Truth or Dare: A Sweet Romantic Comedy Collection Laura Burton (classic literature list .TXT) 📖

But, it’s nothing like that. Not even close.

Our mouths are off-sync and her front teeth bump against mine. It’s awkward. We’re barely seconds into the kiss when she loosens her grip on my shirt and slumps back, a look of defeat across her face.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. I swear I’m a better kisser than that. The last time I had such an awkward time kissing a girl was in fifth grade. Back then I had no idea what I was doing. This time, I do. At least, I should know better.

But something about kissing Holly makes me feel like that little boy with no idea what to do with his teeth.

“No, I’m sorry,” Holly says, rising to her feet. “It’s late. We’re too tired for this. Let’s get some sleep and try again tomorrow.”

Now I’m glad we tried to go for the practice run. The last thing I want is a video of us kissing, where it probably looks like Holly is trying to make out with a donkey. Actually, that’s offensive to donkeys. I’m 99% certain they kiss better than I just did.

After Holly leaves and I turn out the lights, I stretch out with my arm above my head and stare at the shadows on the ceiling. Even though the sun will rise in a few hours, the street is still busy with traffic. That's life in New York, and tonight I’m glad for the distraction.

I spend so much time staring at the ceiling and listening to the taxi cabs honking their horns that it seems like I blinked and the room was suddenly filled with morning sunshine.

I blink again and Holly is standing over me with a plate of steaming waffles. The sickly-sweet aroma of maple syrup makes my stomach ache, but it’s my head that demands the most attention. It throbs with anger as I sit up.

“I hope you slept okay,” Holly says. I want to laugh. I blinked twice, and hours passed by each time. I’m wrecked. But the plate of food on my lap has me smiling anyway.

“I was thinking about our dare,” Holly says, twisting her hair as she perches on the edge of the coffee table. I make a humming sound between bites and shovel the waffles in my mouth. Holly pauses to watch with an amused expression on her face.

“What do you think about going in the hot tub?”

“That would be steamy,” I remark with a wink. Holly drops her hand. “Too steamy?” she asks.

I smirk. “I was referring to all the steam coming from the tub.”

Holly throws her head back and laughs heartily. Hands down, she has the loudest, most delightful laugh in the entire world. Oddly, it doesn’t hurt my head, either.

“I like the idea,” I say. “I’m going to take a shower.” Holly points at me with a grin as I get up.

“That would be steamy, too.” She’s being witty, I get it. But the joke conjures up an image in my mind that is anything but funny. The expression on my face must have given my thoughts away because Holly’s grin turns to a look of mortification. “Forget I said that,” she says, quickly.

I chuckle as I leave the room and I don't think I'll be doing any forgetting. The idea of kissing Holly drove me into a frenzy, but the idea of kissing her in the shower is driving me wild.

Holly

That was a bad first kiss. A terrible kiss. The worst, most awkward kiss of my life.

And yet, I can’t wait to try again.

For the first time, Cameron acted nervous around me. His cheeks turned beet red, he stumbled over his words and he was trembling as we kissed. Or tried to kiss, anyway.

I know for a fact Cameron James is an epic kisser. The girls at high school gossip about it. So there’s only one reason why he completely failed to sweep me off my feet. Nerves.

Our first kiss might not have lived up to my expectations, but it broke the ice. Now my jitters are gone, and Cameron is no longer on the pedestal I placed him.

He’s the same Cameron I’ve hung out with all these years. Yes, he’s smart and caring and funny. We banter with each other and get on like a house on fire. But - most importantly - he’s normal.

There’s no need to fangirl.

I barely have time to think about these matters, though. One pressing decision must be addressed;

Bikini or bathing suit?

I stare at the leopard print bathing suit lying on my bed next to a black bikini.

The bikini would be sexy, really showing Cameron the woman that I’ve grown into. If there are any illusions that I’m still that high school girl, they’d be shattered in an instant.

But my stomach is bloated after eating all that Italian food last night. The leopard print is cute, with a low neckline. Not too low to show off too much cleavage, but just enough so I don’t look like a nine-year-old girl.

The problem with the leopard print suit is I’ve had it for years, the color has faded and I should have thrown it out ages ago.

Decisions. Decisions.

I hum to myself, looking between the two outfits, when a knock on my bedroom door makes me jump.

“I’m getting in the hot tub now,” Cameron’s muffled voice calls through the door. I gulp. “Great, I’ll be right there.”

And just like that, the writhing snakes are back, squirming around, churning Katia’s lasagna in my stomach.

I grab the leopard print bathing suit, get changed in a rush, and scoop my hair back into a high ponytail. After a quick touch-up of lip gloss in front of my wall mirror, I take a deep breath and nod at my reflection.

“It’s show time.”

I wrap my towel around me, clutching a fistful of it in one hand and my phone in the other as I step outside. There’s nothing but a tuft of dark hair peeking over the edge of the bubbling hot tub, and the corners