Kelsey

Could I help it if maybe I’d wanted him to be a little jealous? Remember, twenty-one-year-old girl here. Wanting to get the attention of the hot neighbor boy was a given. But he’d answered his text and hadn’t thought twice about me going out with Andrew. Not that was the reason I would say yes. Andrew was cute and funny, and what was the harm in sharing pizza and talking about stuff with someone whose company you enjoyed? It wasn’t as if I was looking for anything serious. Besides. Scott probably had plans with Missy. God, even thinking of her name elicited an eye roll. Maybe she’d changed now that she was studying to become a doctor and she had to look out for other people. Secretly, I sort of hoped not though, because it was easier to hate her if I didn’t know she saved lives.

Arriving back in the yard, I filed my paperwork with Nell, gave her a wave, then texted Andrew that Friday would be great. Because God only knew that if I had texted while at a full stop in the truck, Scott would’ve had a conniption fit. I would definitely have been on the receiving end of a lecture about texting and driving, even if I had texted while stopped in gridlocked traffic, going nowhere. Grabbing my stuff, I headed out to pick up soup, then dropped in to see my Dad.

After a three-hour visit, I pulled into my driveway close to ten pm. Scott’s truck was parked next door, not that I cared. Again, because, if I said it enough, I might even convince myself?

The house felt dark and lonely, the exact opposite of festive. But just the idea of decorating, not knowing if my father would be home for the holiday was depressing. On top of that, I had the pass run early in the morning with Scott. Hmm, were headphones legal while driving? The thought of jamming to my music and drowning out the asshole side of him sounded like bliss. It also would have my butt waiting tables, instead of driving, in no time flat.

I hummed, surveying the contents of the refrigerator. I needed to get to the store. Popping the top off one my dad’s Pabst Blue ribbon cans, I whispered cheers to myself. Never knock the classic taste of PBR, because it tasted fan-freaking-tastic right about now.

The knock on the door surprised me, but not as much as Scott on the other side holding a casserole dish with two pot holders?

“I made chicken pot pie. Thought we could share?”

“Wow. Really? Yeah, come in.” I was about to make a comment about Betty Crocker, but stopped. The man brought me dinner. This wasn’t the time to make fun of hot men bearing food.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“New York. My roommate was an amateur chef. I picked up some pointers. This is really just shredded chicken, veggies and biscuits, the Pillsbury kind on top.”

“Sounds amazing. You want a beer?”

“Sure. How’s your dad today?”

“Better every time I see him. Not so happy about the food or his new lower cholesterol diet, but hey, bypasses don’t come cheap.” I cringed at the word. “Um speaking of which, your dad isn’t picking up the medical bills is he?”

Scott shrugged, taking a sip of the beer, I handed him. “Beats me. But let them deal with that between them. Your father doesn’t know you know, at least not that I know of. Damn that was a lot of knows.”

I chuckled. “It was. I applied for a student loan yesterday. Need my dad to co-sign though, so I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I think if you tell him it’s that or you withdraw, he’ll sign. But then he’ll know you know. Shit, there go the knows again.”

I laughed fully this time, making him do the same. “I know.”

We each took a seat at the small dining room table after I brought over plates and forks along with a spatula for serving.

“Wow this smells divine. I only had soup with my dad tonight, so I was starving.”

“Good.”

It was amazing. Not that I’d turn down a homemade biscuit, but the flaky, buttery kind from Pillsbury on the top made it mouth-watering. “It’s delicious.” But hot, oh so hot. I slugged back the beer to cool off the fire from my mouth. Still worth it.

“Thank you.” He paused while eating his. “Where you going with Andrew on Friday night?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But since he asked me out, one would hope that he will have an idea. Nothing annoys me more than to go on a date, and the guy’s first words are “so what do you want to do tonight?”

He laughed. “Fair enough. What’s your ideal date?”

This. Dinner with just the two of us. Him cooking, us sharing our day. “I’m not sure. Guess I haven’t had one yet. I’d like it to be good conversation though, so a movie isn’t ideal.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would be.”

“Are you going out with Missy again?” If he was asking about my dating life, fair was fair, and I had free license to be nosey about his love life too.

