Page 88 of No Match Found
I got the feeling it hadn’t been a coincidence that she and Brooke had been right there when I arrived; they’d been waiting for me.
“Need me too?” Grant asked with false innocence.
Katie smiled in amusement. “Not this time.”
I followed Katie and Brooke into the Jim & Pam Room, feeling like I was stepping into an intervention.
“You didn’t answer my texts,” Katie said as she closed the door.
“Or mine,” Brooke said.
“I didn’t really want to type out a novel,” I argued, resituating my glasses.
Katie put a hand on her hip and looked at me.
“What?” I willed my face not to heat up and give me away. Being a redhead was the worst sometimes.
“Spill,” Katie said.
I’d been too caught up with what had happened between Grant and me to give much thought to what Katie would think of my complete and utter mission failure last night. She’d coached me, and I’d gone rogue.
“Vivian,” Katie said after my silence continued. “Did Grant stay over?”
“What?! No! We only kissed.”
“Youkissed?” Katie and Brooke said simultaneously, like this was a more egregious revelation than him staying over.
I looked between them, thoroughly confused at the shock on their faces. “You thought he stayed over, but you’re appalled that we kissed?”
“I only asked if he stayed over to get you to start talking.” Katie jabbed her finger toward an Affection Puff. “Sit down, young lady.”
I thought about refusing on account of my busy schedule, but Pandora’s box was open, and I had a simultaneous need to explain myself and have them shake me by the shoulders to reactivate any sense I might have left in my Grant-blooded body, so I did as I was told.
“Start at the beginning,” Katie instructed.
After blowing out a big breath, I gave them a brief rundown of my date with Grant.
“Well,that’sadorable,” Brooke said when I got to the part where Grant brought me dinner.
After he’d left, I’d eaten every last bit of the tikka masala, stopping short of licking the takeout bag—but just barely—because somehow messy tikka masala brought by Grant Wilder tasted better than regular tikka masala.
Katie shushed Brooke mercilessly, her attention rapt on me.
“And then,” I said, unsure how to explain exactly what happened next, “we…kissed.”
They stared.
“Lemme get this straight,” Katie said. “He brought you tikkamasala, half of which fed his pants instead of you, and your reaction was to kiss him? Remind me never to bring you Indian food.”
“I didn’t kiss him,” I argued. “He kissedme. And it wasn’t like he handed me the takeout bag and then kissed me. There was an…interval.”
“An interval,” Brooke repeated blankly.
“I hate math words,” Katie muttered, sitting back in her beanbag like she was ready to check out of the conversation.
“What do you mean by aninterval?” Brooke asked.
“We talked first,” I said. “That’s all.”
