Kiss Me Box Set

by Hart, Emma

  “Pinch me,” she whispered, coming around from her laughter. “I’m dreaming.”

  “’Fraid not.” I held up a hand with an awkward smile. “Hi. I’m Noah. I saved your life last night, and I believe you saw my penis by accident earlier this week.”

  She bit her lower lip and dragged it between her teeth. “Hi. I’m Reagan. Thank you for saving my life, and I guess you can now judge for yourself if I have great tits.”

  I made a show of looking. “That hospital gown isn’t really doing you any favors.”

  Reagan glanced down. “Nah, I guess not. I’d adjust them, but I might set the arm off and Miss Louella will kick you out.”

  I glanced at the machine. “Your heartbeat is going nuts. I’m surprised she’s not in here yet.”

  “She saw you on the way in. She’s a woman. She’ll understand.”

  She had absolutely no filter at all. It was somewhat refreshing.

  I chuckled. “Look, I—I just wanted to make sure you were okay. This awkwardness aside… Are you?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. I didn’t inhale enough smoke for it to do any damage, and I’m over the shock. I just want to go home.”

  “Yeah, they can be pretty rough in this hospital on fire victims, even if you seem okay.”

  “No kidding. They won’t serve me wine, they won’t let me go home…”

  “I see your priorities are firmly in order.”

  She laughed, but it was weak. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and I’d put money on her not sleeping last night. “Can I ask you something? About the fire?”

  “They don’t know how it started yet.”

  “No. How—how bad is the damage?”

  Shit. I didn’t want to upset her, but I didn’t want to lie to her, either.

  “Just say it. I’m imagining a huge pile of ash that used to be my building, so…”

  “It’s not quite that bad.” I cracked a smile. “But you won’t be able to get into your apartment anytime soon. The damage is bad. I don’t think anything is salvageable. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged and ran a thread from her blanket through her fingers. “I figured that was the case. Ugh, great. I’m going to have to move back in with my parents and my crazy great-aunt.”

  She was taking it pretty well.

  “Well, at least that insurance I’ve been paying out my ass for will finally come in handed,” she added, looking up and meeting my eyes. “I know it wasn’t my fault for once, so there’s that.”

  Was she insane? Like, clinically diagnosed insane?

  She’d just lost her home and all her things, and she was talking about it like it was a burned Victoria sponge.

  I should have known she’d be crazy from her response to my dick pic.

  “No. Definitely not your fault. It started on the ground floor.”

  “Damn it. If it was Harriet Wilkins and her damn wicca candles, I’m going to burn her ass at the stake.”

  I frowned. “The old lady on the first floor?”

  “Yes!” Reagan’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “She’s been told before about burning those candles all the time. All right, it’s mostly because the building manager is a staunch Catholic and went into her apartment praying about the evil that is witchcraft—”

  I smirked.

  “—But she’d been told it was dangerous to put them on the floor and let them burn while she hummed like she was being possessed.”

  “Aren’t Wiccans supposed to be peaceful?”

  “And little girls are supposed to be seen and not heard, yet here I am, being heard by anyone who will listen.” She raised her eyebrows like she was talking to an idiot.

  The sound of two female voices outside the door stopped me from responding to her. The door jerked open, giving faces to the voices. One young woman about Reagan’s age had short blonde hair that curled at the ends, and she adjusted her red-framed glasses as she hauled a huge bag up onto the end of the bed, completely ignoring me.

  The other had long, black hair and yellow glasses, and she rolled her eyes as she pushed the glasses up on top of her head how most people would wear sunglasses.

  “Right,” said the blonde. “We went shopping since you don’t have any underwear.”

  Reagan raised her eyebrows. “If you took my credit card, it’s your funeral.”

  “Yours melted,” the black-haired girl said.

  “So we took Preston’s,” the blonde added brightly.

  “Acceptable. Go on.” Reagan flashed me a look. She’d clearly noticed that they hadn’t realized I was here, too.

