Kiss Me Tonight Page 8

  “Pro tip.” I clicked my tongue and winked right back. “By the way, I can’t wait for you to text me and tell me that I’m right about Ted.”

  He shook his head as I opened the truck door. “Never gonna happen.”

  “Go home and watch all the episodes I mentioned and tell me he isn’t a terrible character at the end of it.”

  “It sounds like you’re still salty about the end of it.”

  “Of course I’m salty about the end of it. I dedicated myself to that show for years, and they repaid me by shitting on my head in the worst possible way.” I jumped out and gave him a pointed look. “We should all be salty about that ending. Even the people who’ve never seen the show.”

  Laughing, he leaned over. “I think you need a lie down before you give yourself a migraine.”

  I slammed the door shut. “I’ll be waiting!”

  “For a very long time!” he yelled back.

  I stopped at the front door and turned to look back at him. His truck was still there, and he was grinning at me through the car window. Being mature as I was, I poked my tongue out at him, making him laugh.

  He raised his hand in goodbye and pulled away right as I pushed the front door open and stepped inside.

  All while steadfastly ignoring the fluttering in my stomach.

  That’s right.

  I was totally ignoring the fact that I’d just had lunch with a man who made my stomach flip.

  Yep.

  ***

  NOAH: All right… I admit it.

  Grinning, I rolled onto my side and flicked my hair out of my face so I could reply.

  ME: Admit what?

  NOAH: You were right. Ted is the WORST.

  “Yes!” I punched the air, almost hitting my hand on the nightstand when it fell back down. I knew it. I knew he’d give in and admit that I was right.

  ME: Is it childish if I gloat?

  NOAH: No, but it’s not that ladylike either.

  ME: Eh, I’m not really a lady.

  ME: YESSSS YESSSS I TOLD YOU SO!!!

  NOAH: … I was expecting a video, not gonna lie.

  ME: I’m in bed. Nobody needs a video of me in bed.

  NOAH: *smirk emoji*

  ME: You didn’t need to take that in a dirty way.

  NOAH: I didn’t take it anyway. Maybe you took my response in a dirty way.

  ME: MAYBE YOU SHOULD BE QUIET, NOAH

  NOAH: Touch a sore spot, did I?

  ME: I’ll touch your sore spot.

  ME: That sounded better in my head.

  NOAH: I’m embarrassed for you.

  ME: Thank you. That saves me a job.

  NOAH: You’re welcome. Even though you don’t deserve it for the stunt at lunch.

  ME: What stunt? Paying for my own food? Is it that rude now?

  NOAH: Not that. Saying how we met so the server heard us.

  ME: Why? Do you think she’s hot?

  ME: Bear in mind, you’re screwed no matter how you answer that. If you say no, you’re lying, and if you say yes, it’s rude, and if you refuse to answer, I know you did.

  NOAH: You’re thinking into this a lot. Do you care, Reagan?

  ME: Hardly.

  NOAH: I actually have no idea if she was hot. I didn’t look at her that much. I was too busy with you.

  ME: Smooth. Not quite 10/10, but I’ll give you a solid 7.

  NOAH: Am I not allowed to tell the truth?

  ME: I didn’t say you were lying, I just said you were smooth.

  ME: I’d be looking at me, too.

  NOAH: There’s nothing like tooting your own horn.

  ME: Says Mr. ‘I Saved Your Life I Can Hold A Door For You’

  NOAH: But I DID save your life.

  ME: I’m not disputing that, I’m just saying that if we’re talking about horn tooting, you’re pretty darn good at it.

  NOAH: Yeah, but when you save people’s lives, you’re allowed to toot your own horn.

  ME: Now you’re just overplaying it.

  NOAH: I am, aren’t I?

  ME: Slightly. The time to use it was this morning on my mom and my aunt.

  NOAH: Yeah, but it sounded a little too gratuitous. What was I supposed to do, say Hi, I’m Noah, the one who saved Reagan’s life and we’re going for lunch?

  ME: …

  ME: Yes, Noah. That’s exactly what you were supposed to say.

  Silence.

  He didn’t reply.

  Was it something I said? I did have a tendency to be a little rude, but we were bantering, so…

  I grabbed the remote for the new TV that my dad had installed in my room this afternoon and hit the button because yes, Netflix. Yes, I was still watching Friends, thank you very much.

  I paid Netflix to give me unlimited streaming of my favorite TV shows, not judge me on the fact I was using that unlimited streaming in one sitting.

  I was recovering from a fire! I could stream for four hours if I wanted to!

  Yeah… I probably couldn’t use that line for Netflix if I’d spent two days complaining about being babied by my family.

  Fine.

  I paid for Netflix! I could stream for four hours if I wanted to!

  There. Better.

  My phone buzzed with a message five minutes into the show, and I sighed with relief when I saw Noah’s name.

  NOAH: Sorry. My dog stole my underwear again.

  ME: …Your dog steals your underwear?

  NOAH: Yeah. She’s a weirdo. I blame my grandma.

  ME: Why your grandma?

