The Complete Kiss Me Series

by Emma Hart

  I just fucking couldn’t.

  It was the first time I’d ever kissed her, and I didn’t want to stop.

  It was uncontrollable.

  The way I felt about her was dangerous.

  Dangerous, because it consumed every bit of me. Dangerous, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get this kiss out of my mind.

  Because I knew I’d compare every kiss to this for the rest of my life.

  But fuck if right now, at this moment, with her lips against mine, if I didn’t want to kiss anyone else.

  Ever.

  I knew it was the adrenaline speaking. It was the heat of the moment, the obsession of right now, the consuming sensation of her gripping onto my shirt. It was all of those things combining into one red hot ball of desire that wouldn’t fade by itself.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  I was fucked.

  I slid my hand up Halley’s body until I cupped her face, my palms along the curve of her jaw, my fingers tickling her neck, my thumbs against her soft cheeks. Slowly, I pulled away, kissing her once, twice, three times. Tiny little pecks dotted against her lips that took all my restraint to pull away from.

  I wanted to dot them everywhere. Her lips. Her cheeks. Her forehead. Her button nose.

  Her jaw.

  Her neck.

  Her breasts.

  Her stomach.

  Along the inside of her thighs until they opened, leaving only one little place for me to kiss.

  “What was that?” Halley whispered, her lips brushing mine.

  It was a testament to how close we still were.

  “I told you I wanted to kiss you,” I said in a rough voice. “I kissed your cheek because I knew that would happen.”

  She didn’t speak. The silence hung heavy in the air between us, like a thick blanket of fog that covered the landscape.

  We’d never be able to come back from that kiss.

  I wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise. There was literally no way back. For so long, I’d been able to box her into several little cubbyholes.

  Crazy raccoon lady.

  The mayor’s daughter.

  The sassy librarian.

  My little sister’s best friend.

  All of those things had, at one point, given me a reason to not kiss her. The last was the most potent—my sister’s best friend.

  Lifelong best friend.

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t give a shit. It mattered to me. If it all went wrong, she’d be the one who suffered for a breakup.

  It was easier to ignore everything to make Reagan’s life easier.

  Now?

  Now, there was no fucking chance of it.

  The only way this would ever be fixed would be if Halley and I looked each other in the eye and said it would never happen.

  Ever.

  Ever.

  Ever.

  That was what I wanted to say.

  It was just a kiss.

  A hot, horny, long, deep, passionate kiss.

  But a kiss all the same.

  Kisses didn’t always have to mean something.

  Sometimes they were just that—a kiss. This wasn’t one of them, but I’d lied well enough for years now. I could lie one more time, couldn’t I?

  No.

  I couldn’t lie to Halley.

  About her? Sure? I could lie about her to every Tom, Dick, Harry, and fucking Beyoncé who came along and asked.

  I couldn’t lie to her, though, and wasn’t that the very reason I’d chased her and kissed her?

  I couldn’t take seeing the hurt in her eyes when she thought I was lying and didn’t want to kiss her.

  There was something here. Between her and I. I’d never considered that it could be real, not before. Not until today. Until right now. Until seconds before I’d jumped off the stage and hauled her body against mine.

  Jesus fucking Christ, the way she’d reacted before I kissed her cheek.

  The intake of breath—the refusal to meet my eyes, the shakiness of her voice, the way she trembled when my exhale touched her skin.

  Shit, she was fucking magic.

  “I don’t know what to say now,” Halley whispered, her voice scratchy and broken.

  “Don’t say anything,” I said back, my voice just as low. “I said I wanted to kiss you, and I have. That’s all there is to it, okay?”

  She nodded, moving back from me. Her lipstick was smudged, and her eyes were bright, shining with the aftermath of emotion of our kiss.

  I reached up and wiped my thumb at the corner of her mouth. I didn’t want her to leave this tent looking like she’d just had a huge make-out session, even if she had.

  I knew her well enough to know she’d go home and feed the raccoons and ignore everyone else.

