I turned at the sound of huffing and puffing. Reagan stopped and doubled over, clutching her side. She was desperately trying to catch her breath, but I just stared at her.
“I told you to start running at least once a week.”
“I told you to fuck off,” she wheezed. She held up a finger as she took a moment to catch her breath. “Phew. I really need to start running.”
“No shit,” I said dryly. “Running something other than your mouth would be something I’d pay to see.”
“Hey, do you want this wine I smuggled in or not?”
“First, why bother? You know it’s legal to drink during the fair, and Barney always makes sure there’s plenty for this cookout. Second, you didn’t smuggle it in. You’re not a pirate.”
“You’re right. If I were a pirate, I’d have made you walk the plank by now.” She pulled an insulated bottle from her purse and handed it to me. “Here. Before I change my mind, you hypocrite.”
“How am I a hypocrite?”
“You run your mouth more than anyone I know.”
“Yeah, but I also run my legs, which means I can actually run away if I piss someone off. You’d run ten feet and collapse into a little heap on the ground.” I grinned and turned. “Come on. I can smell the food from here.”
She sighed. “I hate it when you’re right. Is Ava already here?”
“Mm. She said she’d meet us here.”
“I guess she and Butler are back on.”
“They’ll have broken up again by the weekend. She really needs to try dating other people.”
“I’ll drink to that. I love her, and I support her life choices, but if I have to listen to one more crying monologue about Butler Ferris, I’m going to knock her out.”
I didn’t want to be that person—Reagan already had it down—but I had to agree. There are only so many times you can watch your best friend make bad choices before you stop being nice about it.
We had one, maybe two, more episodes of that in us.
Depending on our mood.
Maybe three if she was lucky.
Of course, we wanted it to work out. We loved Ava and we… well, we tolerated Butler, to be honest, but he made her happy when they were together. The problem was that they were both downright miserable when they weren’t together, and there was a lot of shouting and arguing during that period.
As long as they lasted the fair. I didn’t think I could handle doing the competition and being an agony aunt in the middle of it.
We crossed the rest of the empty fairground in silence. There were imposing fairground rides that ranged from high-flying, swinging things that gave me a case of the hives, to the Ferris wheel, to the multi-lane, giant slides that gave me nightmares thanks to a sliding incident when I was six.
Stalls were set up, breaking up the rides that would be lit up like Christmas trees in a few days. The milk bottle and shooting games and stupid little things where you could win a goldfish that would die within a week were interspersed with food stalls serving everything from foot-long hot dogs to corn dogs to freshly made lemonade and cotton candy.
We passed the huge pirate ship that rocked side by side that Ava had once thrown up on—we’d been drunk teenagers—and approached the huge tent that made up the Ferris’ barbecue stall.
It was buzzing with life. The daylight wasn’t quite waning yet, but there were solar-powered lights stuck into the ground around the tables that made up their area. Wooden picnic benches were set all around, as were a few bistro-style table and chair sets.
Me and Reagan joined the line waiting for food from the counter. The rich scent of barbecued meat filled the air, and a long table set off to the side was filled with all kinds of side dishes and condiments—salads, coleslaws, sauces. You name it; it was there.
We were almost to the front of the line when a nearby table opened up. Reagan bolted for it, almost knocking somebody over, and snagged it by jumping on top of it.
Slightly dramatic, but whatever.
I grabbed us both some food and joined her.
She slid her plate across the table. “Did you find out who your competition is yet?”
I shook my head. “I tried calling my dad, but he didn’t pick up. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Or right now.”
I jerked around at the familiar, deep voice that had haunted one too many dreams in my life. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Preston Wright slid his tall, muscular frame onto the bench opposite us. He had the same, bright blue eyes as Reagan, but he still had his natural hair color, unlike his younger sister.
It was a rich dark brown, the color of a vat of melted chocolate, and it was cut close to his ears but longer and swept to the side on top. He had cheekbones that not even a sculptor could create, and his annoying perfect lips were surrounded by stubble that was at least two days old.
And, just in case it wasn’t clear: I had a bit of a crush on him.
It was annoying. I didn’t even like Preston, yet my vagina fluttered a little whenever he was nearby. The traitorous little bitch.
He leaned forward on the bench, meeting my gaze as a smirk played on his lips. “You want to know who your competition is this year?”
My stomach sank. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about kissing, Halley.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Reagan waved her hands. “You’re her competition in the kissing booth?”
Preston nodded. “The organizers came to me and asked me. They want to spice things up a little—give Halley some actual competition.”
So they picked the hottest guy in Creek Falls? Awesome. Just awesome.
Reagan looked him up and down. “So they picked you?”
“It’s not my fault if they think I can kick Halley’s ass.”
I snorted. “In your dreams.”
“Hey, I already have a line of women waiting to kiss me.”
“No, you have a line of women hoping you’ll sleep with them so they can accidentally get pregnant and trap you.”
“And the money,” Reagan added. “Since Dad sold off half the company…”
Yeah, who knew being a florist could make you millions? I didn’t. But since their dad sold half the company, we all knew now.
“I don’t have one-night stands,” Preston interjected. “I can be both a bachelor and a celibate man.”
I stared at him flatly. “You’re celibate.”
“Why do you think I’m entering a stupid kissing contest?”
“Because you like winning.”
“I do like winning. Especially if I get to beat the town’s golden girl.” He grinned.
“Who’s beating the town’s golden girl?” Ava slid around from behind us.
“Me,” Preston replied.
“In what?”
Reagan smirked. “He’s Halley’s competition in the kissing booth contest.”
Ava froze with one leg over the bench. “Shut the fuck up.” She turned to look at me. “That’s a joke, right?”
I put a slice of cucumber in my mouth in response. My face probably already said what I was thinking. I didn’t really have much of a poker face.
She groaned and dropped onto the bench. “Now I’m losing for sure.”