Free The Kissing Booth by Beth Reekles Page B

turning my head. It’s not a big deal. It got blown out of proportion. It’s just embarrassing.’
    He studied my face for a moment before saying, ‘That’s it? You’re sure?’
    I got the feeling he was trying not to laugh.
    I huffed, just about ready to stamp my foot. ‘Yeah. Completely sure. Why are you always so dramatic? It’s not like any guy in this school is going to make me do anything I don’t want to do, anyway.’
    He raised an eyebrow, as if to say I was way too naïve. I just shrugged it off.
    ‘Now can I go wash this freaking paint off, or does the Spanish Inquisition have more pointless questions?’
    He smirked a little. ‘Someone’s moody.’
    ‘I’m covered in paint and you’re giving me the third degree for nothing! Of course I’m not in a good mood.’ I stormed away to the changing rooms.
    But when I saw myself in the mirror . . . even I had to laugh. I was such a mess! Paint flecked all through my hair, streaked over my face and dripping down my neck, patterning my blouse . . .
    It wasn’t so funny when it wouldn’t come off, though.
    Or when I found no spare clothes in my gym locker.
    After about ten minutes of tireless scrubbing, I got some of the paint out of my hair and most of it off my face. It had dripped down under my blouse, so I was stood there in my trousers and bra when the door opened.
    Thinking it was Lee, I didn’t turn around.
    ‘Hey, Elle? Lee said he’s going for some food with the guys, but if you want a ride home . . .’ Noah trailed off when he saw me standing there.
    I froze, blinking at my reflection in the mirror. I felt my cheeks warm up, and twisted my head around, hoping I wasn’t blushing as hard as my reflection was.
    ‘What?’ I snapped.
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘No – what were you saying?’
    ‘Oh. Oh, right, yeah, well, um, Lee’s leaving to grab some food with the guys, but he said if you wanted to go straight home, then I have to give you a ride. And considering you still look like some kind of Picasso . . .’
    I looked at the flecks of pink paint splattered over my collarbone and laughed, trying to cover my awkwardness at him seeing me in my bra. He’d seen me in a bikini before, but that seemed . . . different, somehow. ‘Yeah. Tell Lee to go ahead.’
    ‘Sure. How long are you going to be?’
    I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Since you’re going to take me straight home, I can shower there, so . . .’ I pulled on my damp blouse and did the buttons up hastily, then slung my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’
    I wasn’t really looking forward to being in the car with Noah – I was half expecting a lecture or something.
    ‘How’s the booth coming along?’ he asked conversationally as we walked across to the parking lot. I looked at him warily, and he caught my eye, shrugging a little. ‘What?’ he said. ‘I can’t talk to you?’
    My only reply was to raise my eyebrows skeptically at him.
    He shrugged again. ‘Whatever. So, are you going to answer me or not?’
    I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. I felt like I should be mad at him, but I couldn’t seem to find a legitimate reason
to
be mad at him.
    I guess Noah just had a strange effect on me. Although whether that effect was good or bad, I hadn’t figured out yet.
    ‘It’s going okay. We still have stuff to do before Friday, but we’ll manage – as long as Lee doesn’t start painting me instead of the letters again.’
    ‘Well, you made a good piece of Impressionism, I’ll give you that.’
    I halted in my tracks, making Noah stop a few paces ahead when he realized I wasn’t with him. I raised my eyebrows at him.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I think that was a compliment. Noah Flynn just gave someone a compliment. Contact the newspapers, somebody.’
    He gave a sarcastic laugh, but I saw the twinkle in his eyes. I smirked back and carried on walking with him.
    ‘Are
you
going to come to the carnival?’ I asked him.
    ‘Yeah. I kind of have to. It’s