  Who the hell was Preston?

  “With his permission,” the blonde went on. “I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage yet where I can just spend his money. Unless it’s on the raccoons, but he’s the one who bought that playhouse.”

  I had no fucking idea what was going on.

  “Can you get on with it?” Reagan asked. “I’m tired, and if you didn’t bring me a Subway, I will hunt you down.”

  Ah. This was a friendship based on love and respect, I saw.

  “Here’s the sandwich.” The black-haired girl produced a wrapped sandwich from her oversized purse and handed it to Reagan, who took it and motioned for them to continue.

  This was getting weird.

  The blonde pulled a bra out of the bag, and my eyebrows shot up. “There are three of these and the matching underwear.” She proceeded to pull out two more bras and three pairs of cotton panties.

  “Great. Thanks. I guess neither of you noticed that we’re not alone.” Reagan’s eyes glittered with laughter.

  Both women jerked and stared at me. The black-haired one looked me up and down appreciatively, and I fought a laugh as the blonde’s cheeks flushed bright red.

  “This is Halley.” Reagan pointed to the blonde, then to the other one. “And this is Ava. And please excuse their rudeness.”

  “Nice to meet you, ladies,” I said politely.

  “It sure is,” Ava said with a smile.

  “Hi,” Halley muttered. “I’m gonna kill you,” she hissed in Reagan’s direction.

  Reagan took a bite of her sandwich and said, “And this is Noah.”

  They both froze.

  Oh, shit, had they seen my penis, too?

  The way Ava dropped her gaze gave me my answer.

  “Anyway,” I said, pushing off the wall. “I’m happy you’re feeling all right, Reagan. We’ll… talk soon?”

  She gave me a thumbs up and nodded, chewing.

  “Ava… Halley… It was a pleasure.” I held up my hand in goodbye and quickly made my way out of the room.

  “Noah?” Reagan called.

  I backtracked a few steps and poked my head through the door. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  “Anytime.” I smiled and, with another wave, pulled the door shut behind me to give them some privacy.

  ***

  I paced back and forth in my kitchen. I was close to wearing the flooring thin at this point, but I didn’t care. I was mentally exhausted from working overtime all week long with it culminating in the fire last night, but I couldn’t get Reagan out of my head.

  I wanted to shake myself.

  Shake the thoughts right out.

  Shake her right out.

  What were the chances of all this happening? Me accidentally texting her. Her being fine with it. Us striking up somewhat of—

  Could you call it a friendship? The beginning of one? We’d joked together, but I never considered that I’d ever meet her. For all I knew, she lived in freaking Canada.

  What were the chances that, in a country as big as the United States, she lived in the same small town as I did?

  I rubbed my temples.

  What were the chances I’d rescue her from a fire?

  All the people in this town. In this county. In this state.

  And it was her.

  Reagan with the purple hair and the apparently great tits.

 
I’m sure someone somewhere could figure out the statistics, but I wasn’t that person.

  How the fuck did this happen? It was a complete and utter coincidence. If I believed in destiny and fate and all that shit, I’d say it was that.

  Hell, I didn’t believe in it, and a part of me was thinking it.

  Of all the people I could have sent that text to—of all the numbers that irritating person on the dating app sent me, it was Reagan’s.

  I’d sent her a picture of my dick.

  Four days later, I’d saved her life.

  I shook my head and dropped onto my couch. I was supposed to meet the guys for a beer tonight, but I didn’t think I could. Physical exhaustion was setting in now, but that was probably because I’d thought myself into it.

  I wanted to text her.

  I wanted to text Reagan and see how she was, if she was home yet, if she was in disbelief like I was.

  I knew it wasn’t a good idea. She already had people fawning over her, but she struck me as the kind of person who considered that their worst nightmare. One glimpse at her and you knew she was an independent soul.

  She didn’t need me bothering her, too.