  She stepped back, smiled, and wiped the other side of her mouth. It wasn’t perfect, but she dipped her head as she turned and pulled her compact mirror out of her purse.

  She’d be fine now.

  I blew out a long breath when the curtain swished shut. I still had to compile all today’s money and take it to the bank—and get rid of some kid’s churro in my bucket.

  How did she do this every year?

  I shook my head and got to it. It didn’t take me long to count all the money on the stage. When I was done, and I’d removed all traces of churro, I put it in the pink safety deposit box Halley favored and tucked it into my backpack.

  I tossed it over my shoulders onto my back and made sure to tie the tent up behind me. That always amused me—there was nothing of value left inside, and anyone could break in and steal our stools and tally charts.

  I bit back a laugh and quickly darted behind some stands when I caught a glimpse of Lindsay and her friends. She was perfectly put together as she always was and holding court as if we were all back in high school.

  I’d never been one for the prom queen or even the head of the decorating committee.

  Apparently, I liked the bookish girl with an affinity for snarky comebacks.

  I dipped behind my parents’ stall. Mom and Dad were hard at work. Dad was seeing to the customers, and Mom was bundling cooking herbs in the back—she loved to sell packets of basil and thyme and other general spices. She beamed when she saw me, but I held up one finger for her to keep quiet.

  She winked, blowing some of her bangs out of her eyes with one puff of breath.

  I waited until I knew that Lindsay and her friends had passed and left with a wave in my mom’s direction. It took me a few minutes to get to my car, then a few more to make it to the bank. I got there with literally seconds to spare, but Tish only grinned at me.

  “Halley called and said you’d probably be late. I was going to give you until a quarter to.” She took the deposit box from me under the window. “Did your fan club waylay you?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I replied dryly. “No, I avoided them.”

  Tish’s powder-creased eyes wrinkled when she laughed. “Smart kid. Is this all today?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She beat me today.”

  She grinned, her clumpy mascara making her eyes look almost totally black. “Doesn’t she always?”

  “Hey, I won yesterday.”

  “Who’s winning overall?”

  “Halley,” I admitted begrudgingly.

  She laughed again, handing me both the box and the receipt for the deposit. “Make sure you give her that receipt and don’t lose it, all right?”

  “You’ve got it, Miss Tish. Wanna join me for dinner?”

  “If I were twenty years younger, I’d still say no.”

  “You wound me.” I clutched my chest.

  She waved a hand at me from behind the glass. “Away with ya. I’m not here for your flirtin’!”

  I laughed, bidding her goodbye, and left the bank. I climbed into my car and drove back to my apartment block. The traffic was light since everyone was at the fair, and unlike the kissing booth, everything else went until eleven.

  Fair rides were fun in
the dark.

  Kissing booths weren’t.

  Well, they could be…

  I shook off all the thoughts of Halley before it went too far. The two of us in a kissing booth in the dark was a recipe for disaster.

  And temptation.

  Definitely temptation.

  I put my car in park and grabbed my backpack from the passenger seat. It was easier to keep my wallet and phone and shit in a backpack when I was at the booth, so I slung one strap over my right shoulder and headed up to my apartment.

  It was so fucking quiet when I got there. I turned the TV on just to break up the silence and dumped the bag on my large kitchen island. After grabbing a beer from the fridge, I pulled my phone out of the backpack and checked it.

  It took me minutes to catch up on the sports headlines, which was all I really cared about. I was halfway through my beer when I opened my messages app and tapped ‘new message.’

  I selected Halley from the contacts list and texted her.

  ME: I dropped the cash at the bank.

  Her response came faster than I thought it would. Then again, she was probably reading on her phone…

  HALLEY: Thanks. Was Tish ok with it?

  ME: Yeah, she said you told her I’d be late.

  HALLEY: Were you late?

  ME: If you need to ask that…

  HALLEY: Lol. Of course you were.

  HALLEY: About earlier…

  ME: What about it?

  HALLEY: What do we do tomorrow?

  ME: Halley, I kissed you because I wanted to. Did I try not to at first? Yeah, but then I changed my mind. We can pretend that it never happened if that’s what you want.

