looked like he wanted to.
‘Since when were you such a doctor?’ I said teasingly after a moment, trying to distract both of us – myself from the throbbing pain in my left cheek, and Noah from whatever his train of thought was; he didn’t look very happy.
‘Since I kept on getting into fights.’ His face was impassive and I couldn’t decipher his expression. ‘You kind of learn to take care of yourself when that happens.’
‘Oh.’
‘Go ahead, say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘That I’m a stupid violence junkie. It’s what you always say.’
‘You are, though,’ I said simply. ‘I mean, why do you even get into all those fights? I’ve seen you fighting, Noah: it’s not a good thing, and—’
His deep sigh cut me off midsentence. Then he said, ‘Fine, okay. I’m an idiot and I pick fights just for the hell of it. You win.’
