by Emma Hart
Fortunately, I didn’t need to pick it up. The rich scent of a meatball sub clung to the air around it, and I pursed my lips.
There was only one person I knew who ate meatball subs.
Preston Wright.
Great. That was exactly what I wanted. Him hovering around right now. Like I wasn’t going to be bad enough during the fair itself—the fact that he was supposed to help me set up had completely slipped my mind.
Now it was at the forefront.
At least the person who’d opened the tent was supposed to be doing it.
Jesus, this was going to be a disaster. How was I going to pull this off? How the hell was I supposed to sit with my back to him with nothing more than a curtain separating us, listening to him kissing other women? While I was kissing other men?
When he was the only person I actually had any desire to kiss?
This was going to be a nightmare.
In fact, it was my worst nightmare already. I had to spend the next forty-eight hours in close quarters with Preston getting everything set up, then more days listening to him smooching with people.
I didn’t know what was worse.
Being around him, or the kissing thing.
He was hard work. Not because he was annoying in a general sense, but because of how I felt about him. The frustrating way I felt about him was the bane of my existence, and no matter how hard I tried, I’d never been able to turn it off.
My attraction to him just simmered beneath the surface with feelings that I knew would never be requited.
Mayor’s daughter or not—I was still who I was, and that was far removed from his little world. His world consisted of sports bars and pretty dates and flashy watches and cars. My world was made of books and the Dewey decimal system and peanut butter sandwich eating raccoons.
The flashiest thing in my life was my grocery bill.
Now, I wasn’t putting myself down; I was being realistic. I was, in fact, a catch.
As long as you didn’t mind your catch coming with wild animals for pets, that was.
Ha.
Any man who wasn’t a fan of my little trash pandas wasn’t the man for me.
I shook off all the thoughts of my crush on Preston and looked around the tent. There was still so much to do to get set up, and it was just like him to come by, eat a sandwich, and fuck off again.
I ran my fingers through my loosely curled blonde bob and blew out a long breath. I’d knocked my glasses off-kilter with my thumb, so I straightened them and clicked my tongue.
I had no idea where to start.
A shadow came over the doorway, and a tall figure ducked his head to step into the tent.
Preston.
He was dressed casually in jean shorts and a red polo shirt. In his hands, he held two coffees from one of the nearby stalls, and he held one out when he saw me. “Coffee?”
I studied him for a moment before looking at the cup.
“It’s not poisoned, I swear.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. I’m sure that’s what murderers assure their victims.”
He snorted and set both cups down on the table next to my purse. “I won’t be killing you today, Halley. I can’t beat you if I kill you.”
“Technically, you could beat me, but you’d probably leave behind DNA.”
“And orange isn’t really my color.”
“Neither is red, but here you are wearing it.”
“Ouch. You’re in a good mood.”
I shot him a look as I walked over to my purse. I picked up the coffee and sniffed it. The rich scent of vanilla wafted out of the hot cup, and I groaned internally. He’d remembered the coffee I drank, and he’d somehow gotten it from one of the stalls.
“That’s the look of defeat right there,” Preston said with a smirk tugging at his lips. “Vanilla with low-fat cream and no sugar.”
I made a non-committal sound. “Did you text your sister just to bug me?”
“It bugs you that I know what coffee you drink?”
“You bug me in general, so what do you think?”
“Are you on your period? You’re hostile today.”
I froze, my body going so rigid that I almost crushed the coffee cup. “If I am on my period, do you think it’s a good idea to piss me off?”
“No, but that didn’t stop me doing it to Reagan for all the years we lived together.”
I put the coffee back down and decided to move on. He had an answer for everything, and since I did, too, it meant we weren’t going to get anywhere with this conversation.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, turning around.
He met my gaze. “Helping you set up. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right?”
“I don’t mean here, right now. I mean here in general.”
“I assumed it was fairly obvious.”
I hit him with what I hoped was a withering look. “You know what I mean. You’ve never been involved with the fair. Even when we were kids. You avoided it until it was open. You ignored your parents’ stall forever. Only Reagan worked it. Why are you here now?”
Preston sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I told you. I was asked to be your competition by your dad. He thinks that having two young, attractive people in the booth will raise more money for the playground.”
Did he just—
“Did you just say my dad asked you?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew until yesterday, but then I thought you were just playing dumb. Now I see you really didn’t know.”
“Of course I didn’t know. I don’t want to see your harem lining up out of the tent and giggling while they touch up their lipstick to see who can kiss you the longest. If I’d known about this shit, I would have found someone to compete against me myself.”
“You really don’t like losing, do you?”
“No, but do you really think that you and I are going to get along for this entire fair?” I raised an eyebrow. “We’ve never spent any time alone together.”
