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It feels perfect.
It feels like forever.
I’ve just threaded my fingers through his dark hair when he stiffens, then breaks the kiss. He pulls away, blinking rapidly as a worry line forms a crease in his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Mason?”
He shifts his hold on me to bring a hand up to his mouth, now frowning.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, a little more urgently now. I wiggle until he sets me back down.
Mason shakes his head slightly, his fingers still touching his lips. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” he says, his voice sounding a little muffled and different.
“What?”
I grab his arm and pull his hand away from his mouth. I can already see the swelling. His lips have practically doubled in size.
“What do we do? Do you have an epipen? A pill?”
“No.” His voice is strangled and his lips are—well, let’s just say there are plastic surgeons who wouldn’t pump lips so full.
I grab his arm. “Let’s get you to the hospital!”
“It should go down after an hour or so,” he says, but it sounds more likeIsha godun inan err orso.
“Nope. Unacceptable. Give me your keys, Mason.”
“I can drive,” he slurs.
“What if your eyes swell? Or your throat closes up and you can’t breathe?”
I reach into his jacket pocket and locate his keys. I scoop up our groceries in one hand and take his with my other, practically dragging him to the car.
I open his door. “In. Buckle.” I dash around to the driver’s side. “What are you even allergic to?” I ask as I start the car and pretty much peel out.
Mason says something, but I can’t tell anymore what he’s saying. To be honest, the lips I just kissed look like some kind of monster mask.
“Say again?” I ask, cutting around a corner a little too quickly, making him grab the door.
“Cloves,” he manages to say, though the word still sounds funny.
“Oh,” I say softly. “I think it’s in the lipgloss I just bought.”
So, I broke my barely-a-boyfriend with our very first kiss.
Skunk luck, I tell you.Skunk luck.
CHAPTER16
Chelsea
“Mason,can you be a dear and grab the star?”
Mom smiles at Mason. Then, as he reaches for the top of the tree, she gives me a look behind his back.
I know this look. Usually, it’s paired with her saying the cheesy, throwback phrase that must come standard with every parenting manual:Hubba hubba.
Why do parents say this? Where did this phrase come from? And how can we make it go away?
