Turns out hehadbeen practicing since the last time I’d seen him. Enough so that he was able to perform “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” perfectly the first playthrough, without a single error.
I’d been hustled.
By a six-year-old.
I should’ve been proud of him.
My arms and legs ached after being swatted with a plastic lightsaber more times than I could count. I was tempted to whack mine over the kid’s head, but child abuse wasn’t really my thing.
Once he’d defeated his fellow jedi twin sister—the role he’d oh-so-graciously given me—enough times that I spent the last two fights lying uselessly on the floor while he attempted to decapitate and dismember me, Miles called in his Jell-O winnings.
I assumed he would eat it nicely while sitting at the immaculate kitchen island like a good little preppy boy.
I’d been wrong.
The Jell-O was green, and in Miles’s mind that meant it was perfect for an intergalactic space battle. All five scoops were lobbed at me as soon as he got his eager little hands on the giant bowl. With superstrength unexpected from a twiggy little ankle-biter, he made his last stand on top of the island—pouring the entire bowl over my head.
Children are our future, indeed.
And that was how I found myself stranded in the middle of the Stepford Wives’ summer subdivision, with mansions as far as the eye could see. Part of me was surprised no one had called the cops on my disheveled, Jell-O-soaked appearance yet.
Now I just had to find a way back to campus.
The bus driver would have my head if I tried to get on his beauty while shedding globs of green Jell-O and smelling like a hospital cafeteria.
I tried calling Teresa, but she was busy with something that didn’t involve checking her phone.
That left me in a precarious situation.
I glanced down atCupcake Thiefon my contacts list, but something about asking a practical stranger to come pick me up from the other side of town while I was covered in Jell-O felt wrong.
My thumb scrolled back up through the list, and I hesitated at a name near the top that was recently added but hadn’t been put to use yet.
Noah Kincaid.
I hovered over it, debating the pros and cons of reaching out to a guy I’d been on two dates with for a ride—before I realized the biggest con of all was Jell-O reaching into places it should never be as I fidgeted on the curb.
Tapping the button before I could overthink it any further, I held the phone up to my ear and took a deep breath.
I immediately regretted it and wondered if there was time to hang up before my name showed up on his phone.
Noah answered after the first ring, voice so deep and sure I had to take a moment to make sure I was still capable of breathing. “Kincaid.”
“Hey, boo,” I cooed, and immediately shook my head in self-disgust as I mouthedwhat the fudge?to myself.
What. The. Hell.
I hadneverin my life called someoneboobefore.
“Pardon?” Noah sounded just as confused as I felt. “Emma?”
I grunted and pushed back a wayward strand of hair covered in the green globs of sugary gelatin. “Hi. Sorry about that. Just ignore me. There was a ghost—you know what, never mind. It’s not important. Listen, you like me, right?”
His response was less than enthusiastic. “Yes?”
“Great. That’s good.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Next question. And I’m just curious, so no pressure. But if I was stuck at a house across town in the scorching heat and with very little food in my belly, do you think you happen to like me the appropriate amount to come pick me up? Totally hypothetical, by the way, and I would absolutely hypothetically reimburse you for gas money and mileage.”
Noah’s quiet snort reached through the phone, and I leaned my head down until it rested on my bent knees. My skin fused together with leftover stickiness from the Jell-O, making them become fast friends.
