Uh, they could do that, if that’s what she wanted to do.
“Sure,” he agreed, cautiously.
“I’d say you get a solid eight for the creativity points the chocolate brought. Nice work, because even if the kiss was shit—and I’m not saying it was—you know you’d net a solid five just for that touch,” she said, totally wrecking his moment of enjoyment.
His lips felt funny, like they were frowning.
“Excuse me?” Character Irina or not, he begged to fucking differ.
He stared at her, because apparently she’d grown another head while he’d kissed the hell out of her.
“The kiss itself was super nice.” She nodded as she spoke, even counting off on her fingers. “Definitely one of the better first kisses I’ve ever had. So I’d say you get a solid seven for that.”
Was she doing drugs during the day? Was that what the problem was? Because there was no way anyone would ever have described that kiss as “super nice.”
“If I were to give it a ranking, I’d think I’d go seven-point-five, leaning into the seven-point-six territory.” She grinned and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I bet next time you’ll do much better. The first kiss is always the worst, amiright?”
She dropped back into her chair and went to town on the pasta like the world hadn’t just shifted underneath them.
He didn’t move because he couldn’t bring himself to get past the idea that this woman, the woman he was going to marry, had given him a seven-point-five on their first kiss. A first kiss where she nearly came on his leg, and he’d made her pasta.
A seven-point-five wouldn’t even take him to the finals of the Tonsil Town Olympics. Hell, he wouldn’t even make the team. He’d end up on the amateur tour, and that was unacceptable.
“There was not one thing wrong with that kiss.” Why did he sound so defensive?
Oh, right, because there wasn’t anything wrong with that kiss.
She beamed up at him, and her eyes got bright before she glanced away again.
Hold up. She was acting now. He’d bet money on it.
“Thank you, you are so sweet,” she continued. “You liked it? What do you think? Scale of one to ten for me?”
Wait, was she acting? He made a sound that was not a good one. “You’re serious right now?”
“Knox, yeah, this is fun, right?” She grinned huge, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.
You know what? Actually, he wasn’t really hungry anymore.
“I think I’m going to…” He tilted his head toward the exit. “Go catch up with Tanner and Mach. Let you…” He waved his fingertips in a circle toward her. “Finish.”
Her expression gentled and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I mean, really, first kisses?” She pulled a face.
Yeah, this was not helping his pride situation. Not at all.
“Thanks.” He wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying thank you for, but he wanted out. Away from there to someplace where his tongue was appreciated for all it could accomplish. “We’ll catch up later.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed out the door, but he did not go to the apartment. Instead, he called a ride share and tracked down Mach and Tanner where they were partying it up at Pew, the latest and greatest nightclub where everyone wanted to be seen.
He’d planned to take Irina there before the whole pasta and kiss embarrassment.
Pew was the kind of nightclub with strobe lights and aerialists, loud music and good booze. He was Knox of Dimefront, so he’d reserved one of the VIP tables with no issue.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tanner asked when Knox nursed his second beer without saying more than a handful of words.
Mach was dancing with a crew of women, but that wasn’t Tanner’s gig, so he stuck back at the VIP table with Knox.
“You ever kiss a woman?” Knox asked. Because while Tanner was a drummer, good-looking enough guy—so he was told—and he had groupies tossing themselves at him on the regular, he got tongue-tied whenever he was around women under the age of seventy.
