26 Kisses (18 page)

The next couple of weeks at work are excruciating. Killian and I do our job, and, despite the fact that we’re trying to pretend nothing has changed between us, the job is all we talk about—how many reservations we have for the day, what to do if someone left their phone on the bus, how many little kids we’re allowed to fit into one canoe. It sucks. I miss Killian’s ramblings and theories, and the way we could start a conversation about something mundane, like canoe paddles, and end up laughing so hard we nearly pee our pants.

I take out my frustration on the running trail, going out nearly every morning. Ryan does get my number and starts pestering me to run with him. I meet him out on the trail a couple of times a week, and try to keep up with him as he lopes along. As I start racking up the miles, I feel like I might actually have a shot at running the half marathon in August.

“So you’ve kind of stalled out on Twenty-Six Kisses,” Mel says, letting the credits roll on the movie we’ve just finished watching on her laptop in her bedroom. “You’re still on
H
, right?”

“I’m on
I
, actually,” I say. “I forgot to tell you. Remember that little kid who had a birthday party at the Float & Boat last week? Hugo?”

Mel nods.

“Well, he ran over and kissed my wrist at the end of the day.”

Mel giggles. “That is adorable. I hope you gave him a ten.”

“Still saving the ten. Hugo gets a 9.999, so he’s the highest scorer so far. Except for Elmo the dog, who got a million.”

Mel rolls her eyes, clearly not pleased with some of my tactics for accumulating kisses. “So why haven’t you gone for
I
yet?”

I grab the computer and start scrolling through more movie options in hopes of finding something else to distract her with. I haven’t told her about my conversation with Killian or my mixed feelings about continuing on with the challenge.

“I just needed a break for a little while,” I say.

“Well, are you ready to get started again?” She takes the laptop away from me. “Because I have some great ideas.”

I shrug, and Mel sighs. “Okay, let’s forget about Twenty-Six Kisses for a minute. If you could ask any boy out on a date, who would it be?” Mel props her chin in her hands. “Leaving the alphabet out of it.”

“I don’t know.” I don’t allow myself to answer the question, even in my head.

She pushes her hair out of her face. “Come on, Vee. The summer is half over, but it’s still a blank check for you. If you could ask any guy out—
any
guy—and just have one incredible night with him, who would it be?”

I mentally turn the pages of our yearbook in my mind. There are a lot of good-looking guys at Butterfield High—I have to admit. It’s tough to choose. Maybe Brandon Lewis, the all-state swim team champion with ridiculous abs. Or Dave Martinez, who graduated in May and won some incredible scholarship to Princeton.

“Kevin Nardone,” I say finally.

Mel wrinkles her nose. “Kevin Nardone? Who’s that?”

“Seriously?” I cross my arms. “You don’t know who Kevin Nardone is?”

Mel shrugs.

“He’s a year behind us. He was in my Modern History class last year.” I roll off the window seat and look out the window onto the backyard garden. “I don’t know. He just seems like a really nice guy, like he’d be fun to hang out with. He kind of reminds me of Phil on
Modern Family
.” Kevin’s a nice, generic guy. Boring. Not particularly smart. The opposite of Killian.

Mel groans. “Phil, like the
dad
on
Modern Family
?” I nod, and she sighs in exasperation. “Vee, I don’t think you’re focusing on the right things here. And you can’t pick Kevin. You’re saving your
K
kiss for Killian, right?”

I turn away from her, not trusting myself to talk about Killian without my face giving something away. “I thought the point of the exercise was that I didn’t have to consider the alphabet?” I check the time on my phone and rise to my feet. My mom will be home from work soon, and Jeffrey insisted on spending the next few days at Dad’s house, so I need to hang out with her and remind her at least one of her children loves her. “I have to go,” I say, waving. “I’ll see you later.”

“What about Killian?” Mel calls, but I’m already around the corner and out of sight.

What about Killian? I have no idea. But I only have
I
and
J
left before I have to figure it out.

Ian Swanson.

Mel’s text arrives just as I’m about to go to bed that night.

???
I text back.

you never bothered finding out who i would ask out if i could choose any guy. and that’s who it would be: ian swanson.

so?

so he’s the only person i have in my phone whose name starts with I. you should go on a hot date with him because 1. you’ll get your I kiss and 2. i can live vicariously through you.

I brush my teeth and let her wait for a response. Of course, I already know I’m going to do it. I’ve been wracking my brain and looking through the yearbook, and the only people whose names start with
I
are Ian and Isabella Elias, an intimidating cheerleader to whom I’ve never spoken in my life.

oh, and 3. maybe afterward you can introduce us & he’ll fall madly in love w/ me & we’ll have lots of beautiful babies. i’m not too proud to take your leftovers.

