Never Kiss A Stranger (A Hot Romantic Comedy) Page 2

  My trellis arrives, and I stuff my stress-inducing phone away. Even if I can’t have my dream wedding, I’ll make sure the bride I’m working for has hers this weekend. Georgia will have it all, and then some.

  Getting the coveted trellis to my work van is no easy feat. The cashier gave me a trolley cart to transport this thing, but it does not want to go in a straight line. I’m veering, and this trellis is leaning, and I swear it’s about to fall right here in the parking lot.

  “Keep it together,” I tell myself and the monstrosity about to topple over onto the pavement.

  I try my hardest to stabilize it as I zig-zag my way across the parking lot, but in a dramatic move, it comes crashing down.

  Before I can even try to think of a way to get the trellis onto the cart again, out of nowhere, a car backs into the trellis with a sickening crack.

  This can’t be happening. But it is. My life has become a horror film starring a ring eating goat, beach fearing fiancé, and now this.

  Red brake lights glow as I stare at the crushed roses beneath the sedan’s tires. A man steps from the car.

  “Don’t you have a rearview?” I yell, as I rush to what’s left of the trellis, like one would to an accident victim. I almost want to cry as I crouch next to the heap of broken wood that definitely won’t be standing over a happy couple anytime soon.

  “This is the day dreams die,” I murmur.

  Mine.

  Georgia’s.

  Probably a million other people’s. Ok, maybe not that many.

  “I’m sorry.” Emerald green eyes focus on me. They’re a stunning color. Henry would hate them, because they look like the ocean. “What exactly was it?”

  “It was a masterpiece. Pure perfection and you slaughtered it.” I stand and take a good look at the murderer. And maybe I shouldn’t have. This man is gorgeous—lustrous dark hair that looks like it’s on the verge of a sexy rebellion and a masculine jaw that could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. He’s what Lola would call too hot for his own good. A highly inappropriate thought forms in my mind that if I’m going with an art theme, Henry would be a Dali, all lopsided features blending together on canvas. Minus greens and blues, of course.

  Dark brows draw together and the stranger’s tall frame hunches over the trellis to pick up a random piece of wood. “Maybe we can fix it?”

  My mind can’t process his good looks and the disaster of the situation simultaneously, so it causes me to lash out. “No we can’t fix it.” I park a hand on my hip. “It’s ruined. The whole wedding is ruined.” Thoughts of telling Georgia’s family that I won’t have the one thing they specifically requested for her wedding causes my shoulders to slump.

  The man stares at the trellis once more. “I’m sure they have more inside. Let me pay for another.”

  “Actually, no. This was a special order handcrafted just for my client and it took them weeks to make.” His apologetic eyes sweep over my face. “It’s fine. Just...leave me alone, ok?” Rude, I know. But I’m done with today.

  The man glances over my shoulder and then wraps his arm around my waist. “Sorry about this,” he says, closing his eyes, and slanting his lips down over mine.

  He’s kissing me.

  Oh. My. God.

  And there’s some sort of misfire happening in my brain right now, because for some reason I can’t seem to push him away. I can’t seem to do anything. I’m going to blame my stress for the fact I haven’t slapped him silly.

  Yet, the way he clings to me feels so...needy. Like he can’t get enough of me. His hand moves to my hair, strumming each strand, and I become hyper aware of how his tongue traces slowly over mine.

  He breaks the kiss after only seconds but what felt like hours. His thumb traces down my jaw, and then over my bottom lip as if he’s memorizing this very moment. And then, reality sets in—I just kissed a stranger.

  “Don’t do that again,” I yell at him, pushing him back.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” His eyes are wide. “Sorry, I didn’t want my…” He rubs the back of his neck as his words fall away and he just gazes at me.

  That’s it, I’m officially done for the day. Put a fork in me and call it. “Just forget it. You’re a nightmare.”

  He chuckles. “I’m not a nightmare, promise. My friends think I’m a pretty nice guy.” He picks up pieces of the trellis and puts it onto the cart.

