Page 41 of Holiday Romance
“It was good,” he says, turning to listen as another announcement blares across the terminal.
“It was more than good!” The gooey warmth I feel curdles into annoyance as his attention shifts away from me. “I am an excellent kisser. And that was an excellent kiss.”
“Sure.”
“No, notsure, you—” I break off when he turns, heading back down the corridor. “Andrew!”
“We’re going to miss our flight,” he calls over his shoulder.
I hurry after him, struggling to keep up with his long legs.
“I can’t believe you scared me like that,” he says when I do, typing something into his phone. Up ahead people are starting to get in line for boarding. “I thought there was something actually wrong with you, but you just have a little crush.”
“I do not!”
“Think you do. I can tell.”
“From one kiss?”
“Two kisses.” He says it almost absently, reading a new message.
“The first one doesn’t count,” I tell him. “And the second one wasyouridea.”
He doesn’t answer as he retrieves our cases from a cheerful young woman with giant baubles attached to her T-shirt.
“Six out of ten,” he says, turning back to me.
My mouth drops open. I know instantly what he means. “For ourkiss?”
“Don’t feel bad. You said so yourself, you’re tired.”
“I’m not—” I break off before I almost shout at him. “You’re being annoying on purpose.”
“Yeah,” he says as if that’s obvious. “Feel better?”
The line starts to shuffle forward as the doors open. I do feel better. As if he knew pissing me off would distract me above all else.
“Yes,” I admit, trying not to fidget under his gaze. “I do.”
“Good.” He joins the end of the line and, after a second, I follow.
“You didn’t have to kiss me just to distract me.”
“Ah, sure we all have to make sacrifices.” He glances over his shoulder and I swear there’s a goddamn twinkle in his eye. “And you’re an excellent kisser, Molly Kinsella.”
“Stop teasing,” I groan.
“I’m not teasing about that.” He holds out his arm, wrapping it around my shoulder when I step into him like I always do. “Forget about it, okay? It’s not weird and it’s not a big deal. I’m just glad you’re out of your funk.”
“I know it’s not a big deal. I never said it was a big deal.”
“I’m telling this story at your wedding though. How you wanted to throw up at the thought of kissing me.”
“Maybe I’ll tell it at yours,” I quip back. “How you came on to me in Buenos Aires during the worst Christmas ever.”
“Fine. Whoever marries first gets the story.”
“Deal.”