“Yeah. On Friday. She has a holiday party at work.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” But internally cattily thinking, and I’ll bet that she’ll look even better than she did the other day, when I saw her in scrubs. I’ll bet he’ll wear a suit, the kind that would make me want to rip it right off of him, with a tie that I wish was wrapped—nope.

Down girl. Stop fantasizing. Missy is filet mignon. I am, well chicken pot pie, comfort food. How appropriate, given that I practically lived in leggings, or skinny jeans if the leggings were dirty, topped with sweatshirts and accessorized with fancy footwear that consisted of Uggs or flip flops.

“For the pass run tomorrow, are you ready? They’re calling for rain I think.”

“It’s Seattle, so they’re always calling for rain. It’ll be good. Well, at least the driving part.”

He smirked. “I’m hard on you because I care.”

I about spit out my drink. “Okay, Dad.”

His smirk quickly faded into a frown. “You’re doing fine.”

“Huh. A compliment about my driving? I’m going to start wearing a wiretap, so I can play these rare moments back.”

“I’m not that bad.”

I quirked a brow. “You’ve never been on the receiving end of your barking every twenty seconds.”

“It’s not that often.”

“I timed them. You know, in between wanting to brake check you into the dashboard.”

He laughed out loud. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t untrue. “Worried about your pretty face?”

He took another bite, studying me over the table. “You think I have a pretty face?”

Shit. Walked right into that one, and now I was turning pink, as I could feel the heat flood my face. “It’s not ugly, you know if you’re into handsome - ” oh no, think fast, I was sinking down a slippery slope, “guys who make really nummy - " I did not just say nummy, next thing you know I’ll be rhyming it with tummy. “Uh, dinners.”

He busted out laughing. “You’re adorable. All pink. Especially your ears.”

I tried to fake indignation. “I pay you a compliment and you point out my pinkness?”

“It’s cute. That’s a compliment.”

Cute. Like a bunny. Who has pink ears. Life goals right there for a hot guy to think that way about me.

“What? You don’t like to be called cute?”

“It makes me sound like a fluffy rabbit or a toddler. Neither of which is how I want you to see me.”

He took a pull on his beer, studying me over the top. Suddenly the vibe seemed to have changed. “How is it that you want me to see you?”

Time to put up or shut up, and for heaven’s sake, don’t say, better than a pot pie. “As a grown woman?” Damn. It had been good until the question mark.

“What makes you think that I don’t.”

Words lay thick on my tongue, unable to get past my lips, and suddenly I was looking at his lips.

“What are we doing, Kels?”

“I don’t know about you, but I was about to hop on your lap and kiss you.” Now would’ve been a good time to exercise a filter. But that was the problem with talking to a boy you’ve known your entire life. Comfort equaled saying what was actually on your mind.

Waiting was excruciating. It was only a matter of seconds, but with rejection hanging in the balance, if felt much longer. Until he scooted his chair back, with enough room to do as I’d suggested. Holy shit. This was happening.

I stood up on shaky legs, taking the two steps that separated us, and sitting on his legs. Like I would with Santa. Only let’s just hope I wouldn’t be having these same naughty thoughts with the bearded guy. Damn.

“Hi,” I greeted, sounding breathless, as I put my hands up on his shoulders. Hopefully he didn’t think I was out of shape from the two steps.

“Hi,” he returned, inches from my lips.

“Probably a good thing we both ate pot pie and had beer.” Now why? Why did I have to go and say something that unsexy?

“Yeah.”

Unable to stand it a second longer, I shifted, moving within a breath of his lips. The smell of him tickled my nose. His chest rose and fell faster now, while his hand moved up under my hair. I moved first, or maybe he did. When you’re talking millimeters, who knows? His lips were soft, especially his bottom one which was incredibly kissable. I sucked it between my lips, tentatively, tasting, exploring and taking my time, as if this couldn’t be real. A groan reverberated from his chest when I did it a second time, then he groaned again when I slipped my tongue inside of his mouth. Suddenly I was shifted, and a kiss that had started out sweet, turned hot in an instant.