Dreaming of His Pen Pal's Kiss - Jessie Gussman Page 0,30
in him, for him, and not for the prestige of having him.
Something told him Journee was that kind of girl. The kind of girl like The Healing Pen. The kind who didn’t really care about prestige and was more interested in him for himself.
Maybe that was why it was so easy for things he never told anyone to fall off his tongue.
Her words finally penetrated his brain, and he said, “Kidding about what?”
She shook her head. “There’s no playbook for the Not Such an Ironman Ironman Contest.” She closed one eye though and gritted her teeth a little. “But it is pretty competitive. Maybe having your grandmother beat you isn’t too bad, but having the elementary school kids win? It’s embarrassing.”
“Sounds like you had experience in this?”
“I have. I did it with my brother Shawn one year, and he ate the gingerbread instead of making a gingerbread house out of it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he got stuck in the chimney. Not because he couldn’t fit, but because he put one leg out the top and one leg down and ended up doing kind of a split...” She shook her head. “Don’t ask me why. It was Shawn. He’s weird. Anyway. I have trouble with claustrophobia, and I still managed to get up and down it. Still. We lost. Like last place.” She cleared her throat. “And in case you forgot what it’s like to be an elementary school kid, they tease you. Big time. And lord it over you. And taunt. And they pay their friends to throw rotten fruit.” She shivered. “If that’s not bad enough, the losers of the Not Such an Ironman Ironman Contest are the first people on the block for the pie-throwing contest. Not to throw the pie,” she added hastily. “But to have the pie thrown at you.”
“Let me guess. The first people to get to throw pies are the kids who beat you.”
“Bingo.”
“Wow. Small towns have a sadistic streak.”
“Exactly. We look innocuous, but it’s a ruse. We are absolutely cutthroat about our festivals.” This time, both eyes narrowed. “Think Super Bowl, on steroids.”
“Now the woman’s talking my language.” He grinned a little. “I don’t have a ring, but I intend to get one.”
“There’s no ring here. Just the freedom from cream pies. And I’m talking actual cream pies. That’s not some kind of slang term for cow patties. I promise. Or, honestly, I would be insisting that we practice.”
“Wow. Me too. Definitely, if we were talking cow patties, I would insist on practicing. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really not a country boy.”
“I noticed. Trust me. Everyone here has noticed.”
“What? Is it stamped on my forehead?”
“I think it’s the loafers. Not that country boys can’t wear loafers, it’s just most of them usually wear boots. Or maybe it’s the way you walk, or...I don’t know. But yeah. Actually, it’s probably because everybody knows everybody, and no one knows you.”
“I think your sister said something about me having more muscles than brains. I’m assuming that wasn’t a compliment?”
Journee grimaced. “I’m sorry. No. Not a compliment.” She bit her lip and looked him over. The look made his skin warm in a not uncomfortable way. “The muscles do kind of make you stick out. Sorry.”
Dante stared at her, nodding a little and unsure of what to say. This was the first time in his life that he had any hint or clue that a woman might not be totally into his muscles.
Still, her look had done crazy things to his insides.
He’d been teased about being a dumb jock before, plenty of times. But he’d always assumed that his physique was, at least, appealing.
The idea that it wasn’t, that it was actually something that made him stand out, and in an implied bad way, was new.
He kind of wanted to blame it on the small town, but he had a feeling that wasn’t entirely accurate.
Still, she seemed to respect what he did, just not in a hero worship kind of way.
It was a change that he thought he might like.
“If you don’t mind, I probably ought to get back to my mom. I took a little bit of time off for a lunch break. That’s what I was doing when Blakely found me in the hayloft.”
“Of course not. This festival seems like it’s a pretty big deal for your small town,” he said as she put a little pressure on his arm, and he turned with her toward a back alley which