  I bet this guy has loads of friends. All with shining white teeth and beautiful skin just like him. I’m not normally one to notice other guys while being engaged, but this is the type of man it’s just hard not to.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I gather the smooshed roses that broke loose.

  He shrugs and lifts the arch of the trellis, as if it’s weightless. “Yeah, they say I grow on people.”

  “Like a fungus? You’re basically telling me you’re fungi?”

  The lopsided grin he gives me causes me to pause collecting flowers and stare at the slight dimple marring his cheek. “Yeah,” he says. “I am a fun guy. Get it? Fungi—fun guy.”

  I roll my eyes with a smile. “I think that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

  “Admit it. You liked it.” For some reason, I feel he means more than the joke.

  Rather than answer and declare myself guilty on all counts, I brush by him and dump the remains of the flowers on the trolley.

  We finish clearing the ruined trellis, and he insists on loading what’s left of it into my van.

  As I pull away, I realize I never even asked for his name. I guess it’s good I didn’t.

  I have a perfect fiancé.

  TWO

  Kiki

  Never trust the funnies...

  I wish I had amnesia. All I want to do is forget about the events of today. But, that unexpected kiss is burned into my memory. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that in my whole life. I’d know if I had. And I definitely haven’t.

  Those thoughts are banished as I pull into my driveway, and park right next to Henry’s silver BMW.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask when I enter the foyer and am overwhelmed with the smell of garlic wafting through the air.

  Henry smiles at me from the kitchen. “I thought I would surprise you with dinner.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I say, dropping my handbag on the entryway table. This is the first time I’ve come home to him being here. When Henry and I exchanged keys to each other’s places I never really expected we’d use them. I thought it was more like how Lola and Poppi have a spare key too. You know, for emergencies.

  I had planned to come home, stretch out on the couch, and read a hot romance novel on my Kindle. But now, I feel like I have to entertain Henry.

  Well, pretty soon we’ll be married and this will be my life. You can’t just get rid of your husband when you’ve had a stressful day. This is good practice.

  I put on a smile and head into the kitchen. “Hey there.” I kiss his cheek.

  He wipes it away, grabbing a newspaper off the counter. “Here, I got this for you. Why don’t you take it to the living room and read it for a bit before dinner.”

  I stare at the newspaper like he just handed me a really hard math problem. Sure, I like to keep up with the news and current events, but I haven’t read an actual paper...well, ever.

  “Great, ok.” I take my paper to the sofa and sit between two large yellow pillows. Maybe a newspaper can be as entertaining as a romance novel.

  I look at the front headline. This is horrible.

  I turn the page, more bad news.

  I’ll look for the comics, at least those won’t be depressing. Before I can get to the section, Henry sits down beside me with a few chips stacked on a plate. He grabs the business section and flips it open. And then crunches. “Dinner’s got a little while before it’s ready.”

  My eyes slide to him as he continues crunching at an extraordinarily loud volume.

  To distract him from eating any more chips, lest I jump out
of my skin, I decide to tell him about the ring. “Henry.” He doesn’t look up from whatever he’s reading on the page, just gives a little ‘mmm’ sound as he licks his finger. “Today, Poppi and I went with Lola on another workout thing for her blog, and well, it was goat yoga.”

  He’s so engrossed in his dang paper. And those chips. But, I keep going, “And well, there was this goat and he kind of ate my ring off my finger.”

  Nothing. No reaction.

  “Henry,” he glances at me, “did you hear me about the ring?”

  He examines my hand. “Where’s your ring?”

  I stare at my ringless hand. “I just said there was a go...” Before I can finish my thought, a timer beeps in the kitchen and Henry bounds off the couch.

  I follow him into the kitchen and pour myself some wine as he lifts the lid on a sauce pot.

  “I had an issue with the trellis,” I tell him, trying another topic. “But I think it will all come together.”

  He pats the top of my head, like I’m the dog. “That’s good, Kinky.”