“I think you’re more bothered about what you perceive to be my harem more than anything else. Does it matter if there’s a long line of women in here trying to kiss them? They’re all paying for the privilege. Isn’t the point of this to raise as much money as possible for the hospice?”
I opened my mouth before quickly closing it again.
He was right. Of course he was. That was the reason the kissing booth had been created ten years ago, and it just got more and more popular every year. The hospice needed the donations to build their new wing, and I had no business letting my own personal feelings get in the way of raising as much money as possible.
I didn’t like it, but that didn’t matter.
“You’re right. How are you with a paintbrush?” I pointed at the kissing booth sign. “That needs another coat of paint, and then it needs putting up with some lighting.”
Preston looked at the sign then at me. “I’m neither an artist nor an electrician.”
I shrugged and, walking to him, grabbed a paintbrush, and pressed it against his chest. “YouTube is full of great videos. I’d also suggest using some common sense if you have any left.”
“Halley, I grew up creating bouquets of flowers, not painting signs.”
“Well, I’d pull out your phone, then. I don’t need flowers; I need a sign. You are here to help, aren’t you?” I raised one eyebrow and met his eyes.
Preston stared at me for a long moment, his blue gaze piercing. I felt it everywhere, a long shiver that started at the base of my neck and shot down my spine, tingling its way across my limbs until it finally escaped at my fingertips.
“Yeah. I’m here to help.” He took the brush from my hand, brushing his thumb against mine. “But if this looks like a five-year-old did it, it’s on you.”
I held up my hands and backed off. “And I’ll broadcast it all over the place. Kill off your chances of winning.”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the can of paint. “You ca
n try.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
PRESTON
Fuck Painting
I put the final touches on the dumbass red lips Halley had insisted I paint on the sign and sat back.
I was not a fucking artist.
Let that be known. Preston Wright could put together a badass wedding bouquet, but he could not paint for shit.
Actually, I didn’t want the bouquet thing known either. It wasn’t exactly anything that a young, good-looking guy would shout from the rooftops.
Yeah, for a good time, call the guy who can put together your grandma’s funeral flowers with his eyes shut.
Everyone knew it, but that didn’t mean I was going to advertise it.
I turned my attention back to the sign. It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever created, but it was more fitting as a class project for a bunch of fifth-graders. They’d be proud of it, but I was…
Well, I was not.
Thank fuck this was for charity.
I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I had no idea why I’d said yes when Halley’s dad called me and asked me to be her competition. Maybe it was the guilt that the fair was a week away and nobody had signed up to compete against her and that without competition, the playground wouldn’t be redone this year.
Maybe it was the fact it was Halley.
Maybe it was the fact I wanted to beat her tight, round ass.
Maybe it was the idea that kissing other women while only feet away from her would finally beat down the overwhelming attraction I felt.
She was fucking beautiful. Her short, blonde hair was always curled around her face, and the red lipstick that constantly colored her full lips matched her glasses perfectly. It’d been years since I’d seen her without her signature red lips, yet all I wanted to do was kiss her so hard I wiped it all off.
It was a stupid attraction. Halley could barely stand me, and the feeling was more than mutual. She was perfect—she was more than goddamn perfect; she was too perfect.
The mayor’s daughter, the kissing booth champion, the resident raccoon savior. My sister’s best friend since they were six years old.
A part of me wanted to scrub away at Halley’s outer shell. There had to be something that was wrong with her. Nobody was that beautiful and smart and kind—there had to be an issue somewhere. She had to have this really bad, really horrible habit like biting her toenails or picking her nose and eating it.
Otherwise, I had to wonder why the hell she was single.
Surely it wasn’t just because of the raccoons. It was a little weird, but people left food out for birds and squirrels. Granted, they didn’t make them sandwiches, but it’s basically the same thing.
I put the paintbrush on top of the can and sat back, reaching for my bottle of water. It was lunchtime and it was hot and humid outside, and the regret for ultimately agreeing to this was already creeping in.
I wasn’t used to being outside for hours in this heat. I was used to either working in the store where there was air conditioning or from my apartment where, again, there was air conditioning.
Now, I’d committed to being basically outside all day long for a week.
It was going to be a nightmare.
I turned at the sound of a huffing breath. Halley stomped into the tent, shoving one of the curtains out of her way. Her short, blonde hair swung around her face until some of it got caught on her shiny, red lips.
She reached up and pulled the hair away before she froze and looked at me. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m not staring. I’m wondering who shoved a stick up your ass.”
She pursed her lips and put down the Styrofoam cup she was holding. “Careful, or I’ll pull it out and put it up yours.”
I grinned. “I finished the sign.”
She walked over and crouched down next to me. “Not bad. You’re not being displayed in any museums anytime soon, though.”
“I don’t think anyone wants to look at a small town’s kissing booth sign in the Louvre.”
