But as Finn’s face came at me like a fish-eye lens, his lips already puckered in a way that seemed premature, I realized something: I didn’t really want that kiss.
I was curious about it. I still thought it might turn out to be the closure I needed to fix my whole life. I was still determined to do it…
But those were allheaddecisions.
Myheart? Wasn’t interested.
I didn’t stop him. I watched his face come in for a landing, and then I felt those puckered lips collide with mine. And then I stood very still and endured it.
I can’t say he was a bad kisser.Iwas the bad kisser.
But as he mopped my face with his mouth, slurping me like I was a plate of spaghetti, all I could do was wait for it to be over.
When he was finished at last, he pulled back with a self-satisfied expression.
“There,” he said. “How was that?”
I wiped my mouth with the hem of my dress and then gave him a thumbs-up. “I think we can checkclosureoff the list.”
He took it like a compliment. “Did I just solve all your problems?”
“Maybe. I’ll report back.”
Then Finn said, “Want to go back to my cabin?”
I squinted. “Not really, no.”
Another unromantic shrug from him. “I should go find someone else, then.”
Another thumbs-up from me.
“Andyou,” Finn said, “should probably go find Cooper.”
“I should?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because I think he really does have a thing for you,” Finn said. Then he gestured toward the staircase. “And he followed us here. And he just saw me kiss you.”
I TOOK OFFrunning toward the stairs—in my dumb heels: no easy feat.
But it felt impossibly important to set Cooper straight right this instant.
Finn had gestured like Cooper might still be there, but when I got to the stairway, he was gone. Would he have gone back to the after-party in the side theater? Or one of the many bars? Or the casino?
Of course not.
He’d have gone back to our room.
I hobbled down the two flights to our floor as fast as I could, and then, defeated, I took my shoes off.
Cooper really wasn’t wrong about my footwear choices.
I resolved to start listening to him more often.
Barefoot, I doubled my speed. I wasn’t sprinting, exactly—but close. I passed a bar, and then a casino—all while slaloming through crowded passageways and around random passengers without slowing. Even when I passed a second bar and, out of the side of my eye, I spotted my dad, alone, perched on a stool under a tiki-style thatched bar hut—with a bourbon in one hand and his head in the other—I didn’t break stride.
