The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 18

Oh, come on, Mirren!" My friend Catriona pulls me towards the small circle of teenagers already forming around the empty glass bottle of Irn Bru. "It'll be fun!"

I'm not so sure. I've never kissed a boy before, and I'm unbelievably anxious. My eyes land on Owen Sullivan, Mr. Popular himself, and I swallow hard. What if I end up having to kiss him? He's always been too bloody cute for his own good. He'd probably laugh at my nonexistent skills, and I'd never live it down.

That being said, I think, looking around the rest of the boys in the circle, he might be the only one I'd even be half tempted to kiss.

"Right, who wants to go first?" Owen asks the group, as me and Cat sit down on the ground.

"You should, Sully!" Kieran tells him. "It was your idea, after all."

And there's the other reason why I don't want to play this game . . . My brother's presence. I don't really want to see him kiss anyone - gross! - and I'm sure he probably feels similarly about me.

Owen grins, and my heart quickens as his dimples deepen. There really should be laws against anyone being that adorable. One tanned arm reaches out for the bottle and sends it flying into a slightly chaotic spin.

We all watch, fascinated, as it completes rotation after rotation, slowing gradually to a stop, the neck pointing directly between me and Cat. I hear Cat gasp while I release a shaky sigh of relief. Owen is going to kiss Cat, of course he is. Cat is far cuter than me.

But . . . No. Owen is suddenly kneeling in front of me. "Looks like you're it," he says softly. Barely before I can react, he's cupping my face in his hands, and his lips brush lightly against mine.

"Not my sister, dude!" I hear Kieran groan. He sounds very far away. Somehow, I can no longer bring myself to care about the fact that he's here. Owen deepens the kiss fractionally, and although I admittedly don't have a clue what I'm doing, my response seems natural. It feels right, somehow.

When he pulls back a few seconds later, I feel . . . Bereft. Cheated. I wanted more. He smiles at me, eyes bright, and hands me the bottle. "I guess it's your turn to spin," he says, and I'm sure I hear reluctance in his tone. I place the bottle on the ground and spin it, but I can feel Owen's eyes on me the whole time, and my heart ties itself into a nervous little bow of delight . . .

A quiet knock on the hotel room door jolts me out of my reverie, and I sit upright on the bed, examining my face in the mirror opposite. I probably should have spent my time waiting for Owen more productively by fixing my hair and make-up, but instead, I found myself daydreaming about our first kiss all those years ago instead. Looking back to that night, with the hindsight filter in place, it's now so clear that he liked me even then.

With the teenage version of Owen stuck firmly in my head, it's almost unsettling to open the door to the 29 year old model. Slightly taller, more muscular, nowhere near as cocky as he seemed back then. The one thing that has never altered, though, is that smile and its magical ability to make me melt.

"You want to come in?" I ask, my voice shaking with nerves.

"Not yet," he says softly. "I think we should go out for a bit."

"But the others . . ." I protest.

"They're all having an early night," he tells me. "In case you weren't aware, suffering from an imaginary dose of food poisoning can really take it out of you." He takes my hand. "Let's go down to the hotel bar."

"It feels like you're just trying to postpone the inevitable here," I whine, but I let him lead me downstairs all the same.

There's that smile again as he turns to glance back at me, eyes sparkling. "I told you, I don't want to rush things with you," he says simply, grasping my hand tighter. "And I think I need a stiff drink to calm my nerves."