I snort and toss the phone aside, digging out the yearbook and flipping to Ian’s picture. I honestly don’t know much about him. He plays basketball, isn’t in any honors classes but isn’t flunking out of school either, and has dated his way through most of the cheerleading squad, including a short stint with Isabella Elias herself. Hopefully, he’s taking the summer off from cheerleaders, though. The last thing I need is to pick a catfight with one of the scariest girls in school.

I get ready for bed and then turn off the light, making sure the alarm on my phone is set. I have to get up early tomorrow to run before work. Shoving my pillow over my head, I go to sleep, dreaming of miles of pavement disappearing underneath my feet.

Mel’s dad has a bad cold and can’t come to the Float & Boat the next day, so he tells Mel to have me work in the office with her, answering phones, checking people in for their reservations, and taking payments. It’s nice to be inside in the air-conditioning for once, although a twinge of guilt runs through me whenever I glance out the window and see Killian struggling to load the canoes onto the trailer by himself. He turns, as if he can feel me watching him, and catches my eye through the window, flashing me a quick smile that makes my stomach flip over. Mel has the radio playing softly in the office, and I find myself listening more carefully to the lyrics than usual, wondering if I can find anything worth writing down on Killian’s dashboard.

The phone rings and I jump, taking a moment to clear my head before answering it with a perky, “Flaherty’s Float & Boat! This is Veda speaking. How may I help you?” The customer wants to make a reservation for twenty-two people (yikes) for a class reunion in two weeks. I mark it down on the calendar and make a mental note to request that day off.

As soon as I put the phone down, Mel sidles up and pokes me. “I did your Ian research for you, since I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself,” she says. I mentioned to her my concerns about going on a date with a guy who is recognized property of the cheerleading team, hoping that would put an end to it, and I could have a few more low-key, kissless days to myself while she strategized another plan. But no luck. “He’s not dating anyone right now,” she says. “Apparently, he’s tired of blowing all his money on girls and is saving up to buy a car.”

“Great,” I say, scooting my chair closer to the window air conditioner so it’s blowing deliciously cold air directly onto my shoulders. “Then he’s definitely not going to want to take me out.”

Mel shakes his head. “No, no, no. You’re going to take
him
out. You’re calling the shots on this one, Vee. That means you pay.”

My stomach tightens, and I immediately hate myself a little bit. It’s the twenty-first century, for God’s sakes. Women can be doctors, engineers, physicists, astronauts . . . anything men can be. Law schools across the country are graduating nearly as many female students as male students, and the number of women who are the primary breadwinners in American households is constantly on the rise. And, apparently, reciting feminist facts to myself is my default reaction to feeling nervous. So why do I feel the need to wait for a guy to ask me out, and assume he will pay for everything?

That’s not the real issue, though. The real issue is the fact that even though things are weird between us right now, I can’t stop thinking about Killian. How is it right to ask a guy out when I’m obsessing over someone else? Even if I basically already told that someone else I wasn’t interested.

“I can see your brain working through something,” Mel says, watching me closely. “And I have a feeling I don’t really want to know what it is. But will you do it?”

“Let me think about it.”

Mel sighs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She tosses her phone aside and flips through a stack of papers, avoiding my eyes.

“Mel, come on. Are you mad?”

She closes her eyes briefly. “I just want you to have fun, Vee. You were with Mark for so long, and now you have this awesome chance to just forget about commitment and relationships and have a summer you’ll never forget.”

I cross my arms and stare out the window. How can I tell her part of the reason I’m hesitating on the kissing challenge is because I might have feelings for Killian, but I’m not even totally sure what’s going on in my own head? “Fine,” I say. “I’ll ask Ian out.” The phone rings again and I pick it up, chirping out the Float & Boat greeting.

Mel claps her hands in delight and pulls out her phone to text me Ian’s number. I turn away from her to write down the next reservation, hoping the cheerleaders won’t come after me when they find out I’m after their number-one favorite basketball player—and I’m not making a huge mistake by not putting a stop to the alphabet challenge right now and just going after Killian instead.

I have Ian’s phone number. I know he doesn’t currently have a girlfriend. And I’m pretty sure he’ll be up for scoring a free meal. There’s only one problem left: I’m not positive Ian Swanson even knows who I am. Luckily, that’s what Facebook is for.

Two hours after I send a friend request, Ian has accepted it and appears to be online. I take a deep breath, open the messenger app, and dive right in.

hey, ian. :)

hey, what’s up?

I pause, my fingers poised over the keyboard. This is going to be so humiliating if he turns me down.

i was just wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime?

It takes him a while to respond, although he doesn’t go offline. I wonder if he’s trying to figure out a way to say no without being a complete asshole about it. Or, an even more humiliating possibility, maybe he’s scanning my pictures to see if I’m cute enough for him to bother going out with.