No! Ken was sexy. She’d always thought he was sexy. After all, she’d had a major crush on him since they were teenagers. And she also—
“Sum, did you hear me? I said that you’ve really grown all up. It’s kind of a surprise. Not that you don’t look awesome,” he hurried to add. “But it’s a grown-up awesome. You’ve changed.”
“Oh, uh, thanks. I think.” Summer took a sip of wine. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said.
“Thanks, Sum! You know how fairies are—young for years. Good thing, too, ’cause the party planning and supply business isn’t for the old and serious.”
“So you’re going into your family’s business?”
“Of course! I love parties, and I especially love fireworks.” He sat up straighter, clearly proud of himself. “You’ve been gone, so you probably don’t know this, but I’ve been put in charge of the pyrotechnics for Fairies 4 Fantastic Festivals, Inc.”
“That’s great, Ken. I’m really proud of you. Your dad must be—”
“Yeah, it’s awesome! Just wait till you see what we’re planning for Beltane this year. It’s gonna be super cool with . . .”
Summer smiled and nodded while Ken talked. And talked. And talked. She also studied him. She hadn’t been exaggerating. He really hadn’t changed in the four years she’d been gone. He was wearing a T-shirt that said this way to the gun show with arrows pointing to his biceps. Summer had to stifle a giggle. His biceps were like the rest of his body, young and cute and lean. They were definitely not “guns,” loaded or otherwise. And she definitely wasn’t comparing them to Colin’s muscular arms.
She mentally shook herself while Ken paused in his monologue to jog into the kitchen to snag the bottle of Chardonnay. He came back in the room, still talking about the plans for the “awesome” fireworks show that would be the climactic event of Mysteria’s Beltane festival. She saw that his faded, baggy jeans were fashionably shredded over both knees, and he was wearing bright blue Skechers.
Nope, he definitely hadn’t changed since high school.
It was about then that Summer began to wonder if dinner would ever end.
“Dang, Sum, sorry about your headache,” Ken said as she handed him his jacket and walked him to the door.
“I guess I’m just tired from teaching all day.”
He stopped at the door she’d opened and turned to face her. “It was great to see you again. I’m really glad you’re back, Sum.” Ken rested an arm over her shoulder nonchalantly as he slouched in the doorway. His blue eyes sparkled with another smile. “Dinner was totally—”
“Awesome?” She provided the word when he hesitated.
“Yeah, it really was. And you’re awesome, too.” Slowly, Ken bent to her. His kiss was sweet and questioning and very, very gentle. In other words, it was everything Summer believed she’d wanted in a kiss from the man she’d been fantasizing about for years.
She didn’t feel a thing in response.
Give him a chance, she chided herself. This is what you decided you want. He fits in the plan. Summer leaned into Ken and put her arms around his neck, returning his questioning kiss with an exclamation mark.
She felt the surprise in his body, and then he parted his lips and followed her lead, kissing her deeper, longer. Summer thought he tasted, weirdly, like wine and lemonade. She wondered vaguely why he always reminded her of lemons—not the tart kind, but the supersweet Country Time Lemonade lemons, with lots of sugar. Lots.
Ken was still kissing her, softly and sweetly, while Summer’s mind wandered. She was thinking about what she was supposed to teach her sophomores the next day as she absently looked over his shoulder at the dark edge of the forest. She thought she saw something move there, just inside the boundaries of her yard, and wondered what it was. The moon was high and insanely bright and almost about full. Could it be one of the town’s many werewolves?
And then it hit her; she was thinking about school, and werewolves, and the moon while Ken was making out with her. That just couldn’t be right. When Colin had kissed her, she hadn’t been able to think of anything except him. His touch. His mouth. His taste. His kiss. Ken’s kisses made her want to compile a shopping list or maybe fold some laundry.
No. This definitely was not going to work. Time to change the plan.
Instantly she pulled away from him. He gave her a sweet, boyish smile. “Sorry, Sum. Did I get carried away?”
“No, Ken, honey.” Summer patted his cheek gently. “I got carried away. I think it’s best if you and I stay good friends and don’t mess that up with trying to be more than that. Do you know what I mean?”
Ken’s smile didn’t falter. “Sure, whatever. That’s fine with me. Hey, do you think I could have some of that awesome spaghetti sauce to take with me so I could snack on it later?”
“Sure Kenny-benny,” Summer said and, laughing, made him up a quick to-go package, patted him on his head, and said good night. Before she closed the door, she heard the distinctive giggles of several female fairies who had obviously been waiting to escort their Kenny-benny home. Or wherever.
She was still shaking her head at herself while she cleaned up the dinner dishes. “Jenny was right. I might be insane.” Ken was so not the man for her. Actually, if she was being totally honest with herself, Kenny-benny was so not a man yet, and clearly, he might never be. Rinsing the dishes, she laughed out loud. She should be upset at having her fantasy of the Perfect Man blown to pieces and her future plan messed up, or at the very least she should have been disappointed, but she wasn’t. She definitely wasn’t.
Her hands slid through the warm, soapy water making her think of slick, naked skin sliding against slick, naked skin . . . of heat . . . and passion . . . and a kiss that could seem to stop the world . . .
No! She couldn’t want the vampire.
And then, while washing Kenny-benny’s very empty plate, she looked up at her reflection in the dark window above the sink. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were big and dark with desire.
“Am I absolutely positive that I can’t want the vampire?” she asked herself.
Yes, you’re absolutely positive, her reflection seemed to reply.
“But his kiss was—”
Reason one you can’t want him, her refection interrupted, is that he is a carnivore, and that makes you want to throw up a little in the back of your throat.
“I don’t have to eat what he eats. Oh, Goddess, I don’t, do I?” Did one share one’s blood with a vampire, or did one’s vampire eat solo?
Reason two, her reflection continued, his flesh is cold, dead, hard . . .
“Well, what’s wrong with hard?” she argued with herself. “Plus, he touched me before we were in the painting, and it really wasn’t that bad.”
Reason three, he’s not your type!
“Okay, look,” she told herself sternly. “Up until about ten minutes ago, I thought Kenny was my type. Maybe I need to change my type!”
Reason four—her conscience ignored her—he makes you feel out of control, and you don’t like feeling out of control.
“Well, that’s because he was unexpected. He’s expected now, so I won’t have a control problem. I left my purse at his gallery.” Silently she thanked the Goddess for that slip, Freudian or not. “I have to see him one more time.”
“Yeah, so, tomorrow I’ll just swing by the gallery after school and pick up my purse,” she talked around her toothbrush to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “No big deal. No enormous ulterior motive,” she lied. “Just getting my purse, saying a quick hello, then coming home. There won’t be any more kissing. None at all. It wouldn’t even be appropriate. Really.”