Room-maid(67)

“Huh.” He paused a beat. “That guy sounds like a real winner.”

I wanted to both laugh and cry. “Believe it or not, he’s the best boyfriend I ever had.”

“Jeez. Who did you date before? Satan?”

Now I did laugh. “Brad has been my only boyfriend.”

Tyler took another sip of champagne. “Wait. But when you and Frederica came by—”

I cut him off. “I don’t know how much she knew about what was going on with me and Brad. But she might have played it up a bit for your benefit because of your rule. Because you were so worried I’d be psycho and fall in love with you and then stalk you.”

He smiled wryly. “That seems a little silly now, doesn’t it?”

Other than the Everest-size crush I had on him? “Yep. Silly.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re better off without him. Good riddance.”

“Definitely. Especially when his parting shot was about what a bad kisser I am. Among other things.”

“Wasn’t he the only guy you were kissing?” When I nodded, he added, “So wouldn’t that kind of make it his fault if you were?”

“Good point. He was just trying to make me feel bad about myself. And it might have even worked a little. He knows I’m self-conscious about it.” Liquid warmth was spreading through my limbs and I kicked off my shoes to make myself more comfortable, tucking my legs up underneath me.

He seemed to be considering what to say to that and what he came up with nearly knocked me off the sofa.

“I could kiss you.”





CHAPTER TWENTY

“What?” I asked. Was I drunker than I thought? Recently I hadn’t been drinking very much, mostly because I couldn’t afford it. I’d also been so busy with my decorations and setting up my new life and getting accustomed to it that I hadn’t really found the time for alcohol. I must have become more of a lightweight because I was obviously feeling the effects from my drinks at the clubs and the two glasses of champagne.

And if it wasn’t affecting me, then the alcohol had clearly affected Tyler. In some ways it was kind of fun—he was like Tyler on steroids. More charming, more playful, more fun.

Somehow more attractive.

“I could kiss you,” he repeated. “As an impartial third party, I could judge for myself whether or not you are a bad kisser. Then you would have empirical proof that he was wrong.”

Why did this sound logical? I knew that it wasn’t. “But we’re friends. Just friends.”

“And don’t you think this is something a friend should do? If they could?”

Again, totally reasonable.

My conclusions meant that I was not myself because I knew somewhere deep inside me that this was not a good idea. And what if I was truly bad at it? Did I really want him, of all people, to know it? “Maybe we shouldn’t. Since we’re both a little drunk.”

What are you doing? Shut up! He wants to kiss us! But he didn’t really want to kiss me. He was just offering to judge me and I was pathetic enough to agree to it because I had wanted to kiss him and more than kiss him for what felt like a very long time.

“I’m not drunk,” he said, his eyes glittering with a look I didn’t recognize. “I consent to it if you consent to it.”

That almost sounded like a dare and something inside me rose to respond. “Okay.” After I’d said it, I felt unbelievably awkward. What was I supposed to do now? For a judgment kiss? Was I supposed to kiss him first to prove my talents or was he supposed to kiss me?

Suddenly some part of my brain buzzed, like an annoying fly, that this was a Bad Idea. “You know, we don’t have to . . .”

My voice trailed off as he moved closer to me. Oh. I guessed he was going to kiss me. He moved in close, reaching up with his right hand to hold the side of my face. I drew in a trembling breath, unprepared for the onslaught of feeling that came just from him barely touching me. Every nerve ending crackled and sparked with excitement.

“You bought my dog a present,” he whispered.

I looked into his beautiful eyes, noticing that there was a ring of gold around the pupil, something I’d never noticed before. Mostly because our faces had never been this close before. Well, not when there was light and I could see him.

“Yes,” I whispered back. “We already established this earlier.” It felt like a weird thing to bring up, given the moment.

Then he smiled and moved toward me, like he was underwater or going in slow motion. It took me a second to realize that he was doing it so that I could say no.

He confirmed this when his lips hovered above mine. “Are you sure?”

Every cell in my body hummed with anticipation and desire. “Yes.”

Then his lips were against mine, softly, sweetly, a featherlight touch. The kind of kiss you imagine when you’re a tween dreaming about your first kiss. He’d obviously intended for it to be sweet and gentle. Which meant that it should have made me feel dreamy and nostalgic and swoony.

It did none of those things. From the moment his lips touched mine, it was like someone had plugged my mouth into an electrical socket. A surge zipped through me, giving me goose bumps and heating my blood.

It lasted for only a few seconds but it almost zapped my ability to hold myself upright.