  And then I let it all out, “A stranger kissed me today, and a goat ate my ring. And also, I think I might be getting a little stressed with the whole wedding thing. My mother is just non-stop.” I stare over at Henry, stirring the sauce in the pot. “Are you listening to me?”

  He laughs. “Of course, I am. Manger. Goat. Blessed.” He kisses my cheek. “Why don’t you go take a shower? Because speaking of goats, you smell like one.”

  My shoulders slump, and I look down. “Yeah ok.” I peer back over my shoulder before leaving. “Oh, by the way, do you have a best man yet?”

  Henry’s mouth disappears into a thin line. “I don’t really have a lot of friends.” He shrugs his broad shoulders and then his brown eyes light up. “Hey, what about that guy from your work...what’s his name?”

  “Dennis? You can’t use Dennis. You barely know him.”

  “So.” Henry smiles wide, reaching out his hands to take mine. “This wedding is more important to you, anyway.”

  Did I just hear that right? “Excuse me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Henry kisses my forehead. “Look, go wash the goat off of you, and then we can talk about it over dinner.”

  I grab my wine glass as Henry turns back to finish cooking his meal. “What are you making?” I ask before heading upstairs.

  “Your favorite...spaghetti.”

  “Great,” I tell him. Spaghetti is not my favorite. Henry asked me on our first date what my favorite food was, and I felt so on the spot, I couldn’t think of anything and just blurted out the first food that popped into my head. I can’t backtrack and tell him that I caved under the pressure and named a false favorite. I guess I’ll have to learn to love spaghetti.

  He gives me a little wave and I leave the kitchen and pad down the hallway to my bedroom.

  What is wrong with me? I should be thrilled Henry is here making me dinner. But, I just wish it had been any other day than today. I need to figure out how I’m going to fix this trellis disaster, and…

  I can’t get the image of that stranger out of my mind.

  Why would he do that? That question repeats in my head as I shower. It repeats as I eat spaghetti and listen to Henry slurp his noodles. It repeats as I finally settle into bed alone. As I drift off to sleep, I promise to myself I will never think about that stranger ever again. But, never say never.

  THREE

  Ellis

  Never say no…

  Beer is my life. If there’s one thing you should know about me, know this...I have hops and barley flowing in my veins. And no, it’s not because I’m an alcoholic. It’s because my fuck-up father comes from a long line of brewmasters. My inner monologue will be continued at a later time because...

  “Oh God, is that you? Ellis Atwood?” a deep voice booms from behind me.

  I spin around on the bar stool and stare into the familiar brown eyes of my childhood friend from school, Henry Faniki. He still looks the same—like he just stepped off a yacht—except he’s got a few smile lines and is trying his hardest to pull off a goatee.

  But failing miserably.

  “Dude, how’ve you been?” I give him a hand shake that turns into a back slap/hug thing. “Been a long time.”

  “It sure has. How’s Atlanta treating you? Still the design genius for the brewery?”

  “Atlanta’s great.” I offer the barstool next to mine for him to have a seat. “Yeah, I’m still running the distribution side of things.”

  “What brings you into town?” he asks. “Visiting family?”

  “Something like that,” I hedge, holding back the brewery’s financial troubles Urban called me home to help fix. “Hey, I saw you were getting married a while back. How did that go?”

  Even though Henry and I haven’t seen each other in years, we’re friends on Facebook so I see his posts every once in a while.

  Henry’s lips spread thin, and his eyebrows droop. “Yeah, that engagement didn’t hold.” His woeful expression changes to upbeat on a dime, “I’m actually engaged again, though.”

  “No shit. Wow, congrats.” I turn to the bartender. “Mia, get my friend here the Shaggy Maggie IPA.” Maybe I’m biased since I design the bottles and packaging, but it’s the best on the market, in my opinion. Our IPA’s are legendary. And our stouts are even better. Twist & Stout was voted top dark beer in Florida. Twice. I’d like to think it’s got something to do with the bottles. Each one has a goat etched right in. Seriously.

