Kissing Booth (Rewritten)

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Strictly Lips & No Tongue 

Scar Patterson

Francesca's face screwed into an expression of pure disgust as she placed a perfectly manicured hand on her protruding hip and glared holes into my head with her intense stare. "So, a kissing booth?"

The sun was beaming down on us, intensely. It was supposed to be fall, but much like every fall before this one, it just seemed like an extended version of summer that had somehow gotten worse. I had to wipe away the sweat forming on my brow, but based on the way my girlfriend's olive skin was glowing in the sunlight and her eerily calm composure, I would say she wasn't the least bit bothered by the weather.

I bit back an annoyed sigh. "Yes. Did you think I was lying when I said I'd be doing this?"

Her deep brown eyes narrowed into thin slits as she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. "Don't play cute." Her gaze lingered over the booth that stood before us before she let out a sigh. "And actually, I didn't think you were lying—just didn't think you'd have the balls to do it."

I gave her a lighthearted shrug in response and tugged out a tube of mint chapstick from my back pocket, swiping it over my lips. Francesca responded with a scoff and a hair flip, which was her signature reply to anything she disapproved of. "You and I both know I have the balls," I responded with a mocking grin, "two big ones, in fact."

"Two small ones," she muttered under her breath, but it was still loud enough for me to hear it and send a glare her way in which she responded by pulling her lips into a wide grin. "Love you babe, lots!"

Francesca was much different than she was when we first met in freshman year, two years ago. Back then, everyone knew her as the ridiculously smart girl from Bulgaria. Nowadays, she was a completely different person–one that dressed to impress and made all the boys, and girls, swoon. But even with her newfound popularity, Francesca still managed to make me smile ear to ear whenever she was near, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

"So tell me how this works." Francesca's dark eyes widened in absolute terror as she glanced at the neighboring booths.

As I set a medium-sized tin box on the booth that my teammates and I had worked so hard on, I flashed my girlfriend a mocking smile. "It's pretty simple. A line of girls will form here—" I gestured toward the queue sectioned off by colorful neon tape, "—and they'll come up here, pay, and get kissed by me or some other member of the team. Strictly lips and no tongue."

She raised an inquiring brow. "No tongue?"

"Yeah, because I don't want diseases or nothing."

"And what happens when a really fugly girl with chapped lips comes up?"

To that, I shrugged. "Trey will kiss her."

We stared at each other in silence for a long moment before we both broke into a fit of laughter—the kind that makes you hold onto your stomach in fear that it'll burst. When our laughter died down, Francesca flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and exhaled heavily. "Well, it looks like I don't have much to worry about. Seems harmless."

My eyes the carnival grounds, searching for any aimlessly wandering teenage girls who might be interested in getting a kiss from Summer Hill's one and only sexy linebacker. When I was finished scoping out my potential candidates, I returned my attention to Francesca. "Lemme guess," I said, raising an index finger in the air, "you just wanted to check out the competition."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"Aww, that's sweet," I teased her in which she responded by playfully slapping me on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You know that you're the most beautiful girl to ever exist in my eyes."