Stick with the facts.
I drew in a deep breath and sat straighter in the sofa. “If we did this—and I’m still only saying if—how would we go about it? And when? Now?”
His eyes widened. “Ah, no.” He shifted in his seat. “I think we should be sober.”
Sober. Right. Probably a good idea, especially considering my body meltdown at the mere mention of sleeping together. I’d need to be in control of all my fuckulties. Hang on. No. Faculties. I’d need to be in control of all my faculties. Focused. So, yeppers, sober would be better.
Taking a deep breath, I smiled as if this was no big deal. “Tomorrow morning?”
He rubbed a finger across his forehead. “I have to be at school early tomorrow. How’s tomorrow night?”
“Sure.” My stomach fluttered. Was that nerves or excitement? Or maybe the mojitos making a comeback? I headed for the bathroom, just to be safe.
Finn
When I pulled my car into the garage the next night, I sat for a few minutes, hands still gripping the wheel, every muscle in my body tense. On alert. Red alert. Or perhaps that should be Scarlett alert.
Life was never boring with Scarlett, but this might be one crazy scheme too far.
I’d first met her on a night much like this one, after driving into this very garage. I’d arrived home from a night out with friends and found my then roommate standing over a crying blonde, his hand raised as if to hit her. Going from zero to ballistic in less than a second, I’d thrown him into a wall. Then out the door. For the rest of the night, I’d sat with the frightened girl, trying to make her feel safe again.
Thank God I hadn’t arrived two minutes later. I had two younger sisters that I’d had custody of for five years, since our parents died. Billie was Scarlett’s age, and at university in Melbourne now, and Amelia was at boarding school. Much as it broke my heart to even think it, if something like that had happened to either of my sisters, I’d hope someone would have stayed with them.
Scarlett and I had formed a bond that night, and I guess I’d pretty much seen myself as her protector ever since, then eventually, her best friend.
Did protectors offer their best friends kissing lessons? I groaned and thunked my head down onto my hands on the wheel. Unlikely.
Maybe she’d changed her mind. In fact, I thought, looking up, would she even remember the deal at all? She’d had a few mojitos before we’d thought up the plan, and afterward we’d had another one each while watching a movie. She hadn’t even made it to her bed in the end—she’d slept on the sofa. I’d thrown a blanket over her and left her there.
With my shoulders suddenly lighter, I climbed out of the car. Chances were she’d forgotten she was going to ask that actor to kiss her, and my stupid suggestion that I give her lessons, and we could move on, never mentioning it again. I barely resisted crossing my fingers.
“Hey Finn,” she said as I walked through the kitchen door and dumped my satchel of books on the dining table. She wore her favorite green apron with white polka dots, and lime green glasses, and I could smell spaghetti bubbling away. It could be just any other night, and if the stars aligned, it would be.
“Hey,” I said, trying to get a read on her. On whether she remembered. “How was your day?”
“Great.” She turned to me with a slotted spoon in her hand. “I was thinking that if we’re going to do this, we should do it properly. I ducked into the shops on the way home and bought some supplies.”
My stomach dipped. So, she hadn’t forgotten. And then I registered her words. “What sort of supplies would we need?”
“Breath mints.” She held up a packet. “And a new lip gloss. I want to replicate a date kiss as closely as I can. I got apple-berry. I hope that’s okay with you?”
“Apple-berry,” I repeated faintly. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt warmer as I imagined tasting whatever would be on her lips. Scarlett had great lips. Full and lush. I swallowed. “Er. Yep. Fine.”
“Plus, a stand for my phone so I can video us and review it later.” She poured the pasta into a bowl to rinse it.
Wait. What? “You’re not videoing this!”
Her hazel eyes were wide as she looked at me over her shoulder. “But it’s a lesson. What if I want to go over the material later?”
“You won’t need to.” Sweet lord, what had I got myself into? I ran a finger around the collar of my polo shirt, which felt tighter than earlier. She’d put more thought into this than most ancient history students put into the Roman legions.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She shrugged and turned back to the pot of sauce. “I was thinking we could do it by the front door. This sauce is almost done. Are you ready to eat?”
My head was spinning, trying to keep up. “Uh, sure.” I nudged past her to wash my hands in the sink. “The front door?”
“That’s where dates usually try to kiss me,” she said, her voice reasonableness personified. “Well, sometimes it’s in the car, or on the dance floor. Oh, and there was that one time when—”
I held up a hand. “I get the picture.”
She ladled spaghetti into the bowls. “But from our location options tonight, the front door is the best.”
She was so matter-of-fact about this. Was I the only one struggling with the idea? The only one a mile outside my comfort zone?
“I’m not doing this on the porch.” Hell, the only thing that could make this piece of madness worse was an audience.
“Just inside is fine. When I was living at my last place, if I liked them, and if the front door kiss at the end of the night went well, I’d take them to my room. That hasn’t really happened since I moved in here, though.” She sighed as she spooned sauce over the pasta. “Which is why I need your help. Thank you for doing this, by the way.”
She smiled with that trusting smile she’d used with only me since the night we’d met. And right there was the flaw in this plan: could she trust me? She only wanted a lesson. Something impersonal. But kisses weren’t impersonal. Good kisses—and that’s what she wanted—were deep, and carnal, and arousing. My gut clenched tight. The last thing I wanted was to be turned on by Scarlett. That would be all kinds of wrong.
But kisses were fun for their own sake. I liked kissing women—too much for this lesson to be as impersonal as tutoring undergrads in the Egyptian pyramids. The trick would be to not let myself get carried away. To remember who I was kissing—Scarlett, who was practically another little sister. Scarlett, my closest friend, who I wouldn’t hurt for the world. Probably best to keep my eyes open, to keep her in my field of vision at all times so I couldn’t forget.
And no touching below the neck. God, no. This was about a kiss, not copping a feel.
As she carried the bowls to the sofa—there was never any room on the table—I grabbed some glasses and a bottle of soda from the fridge.
Given our plans for the night, I would have preferred vodka, and a lot of it, but I needed to keep my wits about me. As it was, there was already a possibility that tonight was going to drive me certifiably insane.
Scarlett
We ate dinner with a side order of stilted small talk. Finn told me about the first year class he was tutoring tomorrow, and I mentioned the weather—there was a chance of rain overnight. But, really, I was thinking back over my kissing history.
Before last night’s date, I’d had two dates with Artie Campbell, a rich businessman who everyone said was as handsome as sin. And they were right. He’d kissed me at the door the two times he’d dropped me home, then called to cancel our third date. I hadn’t heard from him since. We’d been introduced by Jake Maxwell, the guy I’d been interested in before Artie.
Jake was pretty much the definition of hot—former world champion pro surfer, who had the body to show for it. I thought he was interested in me, and even bought a special come-to-bed dress, but at a work function where I’d hoped things would come together, he’d admitted he was thinking about someone else and introduced me to Artie. Jake and I didn’t even get to the kissing stage.