Page 26 of Kissing for Keeps
I keep walking because the chances that call is meant for me are slim to none. Besides, I’m pulling out chunks of synthetic hair, which I realize now must look disturbing. I’d rather not show my face.
“Siena!”
I stop dead in my tracks, a clip of hair in hand. The only guys in the vicinity who know my name are Brad and Jack, and I can’t decide which option is less appealing in this situation.
It’s dark outside except for a streetlamp a dozen yards away, and I’m wondering if I can hide behind the trunk of the tree in the mow strip next to me. But there’s just no way.
I look at the lock of hair in my hand. Can I shove it in my purse quickly enough? Does it really matter? I’ve taken out most of the clips on the left side of my head, which means I have the asymmetrical bob nobody in their right mind would ever ask for. One side of my hair—the real side—sits on my shoulder, while the other falls past my chest.
The jogging footsteps behind me slow, and Jack appears. He’s got a Dr Pepper in hand.
His eyes go to my hair, then to my hand, and his brows go up. “That’s certainlyoneway to let your hair down.”
I laugh in spite of myself—in spite of how I have no one else to blame this brand of humiliation on. But it’s too late now, so I hold it up; embracing nutso is better than hiding it. “The clips pull on my scalp. They’ve been itching me like crazy.”
He looks at the hair clump with interest. “How does it stay in?”
I demonstrate the metal clasp mechanism, and it makes a snap with each clip and unclip.
“Looks like a torture device.”
“Welcome to being a woman.” The soda in his hand has a slight bulge to it, and I pull away slightly. “I told you I don’t want anything to do with that can.”
He turns it in his hand. “I think it’s had time to settle by now.”
“I’ll letyoutest that theory.”
“Actually, I had a different idea for what to do with it.”
I raise a brow. “That idea being…?”
He takes a breath and steps toward me. “The only reason I agreed to play that dumb game was with the hope I’d get to kiss you.”
My lungs are gone. Instantly disintegrated. Yet somehow, I eke out the words, “I thought you didn’t fraternize with freshman girls.” Surprisingly, they sound pretty slick. Adrenaline is an amazing thing.
“I don’t.”
Darn him and his catchy responses. “So, what does this have to do with the soda?”
He crouches, setting the can on the ground. Keeping his hand on it the whole time, he spins it until it points directly at my shoes.
There’s a red light going off somewhere in my brain saying, “Warning. Warning. You are being sweet-talked.” But the strain the extension clips put on my head must have done some permanent damage to its contents, because I don’t even care.
I came out tonight to have fun, and Jack is exactly that. Any man who pulls the move he just did without taking himself too seriouslyhasto be. Plus, call me crazy, but I kind of don’t think he’s just sweet-talking me.
I put out my hand. “Do you use this move whenever Brad hosts a spin the bottle party?”
He takes it, and I pull him to a stand. “Not yet. But I will ifyouplan to come every time.”
Oh, he’s good.
Our gazes meet for a few seconds as we scope each other out, and then our eyes close and our lips meet.
It’s soft, slow, making my lips tingle with every anticipated bit of contact until there’s no more tingle, only warmth and the smell of his aftershave.
His fingers touch my neck, and chills trickle across my skin. He covers the chills with his palm, firmly but gently inviting me toward him and into the kiss.
I take a step forward, and my foot hits the Dr Pepper can. A hissing sounds, followed by spray hitting the ankles of my jeans.
