Taryn Taylor - Kiss And Makeup

“Yeah, assigned seating really messes with drama.”

She flipped another page. “Worst one-night-stand exit ever.”

“On the contrary. You were very quiet when you left—I didn’t wake up at all. Nothing was drawn on my face in permanent marker, and I still have my watch, my wallet and my credit cards,” Ben countered charitably. “As far as I’m concerned, this ranks very high on the scale.”

His joke earned him a withering glare.

“I meant that we’re stuck in forced proximity and tight confines, with no choice but to ignore each other awkwardly and try to keep our arms from touching until we can finally go our separate ways. Which reminds me, I’m claiming this now.” She laid her right arm on the armrest from elbow to wrist, completely covering it from view.

“Or...we could defy the expected and skip the awkward silence. Just keep on living life as though I didn’t ruin you for other men last night.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Look, Chloe. We’ve got about an hour of forced proximity left to go here. So what do you say we move on, start over?”

* * *

“STARTOVER?” she asked speculatively. Like I’m not completely and utterly mortified that I jumped you in the hotel room last night? “As in we do that lame handshake thing in all the girly movies and reintroduce ourselves?”

Ben laughed, and the rumbling sound put a dent in her defenses. “Yeah, that.”

With a shrug of acquiescence, Chloe held her hand out. “I’m Latoya.”

Ben smirked at her as they shook. “Julio.”

“Hmm. Sexy name. So tell me, Julio, what do you do for a living?”

She was expecting a smart-ass comment, like “romance novel cover model,” but instead she got: “What do you think I do?”

She arched her right eyebrow. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“Sales.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Ad exec, maybe? That or hocking used cars.”

“Wow. Don’t take a second to think about it or anything.” Ben’s voice was light, jokey, but his forehead was a bit furrowed, and there was a gravitas to his next words. “How come?”

“Are you kidding me?”

His silence said he was not.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. The way you dress is part of it.” She eyed his attire.

“Lots of men wear suits. Newscasters. Athletes. Mob bosses. The alter-egos of superheroes.”

She remained unmoved. “Am I right?”

Ben shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny this line of questioning until you tell me what you do.”

“What do you think I do?” she mimicked.

He turned in his seat to look at her, really look at her, and Chloe squirmed a little under the inspection. She was this close to blushing. To counteract the uncomfortable feeling, she forced herself to square her shoulders and raise her chin a notch.

“Well, I’m gonna strike flight attendant and used car salesman from the list of possibilities, considering your obvious scorn for those professions.”

Chloe flashed him a tight smile. Ha, ha .

“Um, okay. You’re not a dentist. You’re not the vice president of anything.” His eyes darted to the zombie on her T-shirt. “And you’re not a kindergarten teacher.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I suddenly feel like this game is going to be less than flattering?”

“What do you mean, suddenly ? Did you hear

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