  HALLEY: I didn’t say that. I just don’t understand. You’ve never shown any interest in kissing me until today.

  ME: And you’ve never shown any interest in kissing me until today.

  HALLEY: Um

  HALLEY: My life would be so much easier if I was like the comet I was named for. Coming once every seven years.

  I choked on my beer.

  ME: I know a few guys who can arrange that, but I’m more of a coming every seven hours guy.

  HALLEY: I DIDN’T MEAN THAT KIND OF COMING

  ME: You should be more specific.

  HALLEY: This has deteriorated quickly. And I wonder why I prefer raccoons to humans.

  ME: I’d imagine raccoons don’t talk shit.

  HALLEY: Yeah, but humans don’t rummage through my trash, so…

  ME: Some might.

  HALLEY: You have to ruin everything, don’t you?

  ME: I get it from my sister.

  ME: Do you hate me for kissing you tonight?

  It felt like a fucking eternity until she responded. I went over every possible answer in my mind, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the one she gave me.

  HALLEY: A little bit.

  ME: I understand that.

  HALLEY: You don’t.

  ME: I hate myself a little bit, so I do, yeah.

  HALLEY: You don’t, Preston.

  ME: Why don’t I?

  HALLEY: Because I’m not your type, am I? The short-haired, kissing-booth running librarian with a penchant for feeding wild raccoons isn’t the kind of girl you go for.

  Shit—she had no idea, she did? Was that how she saw herself? That all those things were bad things? Hadn’t I already told her that they were good things? That they were the things that made her perfect in my eyes?

  So she burned spaghetti.

  We’d all done that.

  Or something similar. Like toast.

  ME: Your first mistake is assuming I have a type. I’m not a book. I don’t prefer a certain font.

  HALLEY: That fell flat.

  ME: I know. It was supposed to.

  HALLEY: You’re weird.

  ME: Has anyone ever told you that you seriously undervalue yourself? You’re more amazing than you give yourself credit for.

  HALLEY: You’re saying that because you have to.

  ME: No. I don’t have to say shit. I’ve already made it clear that I think you’re basically perfect, even if you do burn spaghetti. Stop putting yourself down, Halley.

  ME: I didn’t kiss you tonight just because I did. I kissed you because I wanted to.

  ME: Didn’t you listen to a word I said to you?

  Her silence told me everything I needed to know.

  ME: Let’s go out tomorrow. When the booth is done. Let’s hang out at the fair. We’ll throw baseballs at the milk bottles and ride the Ferris wheel and eat our weight in cotton candy.

  HALLEY: …Are you asking me on a date?

  ME: Do you want it to be a date?

  HALLEY: No.

  ME: That sucks because I want it to be.

  HALLEY: You do?

  ME: Yeah. Is it that surprising? I’m pretty sure I still have a boner from kissing you earlier.

  HALLEY: You don’t date.

  ME: Correction. I don’t date people who aren’t worth dating.

  HALLEY: You think I’m worth dating?

  ME: When we’re done kissing other people, I’m going to show you just how worthy you are of being dated the fuck out of.

  HALLEY: I think that was sweet.

  ME: It was.

  ME: I wish you’d see yourself through everyone else’s eyes.

  HALLEY: I don’t. I might get an ego so big I’ll need a reality show.

  I choked on my laughter. It was true. That would probably happen.

  ME: Well? We can go as friends if you’d prefer. A not-a-date.

  HALLEY: You’re ridiculous.

  ME: Tell me it’s a bad idea.

  HALLEY: It’s a bad idea. You know as well as I do it won’t work.

  ME: I know nothing of the sort.

  HALLEY: What about Reagan? When it all goes tits up, whose side does she take?

  ME: Yours. Then I’ll get a damn break from her.

  HALLEY: Why do I get the impression I’m losing this battle?

  ME: Because you are.

  ME: We’ve never spent any time together, Halley. A couple of hours at the fair isn’t going to change anything unless you want it to.

  HALLEY: There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?