  NOAH: She belonged to her until she died six months ago. I had to go to Maine to rescue Poosh.

  ME: Your dog is called Poosh?

  NOAH: Hold on. Let me see if the little thief will cooperate for a picture.

  ME: Okay…

  And wait I did.

  For twenty minutes.

  Was he taking a photo of a dog or a viper?

  Noah’s name finally flashed on the screen, and I unlocked my phone to see the message.

  And.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  It was a chihuahua. It was a picture of him holding a very pissed-off looking tan chihuahua with one white ear and a bright pink collar.

  Dead.

  I was dead.

  Dead. Dead. Dead.

  ME: OH MY GOD YOU HAVE A CHIHUAHUA

  NOAH: I thought she was a Great Dane.

  ME: YOU HAVE A CHIHUAHUA

  NOAH: Yes.

  ME: YOU HAVE A CHIHUAHUA!!!!!!!!!

  NOAH: We’ve established that, Reagan.

  ME: YOU HAVE A CHIHUAHUA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Noah was a hot firefighter.

  With tattoos.

  And for all intents and purposes, a rescue chihuahua.

  I was so, so fucked.

  CHAPTER NINE – NOAH

  Bacon > Everything

  Was Reagan broken?

  Was ‘YOU HAVE A CHIHUAHUA’ all she was capable of saying? She was like an old record who was stuck on the same line, repeating it over and over.

  I wasn’t an expert on stuck records, or women for that matter, but I think it meant she liked chihuahuas.

  ME: Yes, I have a chihuahua. Yes, she is pissed off. I stole my underwear back. She costs me a damn fortune.

  Poosh growled as if she knew what I was typing on my phone. She probably did. I swore she was possessed—probably with the ghost of my late grandma. It was the kind of thing Grandma would have done.

  Found herself some witch doctor type to ensure her spirit went right for her dog to torment me for the next few years.

  Yeah. That probably wasn’t read out when we heard her will.

  REAGAN: Stop buying Calvin Klein then.

  I raised an eyebrow as I text back.

  ME: How do you know what underwear I wear?

  Her reply was instant.

  REAGAN: You bent over in the liquor store. I looked. I’m not ashamed.

  Laughter burst out of me. Of cou
rse she’d looked. I really shouldn’t have been surprised—she’d walked behind me most of the time while we’d been walking the aisles of that store and I thought I’d caught her staring at my ass once or twice.

  She was shameless.

  I kinda liked it on her.

  It fit her wildness. Anyone who had purple hair had to be a little bit wild. More than that, I could see it in her eyes. Especially when she laughed.

  There was a glint in her blue eyes—a glint that hinted that there was more behind the shameless, sarcastic exterior.

  The thing was, I thought both sides of Reagan would be wild.

  She struck me as the kind of person who gave her all to everything she did, whether that was loving someone or hating them, working or playing.

  I rubbed my hand across my face. I had no idea what I was doing, sitting here thinking about her like this. She’d given me absolutely no indication that she felt anything but gratitude and friendship toward me.

  She was more excited about the fact I have a chihuahua than she was about me saving her life.

  Actually, that wasn’t entirely true, but she hadn’t sent me eight YOU SAVED MY LIFE!!!!!!!! text messages either, so it was definitely a point that was up for debate.

  Still, she’d had a rough weekend, and the last thing she needed was some idiot with a chihuahua putting the moves on her.

  It was times like this that I wished I had my family around.

  I’d be able to offload this to my mom while she cooked for me and hummed and listened, then she’d tell me to shut up and stop overthinking everything.

  She’d remind me that my stupid ass choices lead to this moment.

  Which they had.

  If I hadn’t drunk that last beer last weekend, I wouldn’t have opened that stupid dating app, and I wouldn’t have ended up accidentally texting Reagan.

  After the fire, she would have been one of many people I’d rescued from burning buildings.

  Hearing her say her name was Reagan would have washed right over me as unimportant. It wouldn’t have had me showing up at the hospital to see if she was my Reagan.

  It was all my own doing why I was sitting here on my sofa, in my underwear, watching TV while texting her.

  It was why I’d done it for the last few days.

  Could you have feelings for someone you barely knew? Realistically, I knew fuck all about her. Not the kind of shit you’d learn on a first date, anyway, the menial stuff that was kind of important in the long run—favorite food and movies and colors and all that shit.

  Yet here I was.

  Wondering how hard she’d punch me in the nose if I asked her out for real.

  My phone pinged, jolting me out of that train of thought. I already knew the answer: it would be fucking hard.

  REAGAN: Did your dog eat your underwear again?

  ME: No. The only pair she can access are the ones I’m wearing.

  REAGAN: You definitely don’t want her doing that.

  ME: Definitely not. What are you doing?

  REAGAN: That’s a better line than ‘what are you wearing’ I suppose.

  REAGAN: I’m watching Friends.

  Oh, no. She spent the day shitting all over How I Met Your Mother and she was watching Friends? With Ross Geller? Who was categorically the worst fucking character ever to be created on TV?

  Probably in books, too.

