This is going to go hilariously wrong 🙂
Kiss Me #2
by Emma Hart
What do a wrong number text, a burning building, and a quirky florist have in common?
A hunky firefighter with an extra-large…hosepipe.
In hindsight, I never should have opened that text message. The last thing I needed first thing on a Monday was a picture of some stranger’s, um, eggplant, in my inbox.
I also should have replaced the batteries in my fire alarm, because my Friday night did not need to end with my apartment building going up in flames.
But it’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
I’m only lying in a hospital bed with more split ends than I’ve ever had, almost all my Earthly possessions have turned to ash, and apparently, they don’t serve wine to patients in this place.
But like I said, it’s fine.
Until he walks in.
The guy who saved my life. My hero. Noah Jacobs.
And the universe is amusing itself at my expense, because the dirty photo I woke up to on Monday?
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I glanced over at him, my lips curving. “Hi.”
“To escape the madhouse? What do you think?”
“That I should put my foot down.”
I winked and clicked my belt into place. “Let’s go. Where are we going?”
Noah pulled away from the curb. “I was going to let you direct me. I haven’t been in town long, like I said, and I definitely haven’t been out for lunch.”
I leaned back in the seat. “Hmm. What do you want to eat?”
“You’re the one breaking out of jail. I’m happy to go wherever you want to.”
“Oh, no. I hate making decisions like this. Do you know how difficult it is to pick somewhere to eat?” I shifted my whole body so I could look at him. “Do you want Chinese? Thai? Steak? Korean? Pizza? Burgers? Caribbean? Mexican? Spanish? French? Italian?”
Noah’s gaze darted my way. “Do you have all those places in Creek Falls?”
“No, but that doesn’t make the decision any easier,” I replied. “Well? Burgers? Pizza? Mexican? Italian? Steak? Or Chinese?”
“I don’t—shit me, I feel like I’m being interrogated by the fucking Government.”
“You may as well be. Pick somewhere and I’ll tell you where to go.”
“I said you can pick.”
“I don’t care. I’ve been everywhere. They’re all good. You’re the new boy in town. Pick somewhere.”
“You’re demanding, do you know that?”
“Yes, Preston—oh, he’s my brother—regularly points out how demanding and difficult I am.” I paused. “If you really want me to pick, I will, but you can’t complain after.”
He turned the blinker on so we’d head in the direction of Main Street. “You just said they’re all good.”
“They are, but it’s not my fault if you feel like pizza and end up with a taco.”
“I can honestly say that I do not care what I eat for lunch as long as it’s edible.”
“Right. Then turn left, then right, and pull into the parking lot next to the liquor store.”
“I see you’re taking us to a reputable location.”
“Oh, no. The liquor store is a pit stop. It just happens to be on the way to the Mexican place I like.”
“I see. So you’re using me for liquor.”
“You’ve met my great-aunt. Damn straight I’m using you for liquor.”
Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.
She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.
Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.
Yes, really. She’s that sarcastic.
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