  ME: I see it two ways. You can come nicely, or I’ll just carry you around over my shoulder.

  ME: People will probably stare at that one though.

  HALLEY: Ugh. Fine. You win. But it’s not a date.

  ME: Is it a date if I kiss you at the end of it?

  HALLEY: I might throw you off the top of the Ferris wheel yet. Don’t get cocky.

  ME: Who’s telling Reagan?

  HALLEY: I will. I’ll tell her you kissed me and wore me down until I had no say in the matter.

  ME: You won’t be lying.

  HALLEY: Exactly. Now if you don’t mind, I want to get back to my book.

  ME: Are you reading porn?

  HALLEY: I’m reading romance. If you call my books porn again, I will beat you with them.

  ME: Kinky.

  HALLEY: Let me shove a hardback up your ass, and you tell me how kinky that is.

  ME: Enjoy your romance.

  HALLEY: I will if you stop texting me.

  ME: Stop texting me.

  HALLEY: This isn’t going to turn into some weird ‘you hang up’ ‘no you hang up’ thing. Goodnight, Preston.

  ME: Oh, but it’d be so fun.

  A few minutes passed, and there was no response from her. She really wasn’t kidding. I sent her one last text, hoping that I hadn’t made a huge mistake in asking her out.

  ME: Night, crazy raccoon lady.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  HALLEY

  When Is a Date Not a Date?

  I’d lost my damn mind.

  That was the only explanation I had for the situation I found myself in. Spending all day in the booth, listening to Preston kissing other people, then going out with him tonight?

  Why had I said yes?

 
; Why had I agreed?

  Butterflies had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. I felt like a teenager waiting for the boy she liked to answer her IM. Maybe add her name to his screen name or something.

  It would have been so much easier to be a teenager having texting as the main means of communication. Teens today didn’t have to sit and see if their crush was online. Now, they sent a message and got on with their lives.

  I blew out a long breath as I headed for The Wright Bouquet, the Wright family flagship store. I knew Reagan would be working and I really needed to talk this over with her.

  I know. Speaking to my crush’s sister about the situation might be weird, but Ava wasn’t answering her phone, and I had to talk to someone.

  Also, my mom was MIA, as usual, Abigail was already at the spa for some beauty treatments, and the raccoons really didn’t want to hear about my love life.

  I needed a better social life, didn’t I?

  Actually, ugh, no, I didn’t. The one I had was a little too much, if I was honest.

  The bell over the door chimed when I pushed the door open with my hip. I was carrying two coffees and two cream cheese bagels, so I scooted in, inch by inch, careful not to drop the coffees.

  The sweet scent of hundreds of flowers mingling together hung in the air almost cloyingly. Hints of lavender tickled my nose as I made my way across the tiled floor to the counter where Reagan was clipping roses for the man standing in front of her.

  I slipped off to the side and watched her work. It was painstaking work, and she missed every thorn like the expert she was. She set down her scissor-things and got to work wrapping them into a bouquet, tying it together with a big red ribbon.

  I took the coffees out of the cup holder and set them on the counter near the rose stem clippings, then took both the clippings and the cup holder to the trash can behind Reagan.

  The guy thanked her and waved goodbye, and Reagan blew a breath up to get her bangs out of her eyes. She had a black and white hairband holding the rest of her long, purple hair back from her face, and the little bow on top of it was sticking up like rabbit ears.

  “Long morning?” I questioned, handing her the paper bag that held her bagel.

  “Don’t. The sooner this fair is over, the better.” She shook her head and took the food. “Thanks for this. I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “What’s up?”

  “That guy who was just here? He called at seven—freaking seven!—to ask if I could make him a bouquet because he was proposing to his girlfriend tonight.” She sighed. “He did tip me, which was weird, but eh.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve had an erratic bride concerned that six months before her wedding is too late to change her bouquet because she’s apparently allergic to lilies, a guy who was concerned that the arrangements for his mom’s funeral were too dark and dreary even though they include sunflowers, and a teenage boy asking how much a display that asks ‘prom?’ would be.”