Waiting for Prince Harry by Aven Ellis Page B

I was going to text you that I left,” I say honestly. “But it’s okay. I understand.”
    “Understand what?”
    “We’re just friends. It’s okay if you want to talk to Cynthia tonight and hang out with her. I get it.”
    Harrison’s expression completely changes. And I must be losing my mind or getting really good at projecting what I want to see because I swear he looks hurt by my comment.
    “Of course,” Harrison says slowly. “Friends.”
    “Besides, she’s your type,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.
    “My type? How do you know what my ‘type’ is?”
    “She’s like all the other girls you’ve dated,” I blurt out. Fuck! I want to put the words back into my mouth as soon as they’re out there.
    Then I see it. His eyes flash with recognition. “Wait. You fucking Googled me, didn’t you?”
    I anxiously pull on the end of my ponytail, wishing the pavement would somehow swallow me up.
    “Harrison, I—”
    “Damn it!” Harrison suddenly yells, going from confused to hurt to pissed off in a matter of seconds. He throws his hands up and puts them on his head. “You were supposed to be different . You didn’t know me. And you didn’t seem to care who I was—”
    “I don’t,” I cry.
    “Then why the fuck did you Google me?” Harrison snaps, dropping his hands out before me. “You do know me! The guy you talked to at the Rattlesnake Bar is me . And now you’ve filled your head with all that bullshit you read on line and now you see me differently.”
    “No, that’s not true,” I cry, my heart slamming inside my chest. “I . . . I just wanted to know more about you. And . . . I just saw the kinds of girls you usually go out with, and Cynthia is like that—”
    “Did you see how long ago I dated celebrities? Models? Did you?” he interjects.
    I don’t answer him.
    “Well it was a long fucking time ago. And I’d prefer you’d ask me about it instead of reading a gossipy article and jumping to conclusions about my ‘type.’”
    Then he turns around and stalks away.
    Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I have just totally screwed this up.
    “Harrison!” I yell after him. “Harrison, please!”
    But he keeps walking.
    Tears fill my eyes. I turn around and head toward my car. The expression on his face when I said we were friends. The way he looked so hurt and betrayed when he realized I had researched him—
    He likes me , I think, full on anxiety taking over. And I totally fucked this up—
    Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and Harrison is storming right up to me.
    “You know what really pisses me off about this, Kylie?” he snaps, his eyes flashing. He strides right up to me and cups my face in his hands. “All I could think about during that fashion show was one thing. That was getting through that show and the interviews and the pictures and autographs so I could do the one thing that I’ve wanted since the moment I met you.”
    I’m shaking now. I swallow hard. “What’s that?” I manage to say.
    “This.”
    And then Harrison’s mouth is on mine.

Chapter 9
    The Pop Quiz Question: You are kissing someone for the first time at the end of the evening. How do you like to be kissed?

    A) Just a sweet peck. I like to take things slow.
    B) Give me some tongue! I like kissing!
    C) If the chemistry is off the charts, and the first touch is electric, I don’t ever want him to stop kissing me.
    The second Harrison’s mouth touches mine every nerve I have in my body is on fire. For a split second his soft lips just linger against mine, and I think he is about to give me a simple kiss, but then he kisses me with intensity. I feel his hands against my face; I feel his mouth burning against mine with desperate urgency. I’m excited and shocked and kissing him back like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life .
    I’m acutely aware of only Harrison—the way his warm, spicy vanilla scent wraps around me; the way his lips taste of celebratory champagne; the way the skin