Skinny Bitch in Love by Kim Barnouin Page A

a lot more to ZachJeffries than I ever expected. Which, to be honest, made me a little nervous. It meant I couldn’t pigeonhole him. Couldn’t know what to expect.
    “Nope, not a thing.”
    “I wouldn’t have pegged you for such a nice guy, Jeffries.”
    “Always keep ’em guessing. That’s my motto.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one. You’d better get some rest. Your sister will drive you back to Santa Monica on Sunday?”
    I nodded.
    “I’ll walk you up to your room.”
    “You don’t have to.”
    He put some bills on the bar and led the way to the elevators anyway. In that tiny space he was so close, and I was so surprised by him, confused by him, that I wanted to turn and grab him, just feel his arms around me. But then the elevator pinged open.
    He slid the room key in the slot and opened the door, but didn’t step inside. “Get a good night’s rest.”
    Don’t invite him in. Don’t invite him in. Don’t invite him in.
    “You could come in for a bit, if you want,” I said.
    “I want, Clementine. But for a few reasons, I’d better get back.”
    Oh. What were those reasons?
    “I’m headed to New York tomorrow afternoon for business,” he said. “I won’t be back till next Thursday, maybe Friday. I’ll give you a call.”
    Why did I feel so dismissed all of a sudden? Like I madetoo much of all this and now he’d morphed back into Zach Jeffries, zillionaire meat eater with multiple girlfriends.
    But then he very slowly, gently, backed me against the wall and kissed me so hard that my knees buckled. Then he looked at me, touched my face with the palm of his hand, and left.

Chapter 8
    “Wait, Zach Jeffries drove you three hours to the hospital?” Eva asked as she sliced the seitan on her cutting board on Tuesday night. For our third class, we were making black bean tortilla soup and seitan fajitas.
    Duncan stood at the stove, stirring the black beans that I’d rinsed this afternoon. “And stayed with you in the waiting room?”
    “Pleeeeease let me tell them the rest?” Sara asked, taking a sip of her wine.
    When my sister dropped me off on Sunday night, I told Sara everything—but made her promise to keep the kiss against the wall of the Mayfair Hotel to herself. Not that it was the equivalent of hot wild sex on the carpet or anything, but still, it was private and I didn’t want it blabbed to the class.
    Eva gaped at me. “Omigod, you slept together all weekend and now you’re pregnant.”
    “Not even close,” I said. We had just one kick-ass kiss.
    One kiss that I couldn’t get out of my mind. On Monday, Zach texted me with How’s your dad? Hope you got home ok. Z.
    I texted back He’s doing fine and so am I. Thanks again for all you did. I wanted to add something else, a little sappy X for a kiss or something, but I didn’t want to be a total moron. I didn’t know what he was thinking.
    But I did know I was sunk. Because when very nice, everything-in-common cute vegan chef Alexander Orr had called on Monday morning to ask if I’d like to have dinner Saturday night, at his house, I made up an excuse. For Sunday brunch, too.
    “Are we just friends, then?” Alexander had asked, kind of wistfully.
    I thought of our meh kiss. Then of the way I turned to liquid when Zach just looked at me.
    “Is that okay?” I’d asked. “We do have a lot in common, and you’re a really cool guy.”
    “I guess it’ll have to be. Plus, you never know, do you?”
    “That is so true,” I’d said. So true.
    I stirred the soup, which smelled amazing.
    “Clem said he kissed her so hot and hard that her knees almost buckled,” Sara announced.
    I rolled my eyes. “Sara, is nothing private?”
    “One kiss? Kind of a letdown from my version,” Eva said, giving her shoulders a little shimmy. “And what, you’re suddenlya priss?” Eva asked, turning the peppers over in the sauté pan. “At least tell us if you’re officially seeing each other now.”
    I took a sip of wine.