I was a… well, I was a freaking book girl. I believed in romance and magic and everything coming together as destiny decreed it. That’s all there was to it.
Also, Preston made me feel like a little girl.
If someone broke into my house, I’d pop out the Glock I kept in my bedside cabinet and shoot their ass.
He smiles the right kinda smile at me, and I turn into a little hot mess.
That’s right. I’d shoot someone who kicked in my front door, but I can’t cope with romantic situations.
I was an adult, y’all. It was a miracle I could pay my damn taxes on time, wasn’t it?
I also couldn’t cook, so…
Preston came over to the table with our food on a big, burgundy tray. He set it down and sat opposite me, swinging his long legs over the seat. “Why is the wine in a can?”
I picked up the ice-cold can of Sauvignon. “Because glass bottles are weapons.”
“And cans aren’t?”
“Have you ever seen someone end up in the hospital because they were hit with a can? The can will take more damage than the person.”
He paused. “Fair point. Do you usually drink wine from cans?”
“No. I usually drink it directly from the bottle, because I’m the one who has to do the dishes. Also, I’m saving water, because the bottle doesn’t need to be washed.”
“You’re a genius.”
“They don’t give degrees to idiots.” I shrugged.
“You have a degree?”
I hesitated before I opened my sandwich. “Yes?” It came out as more of a question than anything.
“In what?”
“Library science.”
“They give you degrees in shelving books?”
“I do a lot more than just shelving books.” I sat up a little straighter. “It’s an art form.”
“Shelving books is an art form?”
“Have you ever owned enough books to warrant an entire shelf?”
“No. Every shelf I’ve ever bought has ended up as the room’s resident dumping ground.”
“Then you can hush your mouth.” I pointed at him and raised my eyebrows before finally tucking into my pulled pork sandwich.
“I just never considered librarians needing a degree.”
“I never thought florists needed one either, but don’t you have one?”
Preston scowled. “I’m not a florist.”
I gave him my sweetest smile and tore a piece out of my sandwich. “Oh, you’re not? Are you just the delivery boy then?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
HALLEY
Ten Degrees of Banter
“Are you trying to make this awkward?” Preston leaned over the table, resting his forearms on the wooden surface. His upper arms tensed and stretched against the white of his t-shirt that made his tan seem extra dark in the low light.
“I don’t need to try. This is awkward.” My lips pulled to one side. “We can both agree that this came out of nowhere, so I’m seeing where my comfortable spot is.”
He raised one eyebrow, slowly lifting it until his mouth moved with it into a half-smile. “Your comfortable spot is at home, with your raccoons, and no other people.”
“Wow, okay, so there’s no mystery here, is there?”
“You tell everyone that.”
“Because it’s true. I don’t like people. I like animals and books. Neither of those things argue or force me on dates.”
“I thought this wasn’t a date.”
“The only date here is the calendar one.”
“If I didn’t know as much about you as I do, I’d be offended.”
“Be offended.” I dipped a fry into ketchup and met his eyes. “It’s not my responsibility to control what I say just so I don’t upset you.”
“I’m not offended. You’d have to do a lot more than that to offend me.”
“If we have another not-a-date, I’ll blow you off for my raccoons.”
“I’ll bring peanut butter sandwiches and blow you off, too.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet?”
“Not really. If you can blow me off for trash pandas, I figure I can do the same.”
“It’s a little redundant if you’re blowing me off on my own back porch, don’t you think?”
He leaned forward. “Actually, I’m hoping you’ll be impressed by my thoughtfulness and invite me in so I can get the date back on track.”
I exaggerated my sigh. “I knew there was a catch.”
Preston grinned and winked at me. “You didn’t think I was going to just let you get away with blowing me off, did you?”
“We still have to get through this not-a-date, first. I owe you a stuffed animal from the milk bottle game.”
“Can you even throw a ball?”
I finished the last of the wine in my can and crunched it up.
“If that was supposed to be a display of your strength, it fell flat.”
“I carry books. I’m strong. But the can wasn’t exactly big, was it?”
Preston held up his hands. “Okay. Go kick my ass at the milk bottle stall.”
“If you win a stuffed animal, do I get both?”
“I wouldn’t dream of giving my not-a-date anything other than all my prizes that I win.”
“What a gentleman you are, Preston Wright. Even if you have been kissing other women all day.” I grinned, catching my tongue between my teeth, and swung my legs over the side of the bench to stand.
His laughter was loud and infectious, and by the time he was on his feet, I found myself giggling under my breath.
He trashed our wrappers and put the tray on the designated stand before joining me again. He looped one arm around my shoulders like he’d done it a thousand times before and guided me toward the exit. “Ignoring all the women I’ve kissed today,” he said, barely stopping his chuckle. “I’m going to kick your ass at the milk bottles.”
“I doubt that.”
“I played baseball in high school. I’ve got one hell of a right arm.”
“Is that your spanking arm?”
“For someone who didn’t want to go out with me, you’re awfully confident.”
I cupped my hands over my mouth and laughed, dipping my head until my chin touched my chest. “I just… I don’t know. Nothing about this was supposed to make sense. We aren’t even friends, Preston, yet here we are…”
“Getting along like we’ve been best friends for years?”
“Well, yeah. This might be the only time we’ve ever been alone.”
“Have you considered that might be why we’re getting along? Neither of us have any expectations for this since you’re so adamant it’s not a date. It’s just two people who kissed, spending time together.”
“Well, to be fair, we kissed before we’d ever really gotten along.”
“Maybe kissing really does cure all.” He grinned and, releasing me, darted ahead of me to the milk bottle stand.