“I was trying to soothe you. You got a little worked up. Even had a vein popping just here.” He tapped the side of his forehead. “It was equal parts alarming and fascinating.”
“Yes, well. Now you know firsthand why I’m a terrible date. I can’t stop when I get started.”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t that bad listening to you rant. You’re passionate about it. If everyone had an ounce of your passion about something in their lives, a lot of people would be a lot happier, I reckon.”
CHAPTER NINE – KINSLEY
rule nine: not all dates are made equal. look at february 29th, for example.
I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, my cheeks suddenly got hotter until I was sure that I couldn’t hide it even by dipping my head and letting my dark hair fall around my face.
I’d never really thought about it like that, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Not that I’m saying that’s a rant for the first date. Maybe ease them in a little before you go nuts.”
I peered up through my lashes and caught his grin. It was contagious and, alarmingly, a little butterflies-in-my-tummy inducing.
I swallowed and dropped my gaze before I gave anything away. That was a new feeling, and one that wasn’t particularly welcome.
Josh was my brother’s best friend, for God’s sake.
What was I doing getting butterflies when he smiled at me?
I had no business feeling like this. For real. None at all. This was so wrong.
I coughed and shivered right after. It was the only way I could shake off those feelings before they went too far.
The next thing I knew, I’d finished my wine.
“Want another?” I asked Josh as I got up.
His glass was still pretty full, so he shook his head.
With a shrug, I headed into the kitchen and pulled the new bottle from the fridge. The screw cap opened with a satisfying series of clicks, and I filled my glass, then put the bottle back in the fridge door.
I was definitely drinking my feelings away tonight.
Despite what I said to the girls and Josh, my bad date had bothered me. Finding someone who fit my very specific parameters didn’t seem to be all that hard, all things considered, but getting them to like me and not be a jerk?
That, dear Watson, was not elementary.
How many dates like tonight would I have to suffer through before I found someone who’d listen to my rants about bad book-to-movie adaptations? Who’d discuss whether or not Kiera Knightley was a good Elizabeth Bennett or not? Who wouldn’t care that sometimes I couldn’t text you back because ‘just one chapter’ had turned into ‘just two hundred pages?’
I sighed, slumping against the counter.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I was the problem.
Wait—no.
No, fuck that.
This was who I was, and I wasn’t going to change that for anyone.
Jesus, I needed to get a grip.
I pulled a box of popcorn from the pantry and opened it. It was a brand-new box, so I grabbed one of the pouches, pulled it from the plastic, and put it in the microwave to make it pop.
I sipped my wine as the kitchen filled with sporadic pops. Within twenty seconds, the sporadic popping turned to frantic as the kernels fulfilled their dreams to become little salted bursts of goodness.
Sigh.
I really, really needed a life outside the bookstore if that was my thought process about freaking popcorn.
“Oh, it’s popcorn.”
I turned and met Josh’s green-gray eyes. “What did you think it was? A terrorist heist?”
“With you, anything is possible.”
I rolled my eyes and popped the microwave door open as the popping slowed. The bag was massive and full of air, and I pinched the corner to slide it out to open it. Steam wafted into the air as I pulled it open, and I let it dissipate before I poured it all into a bowl.
“So you wore the white dress?”
“Huh?” I grabbed the bowl and my wine glass.
Josh filled his glass.
You know, the one he’d just turned down.
“The white dress. To the date. The spaghetti?”
Oh. Oh. He thought I wore the one in the picture I’d sent him.
“Oh, no,” I said as we both sat back on the sofa. “I wore a white dress, but not the one you saw.”
“Oh.” If the way his shoulders sagged was anything to go by, he was relieved.
I frowned. “Why do you look so happy about that?”
“Happy about it? What do you mean?”
“Well, you went from looking like I’d kicked your puppy to telling you I’d bought you a puppy.”
“I just thought the dress was a little much for a first date, that’s all.”
“You didn’t say that earlier.”
“I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“So you’re saying it now?” I raised an eyebrow. “So much for being my guide through all things dating.”
“It just… isn’t a very you dress, that’s all.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Josh rubbed his hand down his face. “Shit, that came out wrong.”
I put my glass down and glared at him. “Wrong? How was that supposed to come out that wasn’t almost entirely insulting?”
“I—” He clamped his lips shut, meeting my eyes. An emotion I didn’t recognize swirled in his gaze, and I tore mine away. I didn’t want to look at him right now.
I was freaking pissed.
I downed the last huge mouthful of my wine and stomped into the kitchen. If I wasn’t drinking my feelings before, I sure as shit was now.
It wasn’t a very me dress?
What the hell kinda crap was that?
Was it any wonder I read romance? Guys didn’t say that nonsense in books.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Josh said, following me in and standing next to me.
I returned the half-empty bottle to the fridge door, putting a barrier between us. It swung shut after, revealing him to me, and I glared at him. “Then how did you mean it? Did the dress look that bad on? Is it something I should burn so I never wear it again?”
“No,