  “Sure thing,” she says, before rushing off to fetch it.

  “She’s cute,” Henry says as Mia reaches into the cooler behind the bar.

  That’s not exactly something an engaged man should be noticing. But from knowing Henry in high school, and the little bit I’ve seen on social media for the past however many years, there’s one theme I’ve noticed with Henry’s life—he sure does love the ladies.

  Literally.

  But people can change, right? Minus my father. That bastard will never change.

  Mia slides Henry his beer across the bar wood with a smile and he lifts the brown bottle I designed to clink it with mine. “I’ve always loved your family’s brewery.” He takes a long pull of beer. “Ahh. Richard Atwood sure knows his stuff.”

  “That he does.” I take a sip of beer, my shoulders tensing beneath my t-shirt at the mention of my father’s name. What he knows is how to run a business that was a goldmine into a struggling mess. It’s a shame, really. This brewpub has been serving the local community and building relationships with all the bars and restaurants since I was a kid.

  Urban has upgraded and transformed this place into a hotspot in Jupiter. The Bearded Goat Brewery is pretty fucking cool. Behind the bar, you can see the machinery and the brewmaster mixing the hops in the taproom. People love it. Or did.

  “How’s your brother?” he asks.

  “Urban’s good,” I answer. Except the high blood pressure he’s developing from trying to stop the bleeding from the brewery. “So, tell me about this girl you’re marrying.”

  He turns to face me. “She’ll be the perfect little topping on my five-year plan.” He takes a swig of beer. “Ever meet someone you didn’t expect?”

  My mind immediately travels to the woman I kissed yesterday after I picked up items to fix a broken tap. She was stunning. Long brown hair that had a slight wave, like she’d just come from the beach. Light brown eyes that lightened even more when the sun hit them just right. Curves that filled out her tight yoga pants and little top.

  There was just something about her.

  Or maybe it was everything about her.

  I didn’t plan to kiss her—I’m not some psycho who goes around kissing all the women—but it was the only thing I could think of when my father showed up out of nowhere, driving down a side street near the lot.

  “How’s your mom?” I ask Henry.

  “She’s good. Still running the gator tours.” There’s an awkward pause befor
e Henry swallows down more of his beer.

  “What about you? Are you still helping them out?”

  “No,” he scoffs, handing me a business card. “I’m an investor with a huge firm downtown. The Wright Brothers.”

  Ah. My ears perk up. Maybe I just found the answer to our problems wrapped up in khaki pants and blue polo shirt. I signal Mia for two more as Henry fills me in on his job and how he’s making his mark on the executives by bringing in the highest potential in return investments. It’s exclusive, and they invest in only the best.

  “Sounds very important,” I flatter him. Maybe I can convince Henry to invest in the brewery after I run it by Urban.

  “Oh, it is,” he assures me. “It’s not as cool as what you do, artistic shit,” he glances at my jeans and t-shirt, “but I like the suit and tie.” He places his beer on the bar. “Can I ask you a silly question?”

  “I love silly questions,” I say.

  “Would you want to be the best man at my wedding?”

  Shocked isn’t the right word for what I am right now. I haven’t seen Henry in years. I don’t even give his Facebook posts a like. “You wouldn’t want one of your other friends?”

  He shrugs. “Kiki, my fiancée, she’s more into the wedding stuff.” He rolls his eyes. “I just need to find someone. Anyone.”

  If I say yes, that’s got to win me points toward an investment. “When is it?”

  “A few weeks.”

  I pick up my beer bottle, clanking it against his own bottle. “Count me in.”

  “Thank God. If I had to listen to Kiki for one more second about how I needed to find somebody, I’d lose my mind.”

  I’m feeling a little bad for Henry’s fiancée, but I laugh. “Sounds like wedded bliss.”

  He raises a brow. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s great. You want to meet her?”

  “Right now?” I scan the bar, looking for a woman next to Henry that I may have overlooked.