  I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Poosh, my chihuahua, jumped onto the sofa next to me. I glared at her, but she simply circled like a cat until she was comfortable and stuck her ass in my direction.

  All the people in my family, and I was the one who’d gotten stuck with the little diva when my grandma died.

  “You comfy there, Poosh?”

  She wagged her little tail in response.

  I took that as a yes.

  Apparently, six years of sleeping on the sofa negated six months of being told ‘get off the furniture.’

  Yes, I’d given up, and no, I wasn’t proud.

  I was also wondering when my mom was going to take the dog like she’d promised she would when she moved. Considering it’d been three months since then and she hadn’t mentioned it once, I had to stop and ask myself why I was still wondering.

  Poosh was mine now.

  I still lived in hope that me, a six-foot-three firefighter with tattoos and muscles would one day get something a little more… masculine… than an eight-inch tall purse poodle.

  I flicked through the channels until I found the sports news. There was a rundown of the football scores from last weekend and a look at the division standings, but that was as far as I made it before I zoned out.

  Scratching Poosh behind the ear, I found my gaze falling down to my phone on the coffee table.

  It was fucking ridiculous.

  I didn’t even know Reagan. Why the hell was I here, fawning over her as if she was my ex-girlfriend who’d just broken up with me?

  I knew why.

  Sadly, I did.

  I was used to texting her. When I wasn’t at work, all this week, I’d been talking to her. It’d filled my time and passed the minutes until we either had to work or sleep. A few days ago, this very time would have been filled with the back and forth of our banter.

  “Ah, fuck it, Poosh,” I muttered, leaning forward and grabbing my phone. She yipped at the disturbance of the sofa cushion and then, for my insolence, farted.

  Being a dog dad was not the way I’d imagined it to be.

  I unlocked my phone and opened my text messages. Just as I did, a new message came through, and my chat with Reagan showed up bold.

  She’d beaten me to it.

  REAGAN: They finally let me home. I want to go back. My great-aunt is driving me insane.

  ME: How are you feeling?

  REAGAN: Like I almost died.

  REAGAN: Then got thrown into the nuthouse when the hospital let me out.

  ME: That bad, huh?

  REAGAN: She won’t leave me alone. I’m in my old bedroom and there’s a poster of Justin Timberlake with noodle hair.

  ME: Noodle hair?

  REAGAN: *attachment*

  I clicked the image to open it. A picture of Justin circa… God, sometime in the damn Noughties filled my phone screen. His hair was jelled to within an inch of its life and colored a yellowish-blonde.

  Yep.

  Noodle hair.

  ME: That’s a little scary. Why is he looking at you like that?

  REAGAN: 10 years ago, it was because he wanted to marry me. Now, he looks like he wants to kill me.

  ME: Why not just take it down?

  REAGAN: My aunt won’t let me get out of bed. I think she thinks I was in the ICU.

  ME: It’s nice that she cares.

  REAGAN: If she escorts me to the bathroom again, she’ll be the one in ICU.

  ME: That’s probably a jailable offense. Two emergency services in one week is enough.

  REAGAN: I like to do things properly. A round three seems like the way to finish the weekend.

  ME: Reagan. No.

  REAGAN: Fine.

  REAGAN: But if Great-Aunt Bethel is found dead under the bed, I’m holding you personally responsible.

  ME: DNA will prove otherwise.

  REAGAN: I watch the ID channel. They can try.

  ME: I’d like to see YOU try.

  REAGAN: It can be arranged.

  ME: Don’t murder your aunt. Seriously. A firefighter and a hospital bed are enough for one weekend. Besides, the police might want to talk to you anyway when the cause of the fire is determined.

  REAGAN: You can’t hear me, but I’m sighing.

  ME: I imagine you are.

  Poosh jumped off the sofa and went to the door, whining to be let out. I dropped my phone on the coffee table and whistled for her to follow me to the back door. She trotted along after me, her nails scratching against the tiled kitchen floor, and ran outside the second I opened the door.