“You’re right. Not that one, anyway.” Her lips tugged up to the side as she pushed up to standing. “Can you help me put these posts out? They’re pretty heavy.”
“Sure. I thought Stephen was gonna help when he brought them over?”
“He was, but he had to run. My mom needed him for something or another.” She went over to the first goldy-bronzey colored post and dragged it across the grass.
I grabbed two of the posts and pulled them after her. “Where do you want these?”
She turned and motioned as she spoke. “We need to create both an entry and an exit line to each side of the booths. So one line down the very middle of the tent to separate them, then one down the middle of each section. People come in on the left side, step onto the platform, donate, kiss, then leave on the right side.”
“I’m sure that’s a lot simpler than it sounds.” I put my two posts in the very middle of the room.
“Does it sound complicated?” She looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “It’s literally three lines of posts at equal distances.”
“See, if you’d said that from the start, I wouldn’t have had a flash mob going on in my mind.”
“Preston, it’s not rocket science. Just set out the damn posts before I give up and do it myself.”
“Can you move all these by yourself?”
Halley paused. “I can move them. I’ll bitch and complain the whole time, but I can.”
Laughing, I grabbed another two and pulled them into place. “No wonder you and Reagan and Ava have been friends as long as you have. You’re all exactly the same.”
She rolled her eyes and moved my posts into their correct places. “We’re not exactly the same. They make stupid bets they can’t win, for a start.”
“You’ve been making those bets for years.”
“Yeah, but I win mine. They don’t.” She shrugged and moved with me as I dragged two more posts. “The only time one of them ever wins is if they bet against each other, and they only do that when I’m involved. Like when they bet on whether I’d win this year or not.”
“You won’t.”
“Because of your harem, I know.”
I swore she rolled her eyes again, but she turned just in time. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me, you’ll give yourself a migraine.”
“I’ll make sure I buy stock in ibuprofen to get through this week, then.”
“Or just don’t roll your eyes.”
“Why would I do that? It’s the perfect way to spare your feelings while still telling you that you’re annoying me.”
“You care about my feelings?”
“Not particularly, but I do have a reputation to uphold. Plus, last I knew, you didn’t have feelings. You just had a lot of opinions.”
I fought a smile. “As opposed to you, who has no opinions.”
“I have opinions.” She gave a careless shrug of her shoulder and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I think math is dumb and bugs are gross. I like wine and hot dogs and cotton candy and watching Netflix for six hours without getting out of my pajamas.”
“How are all of those things opinions?”
“Some people don’t like wine or hot dogs or cotton candy. Other people might think that watching Netflix for six hours in your pajamas is a bad idea. They’re also wrong, for what it’s worth.”
“And that’s also your opinion.”
“Probably more people agree than disagree, and majority rules and all that.” She clipped the first rope on one of the poles and tossed me some. “Get started over there when you’re done.”
“Yes, boss.” I threw the ropes to the other side of the tent since it wasn’t far and grabbed two more poles. “But to circle back, you’re wrong. I do have feelings.”
“Feelings inside your pants don’t count, Preston.”
I snorted. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t do one-night stands?”
“Until it sounds believable.”
“You’re never going to believe me.”
“Probably not.” She peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “But I think it’d be fun to make you try to convince me.”
“Why do you care?”
“Kids come to this kissing booth. I don’t need them seeing a bunch of women trying to turn you on while kissing you.” She clipped the final rope of her side into place.
“You care a lot for someone who doesn’t like me.”
She turned her head, offering me a withering look. “Look, Preston, this isn’t going to work if we’re just going to fight the entire time.”
“Who’s fighting? I’m not fighting with you. You’re the one with the stick so far up your ass it’s coming out of your ears.” I snapped one of the ropes in place. “And you’re taking it out on me.”
There was silence for a minute before she sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a rough afternoon.” She dipped her head, and her short hair covered her face before she reached up and pushed it behind her ear. “Your sign doesn’t look that bad, by the way.”
Turning my head, I met her eyes, a smile playing on my lips. “Don’t lie. It looks like shit.”
She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded, masking her laugh.
Jesus, this was going to be a long week.
***
I took a long drink from the beer bottle as I typed one-handed. Finishing the email before I finished my long slug of beer, I hit send, then pushed the laptop to the side.
Technically, I shouldn’t be drinking and working, but spending hours alone in a tent with Halley Dawson was more than enough to make me drink.
I’d put myself into a drunken stupor by the time the fair was over. It was probably frowned upon to be a part of a kissing booth contest while drunk.
Fuck me dead.
It’d been a good idea at the time. Beat Halley at her own game. Steal her crown just because I felt I could and, yeah, raise money at the same time. The fair really wasn’t my thing, and she had every right to question my being there.