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He shook his head. “No, a bet’s a bet, but you aren’t going to act weird about it after, are you?”
“I’m already weird, but no, I’m reasonably confident there’s life after kissing Colby Singer—life which doesn’t involve dotting your last name with a little heart and planning a wedding.”
“Leave it to you to ensure my ego is always in check. That’s not what I meant. I only want to be sure the expectations are understood. Obviously, it goes without saying this would stay between you and me.”
“Of course it would, and I already offered an out. If you’re that concerned about it, then don’t kiss me.”
“I’m not worried, but I’d like to get it over with.”
I got up from the couch, quickly turning my head away from him, not wanting him to see the hurt his statement conjured up. “Where’s the guest room?”
“That’s what I mean. You’re already acting strange.” He stood up and led me down the hallway.
I fought my temper. “No, you are. You’re all anxious about something that isn’t a big deal. I haven’t thought about it once since Vegas.” Nope, not one time, more like one hundred times. “Do me a favor, and let’s forget I ever made the bet.”
“I didn’t mean it to sound as though I was dreading it. I just—”
“It’s fine. Good night.”
He opened the door to my room, and when I turned to go in, tugged my arm, pulling me flush against his chest.
My body hummed with the contact of his body.
He swallowed hard. “Okay, maybe I’m the one a little weirded out. I’m not a big kisser. I normally prefer to get to the good stuff.”
“Oh, yeah?” I enjoyed watching his face drain of color. “Dude, the bet was for a kiss, not a fuck.”
“Nice language.”
I quirked a brow. “What am I, ten? Fine, I won’t say ‘dude’ again. Now, are you going to kiss me or what?”
“Not out in the hall I’m not. There may be cameras, and I definitely don’t need my brother seeing this on the security feed.”
“You’re such a smooth talker, getting yourself invited into my room.”
“Ha. Funny.” When the door closed, he started to look nervous. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Wow. A charmer he wasn’t. I licked my lips as he leaned in. This was it. This was the moment in which unicorns would sing on a rainbow, and I’d float away on a cloud. But when his lips met mine and his tongue moved immediately into my mouth, wet and sloppy, it was all I could not to gag on the taste of cigar smoke and whiskey. And those were the high points. After another few seconds of the worst kiss ever, he pulled away, looking smug.
“You know if you didn’t want to do it, you could’ve simply said no.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What are talking about?”
“You making the kiss awful on purpose.” A prickling sensation of awareness started to work itself up my neck on its way to my brain. I realized I was missing something when I saw he stood there stunned.
“Are you being serious? You thought it was bad?”
Holy shit. Colby Singer—ladies’ man, hot as sin, man of my dreams, who I’d pledged I would marry at six years old—had to be the worst kisser in the history of kissing. It was unfathomable. “I, uh, kind of.”
His mouth opened and then closed. Finally, he looked suspicious. “Are you angling for another one? Is that what this is about?”
I let out a frustrated huff, crossing toward the bed in the spacious room and slipping off my shoes. “Believe me when I say one was plenty. When is the last time you actually kissed a woman?”
He had to think about it for a moment, which spoke volumes. “I’ve kissed plenty and haven’t had any complaints.”
“Did you think they’d leave you an online review? Rate you with a number of stars?”
“Funny, smart-ass. It’s only normally I get onto the good stuff. See, that’s the problem. You didn’t get a chance to see that part.”
