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Hope’s chin dips down. Her teeth clamp her lower lip for a quick second before she regains herself—enough of a second to drive me wild inside.

“You did. Obviously, the kissing booth holds bad memories for you.”

My gaze slides to her lips. She has no clue about the good memories the kissing booth holds for me.

When I meet her gaze, I notice a hue of pink staining her cheeks. “What kind of memories does the kissing booth hold for you?” I ask.

I don’t need her to say the kiss changed the way she looks at me. I saw the desire reflecting in her eyes that day. I saw our friendship shift to something different. I want her to say it. And from heaven to hell, I don’t know why.

Something changes in the way she’s looking at me now. From the friendly, sweet Hope I remember to something I’m not entirely familiar with. Pain, regret—anger. And I’m not so sure I like it.

“The kissing booth reminds me never to trust a man.”

Chapter Three

HOPE

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I’VE FANTASIZED ABOUT the moment I would belittle Levi for the way he left things between us.

What kind of asshole spends the day swimming in the creek with a girl and the evening kissing her under the moonlight to altogether avoiding and ignoring her indefinitely?

The Wilde kind, that’s who.

I yearned for the satisfaction of finally saying my peace and the closure to follow. I feel neither satisfied nor the latter.

Instead, I’m thirsty for the second half of my fantasy, where we finish what we started with that kiss all those years ago.

Drunken Earl’s snore evolves into a hacking cough.

Yeah, that’s why they’re called fantasies because they’re not realistic.

Levi’s eyes soften, and I don’t like it. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

“Shame on me for not listening to my father. They’ll use you and take what they want. They’ll break your heart. They’ll leave you out in the sun to die.”

His dark eyebrows draw together in a look of pain. “I broke your heart?”

Fiddlesticks! Did I say that out loud?

“No. You used me, Wilde.”

“I never used you. Not once.”

I spin my glass, staring at the condensation ring on the table. “You and I have very different definitions of what friendship is. And mine does not include turning your back on someone without an explanation.”

“I broke your heart.”

“You didn’t break my damn heart!” This conversation is going sideways fast.

Earl mutters something about going home. It’s as good an excuse as any to leave.

“I’m glad you won’t be helping with the kissing booth.” I stand. “I’ll leave you to your drinking alone.”

I can smell the alcohol stench penetrating from the booth Earl’s using for a bed. “I’ll take him home before the meeting crowd arrives,” I call to Bucky.

“I’ll pack your wings to go.”