Page 53 of Jingle Bell Jilt
Nathan is an obvious moron where women are concerned, but he’s really smart in the rest of his life. He’ll know something is off and then the questions will start. Questions that I don’t have the answers to. I’m not a great liar, and I’m terrible at making up excuses on the fly.
Trust me, it’s just better to ignore his calls.
“Are you ready to go?” Shay asks with a bag thrown over her shoulder and a big floppy hat on her head.
I pat the pockets of my board shorts. “Yep.” I point to her hat. “That should probably go in the trunk. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see past it when I’m driving.” I playfully swat at the brim.
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. We can put it in the trunk.”
“Or you can just leave it home,” I say, like this is actually our home and not just a temporary living arrangement that she’ll be leaving on January 1st. It’s one of the many reasons that falling for her is a terrible idea. But I just don’t seem to listen to the extensive list of reasons against it. Especially not when she looks at me like she is now. “Cocoa Beach is often windy. That thing is just asking to be blown all the way to the Keys.” It’s truly a terrible hat and completely blocks her face from my view. Nothing good can come from it.
She slips into her room and sets it on her bed. “I bought it for nothing.” She pushes her lips out.
I shake my head at her. “You should have asked the expert. I would have told you it was a waste of money.”
We head out to the car, and I open the door for her. We’ve fallen into a good routine. I drive wherever we go, and she keeps up a lively conversation. I close my eyes, knowing this is all just a fantasy.
I take a deep breath, just as I pull my door open and settle into the driver’s seat. “Okay. Are you ready to get sand in places you never knew you had?”
She laughs. “Wow, you should apply to be the spokesperson for the Florida Tourism Bureau. With that kind of sales pitch, who wouldn’t want to visit?”
I tsk. “Just trying to set expectations,” I say and glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She looks amazing in her sun dress. But then, she looks great in everything I’ve seen her in. I’m just as drawn to her in her pajamas or leggings with little or no make-up as I am to her in this sundress, fully made up.
I just want to be with her. And that’s why I thank my lucky stars that she didn’t check into the drug-infested motel in the rough part of town after The Kiss. That’s what I call it because there’s no way any other kiss can measure up to it. It’s why I haven’t tried to kiss her again. It can only be disappointing, right? Any normal person would have decided that was a sign to keep kissing her and maybe take the relationship further. But not this guy. I’m holding firm, even though I have a running marquee in my head that asks the same question over and over.What if the next one is even better? I need to pull the plug on that marquee because it’s nearly driving me insane. And it doesn’t help that I think my lips are actually going through withdrawal. Can you be addicted to a person’s kiss after only one and a half kisses? I’m pretty sure you can. And I think I am.
“So when exactly do you head back to Utah?” I try for a casual tone, but I don’t think I pull it off. It sounds more high-pitched and squeaky. Seriously, where is this inner middle-school girl coming from?
“My flight is scheduled for New Year’s Day. I think it’s at, like, noon.”
“New Year’s Day? Why not wait until the next day?” I grip the steering wheel knowing the answer before she says it.
“Nathan didn’t want to have to take off any more work than possible.”
“I bet you’re excited to get back.” Did that sound as pathetic as it feels? Like I’m pandering for her to say she wants to stay longer or that she’ll miss me. I’m pathetic.
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Okay. So maybe sometimes being pathetic pays off. “When do you have to get back to work? I’m guessing you’re one of the favorite teachers at the school.”
She looks over at me with a creased brow. “What? I’m not a teacher.”
“But I thought you said you worked with middle graders.”
She grins. “Oh, yeah. I did say that.” She flicks up her brows. “Wow, a man that actually listens. How novel.”
I drop one of my hands and rest my wrist on the gear shift. “So if you don’t teach, what, are you an aide or something?”
She shakes her head. “No, although I’m sure my mom would rather it. ‘It would be a steady income, Shay. And provide benefits like insurance and retirement.’” She changes her tone of voice, so I’m assuming she’s impersonating her mom.
She sighs. “No, I write middle-grade books. So I go on quite a few school book tours where I talk to the kids about reading and writing. I try to get them excited about books.”
“That’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard. It’s like you’re a celebrity.”
She snorts out a laugh. “My nephews think I am because they can Google me and prove to their friends that they know me. But I’d hardly call that a celebrity. Everyone can be Googled. You can probably be Googled.” She flicks her hand at me. I smile because she’s right. Pretty much everyone can be searched on the internet. But she obviously hasn’t looked for me or else she would know that several hits would come up. And none of them are my Facebook page or my home address. Those are all private and unlisted.
She sighs. “There are some kids who think I’m the funniest person on earth. And that’s pretty cool.”
I glance over at her. “I bet.” I tap my thumb on the gearshift. “So do you have to live close to your publisher?”