  I left her for a few minutes so she could do her business. When she was done, she came back in and headed straight for her water bowl. A few licks later and she bounded into her bed with her favorite stuffed animal and curled up to go to sleep.

  I left her to it, shutting off the light on my way back through. My phone was flashing with another text message, and I scooped it up on my way to the stairs.

  REAGAN: This is weird, isn’t it.

  It wasn’t a question. It was weird.

  ME: Yep. Totally weird.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  REAGAN

  Crazy Is As Crazy Does

  It was always good to know you were on the same page as someone.

  For me, it was the hurried goodnight last night after me and Noah both acknowledged it was a weird situation.

  It’d been funny in the hospital. I was tired and maybe still ever-so-slightly in shock, but now, a day later, it was just plain weird.

  I was attracted to him. Like, attracted, attracted. I didn’t need those panties the girls brought me attracted.

  He was hot.

  Really. Fucking. Hot.

  And my literal dream. I’d once told Halley and Ava that I was holding out for a hot, tattooed firefighter with a rescue chihuahua. I knew Noah had a dog, and if it was a rescue chihuahua…

  Well, I’d probably come in my pants.

  Actually, there was no probably about it.

  I’d come in my pants, then knock the guy out and drug him so he’d marry me.

  All right. That was a little extreme.

  My attraction to him was purely sexual. I wanted to jump his bones. He was the kind of guy you took home—and he met your mom the next morning.

  Ahh.

  This was just like me. My life was in pieces, and here I was, thinking about a hot guy.

  At least he took my mind off the fact I was lying in bed, not allowed to move, totally fine.

  Homeless, yes.

  Clothes-less? Pretty much.

  Already dreading the inevitable call with my insurance company? Abso-freaking-lutely.

  My mom had already handled the first one for me.

  I swung my legs out of bed and grabbed the sweatpants the girls had given me ye
sterday. After that, I pulled on a tank top and threw a light sweater over my head since my mom always kept the thermostat at minus one thousand degrees.

  She swore it wasn’t cold in the house, but anytime anyone mentioned it was basically the same as the store, she got offended and gave us The Look.

  You know. The one that strikes the fear of a hundred deities into you.

  I trudged my way downstairs. Since it was Sunday, the store was closed, but it was early enough that everyone had already gone to church. They wouldn’t be back for at least an hour and a half—which was more than long enough for Great-Aunt Bethel to count the ways I was going to Hell.

  I turned on the coffeemaker and refilled the empty beans. It was kind of nice to have the house to myself, especially without everyone fussing over me. I knew Bethel meant well, but she didn’t exactly understand ‘personal space.’

  Or any space at all, actually.

  At least she’d taken down the poster of noodle-haired Timberlake when I’d asked her.

  I made my coffee and sat at the kitchen table, enjoying the silence. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the rich, hot coffee in the mug in front if me. I wasn’t thinking about the fire or my family or Noah or the fact I’d promised myself I’d ask him on a date if I survived.

  Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  When I’d said that to myself, I’d been under immense stress. Life flashing before my eyes kind of stress. It was enough to make me pledge allegiance to a deity I didn’t believe in, never mind tell myself I was going to ask some hot stranger out for a date.

  Did I want to go out with him?

  Stupid question. I’d seen his penis—not to mention his eyes. Those green eyes of his could drop a nun’s panties to her knees.

  It wasn’t a good idea. I knew that. Despite my insistence that I was fine, I knew I needed to recover. I needed to get back to my normal life and find somewhere new to live before I did anything else.

  Besides, I didn’t know Noah. Getting to know someone was, of course, the whole point of going on a date, but—

  Well, I didn’t want to date Noah.

  I just… wanted to sleep with him.

  That was a little tidbit I’d keep to myself, of course. If Halley and Ava knew that, I’d never hear the end of it. They’d barely realized who he was yesterday in the hospital before my doctor had stopped by and they had to leave.