  Nobody with an ounce of sense would create such a shit-ass character. No offense to the creators of the show—great show, guys, really—but Ross?

  Fuck Ross.

  NOAH: I fucking hate Ross. He’s the worst.

  I waited for her to defend him. It was coming. She’d defend him the way I had Ted Mosby before I systematically broke down her argument the way she had mine and she agreed she was wrong.

  REAGAN: He’s the fucking worst. I can’t stand him. Rachel should have gotten on the damn plane.

  Well, there went my plans for the evening.

  ME: You were supposed to argue with me.

  I stared at my phone, waiting for her response, but it didn’t come. Instead, her name flashed on the screen as a call.

  This was new.

  She spoke the second the line clicked on. “How am I supposed to argue about Ross? He is the worst character ever. He’s selfish and whiny and insecure and just an absolute pig to Rachel all the time! He didn’t want her but got mad when she dated everyone else. And Joey? Poor, sweet Joey who knew he was going to break Ross’ heart had the gall to love Rachel properly and Ross was mad about it! You know what I think? If Ross really loved Rachel, he’d have let her be with Joey. That’s what I think.”

  I waited a moment before I said, “Hi. Calling is new.”

  She laughed breathily, as if her rant had exhausted her. “Sorry. I have feelings about Ross. It’s easier if someone can shut me up halfway through.”

  “If you hate Ross so much, why do you watch the show?”

  “Joey. Duh.”

  “Right. Of course. Why else?”

  “You asked.” Amusement tinged her tone. “No, it’s a good show. It’s a comfortable show. I can enjoy it and hate Ross at the same time.”

  “I feel that.” I got up and walked through to the kitchen for a drink. “I started hating Ted ten minutes into How I Met Your Mother earlier yet I still enjoyed the show. Also, I don’t think I can ever forgive you for making me realize just how fucking shit he is as a character.”

  “You’re welcome.” She laughed, and there was a swish as if she were in bed.

  Shit, I did not need to imagine Reagan in bed.

  I adjusted my boxers. It wasn’t my fault she was fucking gorgeous and I was insanely attracted to her.

  Could I blame her for that?

  “What other TV shows do you have strong opinions on that I should be aware of?” I pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and knocked the door shut with my elbow. “I want to make sure I’m prepared for more of the things I love to be shattered.”

  Reagan laughed again. “I don’t know. The Big Bang Theory?”

  “None of the characters are one hundred percent awful, except maybe Sheldon, but he doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t count.”

  “You’re right. I can’t rip them apart like the others. They’re all too good together.” She hummed. “Okay, One Tree Hill?”

  “Never seen it.”

  “90210?”

  “Nope.”

  “Gilmore Girls?”

  “Negative.”

  “Charmed?”

  “Reagan.” I sat back on the sofa and popped the cap on my water. “What makes you think I’ve watched any of those teeny-bopper shows?”

  “I’d hardly call them teeny-bopper shows. They’re not the original version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”

  “I had to watch that because of my cousin. Salem is the best character in that show.”

  “Ha!” She laughed again. “Pretty sure I wanted to be Salem when I grew up. I asked for him once at Christmas, but I don’t think I thought through having a sassy, talking cat.”

  “Mm,” I said. “There’s also that little snag where cats can’t actually talk.”

  She paused. “All right, so that’s an issue. No need to shatter my dreams.”

  “From the girl who shattered my favorite TV show.”

  “If How I Met Your Mother is your favorite show, you need to get out more.”

  “I’m sorry, didn’t you just reel off a TV guide’s worth of shows you’ve watched that I haven’t?”

  “I think this conversation is done.”

  Laughing, I put my bottle on the table and gave Poosh a scratch before sitting back. “That’s it? I win, so you’re done with this conversation?”

  “You’re not familiar with women, are you?”

  “Relatively familiar. I spent some of my day with one. Unless you’re hiding something.”

  “What would I be hiding, huh? You rescued me when I was wearing nothing but a thin tank top and old panties.”

&n
bsp; She was indeed right, not that I’d paid much attention. “I didn’t really look at you. It might be a shock to you, but I was too busy—”

  “Saving my life, yeah, yeah. I hear ya, Superman. You’re a real-life superhero.”

  Anyone else, that snark would have ended the call. But with Reagan? I could hear the laughter she was fighting to keep inside.

  “I would have worn my cape but it was in the wash,” I replied. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “It’s okay. I suppose being alive is enough. Although you should make sure to keep the cape on you.”

  “It’s a fire hazard, don’t you think?” I changed the TV channel. “One too many fancy whips Superman-style and I’m the one on fire.”

  “Huh.” She paused for a moment and her breathing crackled down the line. “That would defeat the object of wearing one.”

  “It would, wouldn’t it?”

  She sighed. “Never mind. It was a nice fantasy while I had it.”

  “You’re fantasizing about me in a cape?”

  “Not specifically. And it’s not a fantasy.”

  “You just said it was.”

  “Oh, my God. Just because I said it doesn’t mean I meant it.”

  “Are you in the habit of saying things you don’t mean?”