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“It was good,” he says, turning to listen as another announcement blares across the terminal.

“It was more than good!” The gooey warmth I feel curdles into annoyance as his attention shifts away from me. “I am an excellent kisser. And that was an excellent kiss.”

“Sure.”

“No, notsure, you—” I break off when he turns, heading back down the corridor. “Andrew!”

“We’re going to miss our flight,” he calls over his shoulder.

I hurry after him, struggling to keep up with his long legs.

“I can’t believe you scared me like that,” he says when I do, typing something into his phone. Up ahead people are starting to get in line for boarding. “I thought there was something actually wrong with you, but you just have a little crush.”

“I do not!”

“Think you do. I can tell.”

“From one kiss?”

“Two kisses.” He says it almost absently, reading a new message.

“The first one doesn’t count,” I tell him. “And the second one wasyouridea.”

He doesn’t answer as he retrieves our cases from a cheerful young woman with giant baubles attached to her T-shirt.

“Six out of ten,” he says, turning back to me.

My mouth drops open. I know instantly what he means. “For ourkiss?”

“Don’t feel bad. You said so yourself, you’re tired.”

“I’m not—” I break off before I almost shout at him. “You’re being annoying on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he says as if that’s obvious. “Feel better?”

The line starts to shuffle forward as the doors open. I do feel better. As if he knew pissing me off would distract me above all else.

“Yes,” I admit, trying not to fidget under his gaze. “I do.”

“Good.” He joins the end of the line and, after a second, I follow.

“You didn’t have to kiss me just to distract me.”

“Ah, sure we all have to make sacrifices.” He glances over his shoulder and I swear there’s a goddamn twinkle in his eye. “And you’re an excellent kisser, Molly Kinsella.”

“Stop teasing,” I groan.

“I’m not teasing about that.” He holds out his arm, wrapping it around my shoulder when I step into him like I always do. “Forget about it, okay? It’s not weird and it’s not a big deal. I’m just glad you’re out of your funk.”

“I know it’s not a big deal. I never said it was a big deal.”

“I’m telling this story at your wedding though. How you wanted to throw up at the thought of kissing me.”

“Maybe I’ll tell it at yours,” I quip back. “How you came on to me in Buenos Aires during the worst Christmas ever.”

“Fine. Whoever marries first gets the story.”

“Deal.”