“You really don’t like losing, do you?”
“No, but do you really think that you and I are going to get along for this entire fair?” I raised an eyebrow. “We’ve never spent any time alone together.”
“I think you’re more bothered about what you perceive to be my harem more than anything else. Does it matter if there’s a long line of women in here trying to kiss them? They’re all paying for the privilege. Isn’t the point of this to raise as much money as possible for the hospice?”
I opened my mouth before quickly closing it again.
He was right. Of course he was. That was the reason the kissing booth had been created ten years ago, and it just got more and more popular every year. The hospice needed the donations to build their new wing, and I had no business letting my own personal feelings get in the way of raising as much money as possible.
I didn’t like it, but that didn’t matter.
“You’re right. How are you with a paintbrush?” I pointed at the kissing booth sign. “That needs another coat of paint, and then it needs putting up with some lighting.”
Preston looked at the sign then at me. “I’m neither an artist nor an electrician.”
I shrugged and, walking to him, grabbed a paintbrush, and pressed it against his chest. “YouTube is full of great videos. I’d also suggest using some common sense if you have any left.”
“Halley, I grew up creating bouquets of flowers, not painting signs.”
“Well, I’d pull out your phone, then. I don’t need flowers; I need a sign. You are here to help, aren’t you?” I raised one eyebrow and met his eyes.
Preston stared at me for a long moment, his blue gaze piercing. I felt it everywhere, a long shiver that started at the base of my neck and shot down my spine, tingling its way across my limbs until it finally escaped at my fingertips.
“Yeah. I’m here to help.” He took the brush from my hand, brushing his thumb against mine. “But if this looks like a five-year-old did it, it’s on you.”
I held up my hands and backed off. “And I’ll broadcast it all over the place. Kill off your chances of winning.”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the can of paint. “You can try.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER FOUR – PRESTON
Fuck Painting
I put the final touches on the dumbass red lips Halley had insisted I paint on the sign and sat back.
I was not a fucking artist.
Let that be known. Preston Wright could put together a badass wedding bouquet, but he could not paint for shit.
Actually, I didn’t want the bouquet thing known either. It wasn’t exactly anything that a young, good-looking guy would shout from the rooftops.
Yeah, for a good time, call the guy who can put together your grandma’s funeral flowers with his eyes shut.
Everyone knew it, but that didn’t mean I was going to advertise it.
I turned my attention back to the sign. It wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever created, but it was more fitting as a class project for a bunch of fifth-graders. They’d be proud of it, but I was…
Well, I was not.
Thank fuck this was for charity.
I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I had no idea why I’d said yes when Halley’s dad called me and asked me to be her competition. Maybe it was the guilt that the fair was a week away and nobody had signed up to compete against her and that without competition, the playground wouldn’t be redone this year.
Maybe it was the fact it was Halley.
Maybe it was the fact I wanted to beat her tight, round ass.
Maybe it was the idea that kissing other women while only feet away from her would finally beat down the overwhelming attraction I felt.
She was fucking beautiful. Her short, blonde hair was always curled around her face, and the red lipstick that constantly colored her full lips matched her glasses perfectly. It’d been years since I’d seen her without her signature red lips, yet all I wanted to do was kiss her so hard I wiped it all off.
It was a stupid attraction. Halley could barely stand me, and the feeling was more than mutual. She was perfect—she was more than goddamn perfect; she was too perfect.
The mayor’s daughter, the kissing booth champion, the resident raccoon savior. My sister’s best friend since they were six years old.
A part of me wanted to scrub away at Halley’s outer shell. There had to be something that was wrong with her. Nobody was that beautiful and smart and kind—there had to be an issue somewhere. She had to have this really bad, really horrible habit like biting her toenails or picking her nose and eating it.
Otherwise, I had to wonder why the hell she was single.