Page 52 of Don't Bet On It
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Thanks for the forced therapy.”
She laughed, but it was gusty and light. Her gaze was seeking when I finally looked up from her mouth. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” I didn’t move away from her. For some reason, I couldn’t. It was like being trapped in the Bermuda Triangle. Suddenly, there was no way out.
“I … um.” She looked as if she was caught in a trance.
I was caught in the same trance. I wasn’t drunk. I’d had four beers over the course of two and a half hours. That wasn’t enough to get me drunk. I did feel a little lightheaded.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I leaned even closer.
“Hmm.” I was back staring at her mouth.
“Are you going to…” She didn’t finish the question but closed the distance to me. Before I even registered what was happening, we were kissing.
I had no idea who made first contact. Had we done it together, at the same time? That seemed possible. I just knew that our lips were pressed together and I’d entered another dimension.
Even though the way we were acting caught me off guard, I sank into the kiss. This was not one of those tentative first date kisses where people tried to feel one another out. This was the sort of kiss that caused my head to spin.
My tongue slid into her mouth, and she returned the favor a few seconds later. I had no idea how long the kiss lasted—it was both too long and nowhere near long enough—but we were both breathless when we pulled apart.
Her lips were swollen. Mine felt as if they matched hers. My mind remained fuzzy even when we were panting and staring at one another.
Then reality slapped me across the face, and I straightened. I’d kissed Tallulah. That was a terrible—absolutely moronic—decision. Had I forgotten everything I’d been thinking two hours before? What was wrong with me?
“So, I should go,” I said awkwardly. What else was I supposed to say?
She bobbed her head eagerly, as if that was the smartest thing she’d ever heard me say. “Good idea.”
“Um…” I dragged my hand through my hair. “I’ll be seeing you, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure too. We work together after all.”
“Right. I’ll be seeing you at work.”
With that, she fumbled with her keys, escaped into her apartment, and quickly shut the door. I remained rooted to my spot, my mind whirling.
What the hell had just happened?
15
FIFTEEN
Candy’s presence in the lounge was a welcome distraction. She made Kyla at least pretend to be a decent person—she wasn’t the best actress, but she put in the effort—and I was more focused on Candy than anything else for the next few days.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. My mind kept wandering to Ronan and that kiss despite my best efforts. What had he been thinking? I wanted to blame it on him, but I was nothing if not brutally honest, especially with myself. In truth, I’d engaged in the kiss. Yes, I’d been a willing participant.
I blamed the beer. No good decision had ever been made after four beers. Still, this was Vegas. I drank enough that four beers over the course of two and a half hours shouldn’t have been a big deal. It wasn’t that I drank every night or anything. Back when Olivia wasn’t pregnant, we tried to meet for cocktails once a week so we could keep up on each other’s lives. Still, I wasn’t a lightweight.
When I wasn’t busy, my mind always went back to that kiss. That stupid, ridiculous, really hot kiss. I absolutely could not start something up with Ronan. I didn’t even like him. Sure, hewas hot in an objective sort of way. It wasn’t as if he were Glenn Powell or something, though. He was just a guy.
A guy who you’ve had a crush on for a really long time.
Even though I’d denied it, the truth was I had harbored a crush on Ronan in high school. It had been one of those all-consuming crushes for a long stretch. Eventually, I’d gotten over it, realizing that it was a waste of time.
I was determined not to become my mother. She spent all of her time living life on the terms of whoever she was dating at any given moment. My mother was a master at becoming whoever they wanted. If they wanted somebody classy, she could play that part. If they wanted somebody kinky, she could play that part too. She was a chameleon, which was why I was determined to be myself.
Weirdly, that night at the bar, Ronan had seemed to like the real me. He was one of the few people I could say that about. Olivia was the other. I’d purposely made myself abrasive because that made it easier when people hated me. That meant there was nothing wrong with me per se. They just didn’t like the person I held myself out to be. That had nothing to do with the real me.
