Chapter 4
TEST SUBJECT
Katie
I blame the bracelet. But in a good way. Maybe it gave me the superpowers to get that last bit of breakup bad vibes off my shoulders. Already I feel lighter. Like I’ve shed a burden. But you know what? I’m not entirely relaxed. I’m still kind of irked.
Fisher stares at me, slack-jawed. “He said that?”
He’s as confounded as I am.
I nod savagely. “He did,” I confirm.
I broke up with Henry because he was using me.
He wanted to move in with me to—wait for it—save on rent in Seattle.
He actually pitched that as his reason. He said he’d have more free time to pursue his dreams of skateboard design if he didn’t have to pay the landlord.
I said, “Wow. I’m not interested in being your sugar mama. ”
But I don’t repeat that tonight since Fisher knows the full story. He heard it all when I drowned my sorrows shortly after the relationship ended, and again when I moved back. Yes, Henry was using me, and that hurt. I’d needed a shoulder to cry on.
I have no more tears for Henry. But I’m left with the confidence blow from those last words. I clear my throat, trying to stay strong as I repeat his parting shot. “When he left, he said, ‘Good riddance, Katie. By the way, you’re weird in bed.’”
I lift my hot cocoa, take another sip, maybe to hide my face.
What will Fisher think of the you need lessons comment Henry delivered.
But Fisher’s a friend, and we share our wins and losses with each other.
We share our good days as well as our bad days.
I blow out a long stream of air, then get a little more off my chest. “I don’t miss him one bit.
I don’t miss a single thing about him. But I’m vexed by this.
I don’t know what is wrong with me. That’s what has been nagging at me.
It’s not the breakup. I am so over that.
Except I don’t know if there’s actually something wrong with me. ”
Fisher drags a hand through his golden brown hair, nodding slowly. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” he says, and there’s no sarcasm in his tone, just warmth and support.
Fisher can’t truly know, but I appreciate the sentiment. “I mean, look, it’s not like I ate a sandwich during sex,” I point out, trying to make light of Henry’s insult.
He blinks, his green eyes glimmering a little more darkly before he seems to shake it off then says, “And look, if you did, would it really be that weird? Good sex should work up your appetite.”
A new kind of calm falls over me. I knew Fisher would make me feel better. Maybe that’s all I needed. Just to laugh off that cruel offhand comment that’s gnawed away at my confidence.
I’m loving his take on all this. I sit up straighter. “And I didn’t sing show tunes in bed.”
His smile is a little naughty. “Again, not a problem. Good sex should make you sing and shout.”
I crack up. I do feel lighter and better. I’m about to say Thank you for listening when the bartender in the Santa hat calls out from behind the bar, “Who’s ready for a mistletoe moment for charity?”
Like the lighting festival, this event raises money for charity too.
I jerk my gaze toward the bar where there’s a red bucket on the counter. Carter and Rachel are there, smiling mischievously. On the side of the bucket, words in white say: Singles for Kisses.
Fisher and I both crane our necks to the ceiling. Oh. Wow. There’s a sprig of mistletoe above us.
My breath catches.
The other patrons grab bills then chant: “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.” Pretty sure Fisher’s cousin is chanting the loudest.
My heart speeds up. My skin tingles.
What the hell is happening to me?
Do I want to kiss Fisher? My long-time friend with sexy scruff and bright green eyes? The one with the strong body, and the killer arms?
And, just as important, does he want to kiss me?
He gives a casual shrug but there’s a smile on his lips that doesn’t look friendly. It’s a sexy smile. He looks like a man on a date. “It is for charity,” he whispers, and his rich, sexy voice sends a rush of heat down my back.
I don’t entirely know what to make of these new sensations, but now’s not the time for thought. It’s a time for action, and I give in to the moment. “Then be charitable,” I say, and wow, that came out flirty and sensual and inviting.
He leans across the table, then dusts his lips to mine. It’s a hint of a kiss, barely there, just a tease. And yet, I want more.
I want a kiss that lingers into the night. And then, this one does. For a few hot seconds, it’s real and delicious.
I want so much more of it. Of him. But then a bell rings, breaking me from this kiss trance.
As we separate slowly, the crowd cheers again, then stuffs bills into the bucket. “The cats and dogs thank you,” the bartender shouts.
I steal a glance at my friend. Fisher looks dazed.
I feel dazed.
Then he scrubs his hand across his jaw, and quietly but clearly says, “I could be your test subject.”
My brow knits. No way did he say that. “What?”
But he doesn’t relent as he holds my gaze. “If you want to know if you’re actually weird in bed. Or if you need lessons. I’d be a very good teacher.”
I freeze. Is he for real? “You’re hilarious,” I say with a bubbly, you’re so funny smile.
For a sliver of a second, he looks starkly serious, then he erases his expression and his face is full of friendly cheer again. “Good one, right?”
But when I go home that night, I can’t stop thinking about how much I want a lesson with Fisher.
And that’s a dangerous thought for our friendship.