“You’re over-thinking this.”
Over-thinking? I chewed on my bottom lip. Maybe the mojitos were making me pessimistic. I needed to come at this from another angle.
“You’re right.” I sat up again but left my feet in his lap. “No point moping. I’ve identified the problem. The question now is what I do about it.”
He sighed and deposited my feet on the floor. “I’m not even sure why I’m needed in this conversation.”
Thing was, how did someone improve their kissing skills? When I wanted to learn to be an accountant, I enrolled in school. Sure, I’d taken a year off to work and save up money so I could finish my degree, but the overall process was the same. I wanted to learn, and someone was teaching me.
Who would give kissing lessons?
“Cole Jericho,” I said and nodded, impressed with the elegant simplicity of the answer.
Finn stilled, his gaze sharpening. “Cole Jericho? The actor?”
“He’s a client at work, and we’ve chatted a few times when he’s been waiting for an appointment. He’s perfect.” A spark of hope lit in my chest. This plan was great. I wondered when he’d be into the office next.
“Perfect for what?” Finn asked warily.
“Well, he’s been on TV most of his life, so he’s had to kiss a lot of girls on camera.” With the roles he’d been playing in the last few years, it had been a lot of girls.
Finn shook his head. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“He said once that it’s all part of the job. Meaning, he’s pretty much a professional kisser.” If anyone was going to be able to give me pointers, it was Cole Jericho.
“Stop right there—”
“Nope,” I said, mind made up, “this is too brilliant. I’m going to ask Cole to give me kissing lessons.”
Finn
“No.” The word was out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to think about it. But the idea of some random actor giving Scarlett kissing lessons? Not going to happen.
She shrugged and pushed her cute blue glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “You don’t get a vote.”
I threw back the last of my mojito, then the rest of the one I’d confiscated from her.
That skinny guy with the try-hard beard had seemed like bad news, and I’d been right. When she’d answered the door, he’d looked like he’d wanted to throw her down on the floor there in the hallway. Scarlett was blond, gorgeous, and shaped like an old-time movie star, so part of me understood his attraction to her. But she was also much more than that, and deserved a guy who could appreciate all those parts of her, not see her just as a potential sex toy.
While we’d been waiting in the living room for Scarlett to finish getting ready, I’d told the guy as much.
“Listen,” I’d said, my voice low so Scarlett didn’t overhear. “I know this is only your first date, but you’re going to do me a favor and make it your last.”
The guy had screwed up his face. “Why would I do that? She’s hot.”
“Because I asked very nicely.” I’d crossed my arms over my chest in a way I knew showed the results of visits to the university gym. Then I’d smiled in a not altogether friendly way.
The guy took a step back. “Whoa. You two got something going on?”
“Nope. Just like the two of you don’t have anything going on. Right?”
He took another step back. “How about you just tell her I had to go?”
“That would disappoint her. She’s dressed and ready, so you’ll take her out. Once. And you won’t mention this conversation, either.”
“Okay, sure.” He’d edged closer to the door. “You know, man, I’ve met a lot of roomies before, and I have to tell you, this is not a normal conversation.”
Mission accomplished. Then Scarlett had appeared, poured into a too-short dress, her hazel eyes smoky with all the dark makeup around them, and she’d walked out the door with a guy who didn’t deserve her.
It had been more complicated to track down her dates in the first few years of our friendship, and sometimes they’d get to four or five dates before I could find the latest guy, assess him, and send him packing. Luckily, things had become much more streamlined since she’d moved in.
Of course, she’d stab me in my sleep if she knew what I was doing—probably with her favorite electric bread knife—but it was worth the risk. She really needed to start picking a better class of guy. As soon as she started dating someone who could appreciate how awesome she was, I’d let the relationship go forward, with my blessing.
In the meantime, I’d keep protecting her from the guys who were only after one thing.
She stood and stretched, then pushed her blonde hair back behind her ears. “You finished my mojito. I’ll make some more.”
I checked my watch. “It’s two a.m. Maybe we should stop.” Before her plan got any crazier.
“Two a.m.” Her face fell. “That’s too late to call someone I don’t know very well, right?”
A picture of Cole Jericho kissing Scarlett popped into my head and made me want to throw up. I had to clear my throat to get my voice to work. “You really want to kiss that actor?”
“You’re not listening.” She pointed her index finger at me. “I want to end my dry spell. To do that I need to get past the kissing date. To do that I need to improve my kissing. To do that I need Cole to teach me. He was voted Australia’s Sexiest Bachelor again this year, you know.”
Sure, if you liked the obvious. Which, from her expression, maybe Scarlett did. “But he’s only an expert at pretending to kiss,” I pointed out.
She threw up her hands. “What else do you want me to do, Finn? I need someone who will understand that I don’t want to start something, just get some pointers. Cole’s an actor, he’ll understand that. What else can I do?”
“Choose me,” I heard myself say.
She blinked. “What?”
This might have been a stupid move, but it was better than the alternative. “You don’t need Cole. If you want to go ahead with this crazy plan, I’ll give you kissing lessons.”
As her mouth opened then stayed that way—and my lungs stopped working—I realized I’d probably just landed myself in a monster-sized pile of trouble.
Chapter Two
Scarlett
Over the years, people had often questioned how I could be best friends with a guy. They’d quote lines from When Harry Met Sally about men and women not being able to just be friends, or quietly ask if our friendship had “benefits.” They didn’t understand the bond Finn and I had. It worked for us.
But this? This could take our bond and muddle it up into knots, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn. Or my current thought processes after the mojitos…
“I don’t know, Finn,” I said, chewing on a fingernail. “It’s very sweet of you to offer, but don’t you think it has the potential to get…messy?”
“Scarlett, if we were going to fall in love with each other, it would have happened already. We’ve been friends for four years, and we live in the same house. I’ve seen you when you had a cold, and you’ve threatened me with a bottle opener when you had PMS. I think we’ve passed the point of no return.”
True. But it still felt like we were about to cross a line. “What if we ruined what we have now? I don’t want to lose you, Finn. Or your icemaker.”
He chuckled. “It won’t come to that. We’re only talking about a few kisses strictly for educational purposes. Not sleeping together.”
At the words sleeping together, my body started to go into meltdown. Which is what you get when you have a long dry spell, combined with mojitos and a sex discussion with a guy. Even Finn.