Don't Want You Like a Best Friend (Mischief & Matchmaking, #1)

by Emma R. Alban

She’s a constant social delight. Beth would rather sink straight into the floor than muster up that energy.

Shouldn’t she be swooning? He’s swoon-worthy, she can tell. But there’s no swoon in her.

She socked him in the jewels and insulted him, and he’s like a lovesick schoolboy even still.

All the while, her thumb continues to draw hypnotic patterns against Gwen’s pulse. She wonders if Beth can feel the way her heartbeat is jumping through her gloves.

Mrs. Gilpe and Mrs. Stelm, pressed up as they are against the counter, covered in flour and kissing like they’re drinking oxygen from each other’s mouths.

“I’m not jealous of your beau,” Gwen mutters. And then her lips crash onto Beth’s. Beth gasps against her mouth, frozen in shock. Her mind goes totally blank. Gwen, kissing, wine, jealous—oh. Oh. Gwen goes to pull back but Beth’s hands shoot out, quite of their own accord, clutching at her waist, anchoring Gwen against her. Beth rises on her toes, pressing their lips back together, the warm, soft pleasure of it trickling through her. This is what it’s supposed to be. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Swoony and bright and everything.

But how is she to settle that in her head, when she feels nothing for Lord Montson and everything everything everything for Gwen?