Never Been Kissed: A Never Been Novel

by C.M. Kars

  My eyes are rimmed in dark brown which somehow makes the green in them stand out more. Three coats of mascara. Lips with tinted gloss, and some blush on my cheeks. Waving at my reflection, I get ready to lock up just as my phone buzzes. Tommy is waiting for me in his car right in front of the lobby.

  Grabbing my clutch, I lock up and walk to the elevator. The height of my heels has me exaggerating my hip movements - in my head I’m doing a Beyonce walk, in reality I could look like I’m a zombie with a major kink in her step.

  I wait for the elevator, that fraking elevator that has caused all sorts of problems. I squish down the memory of seeing Hunter and Aly entwined in the far corner of the elevator when it finally opens.

  When I walk out into the lobby, Tommy is waiting for me on the other side of the inner door, looking dapper in a suit. Men should wear suits more often. What lingerie is to men are what suits are to women. Guaranteed sexy times. He smiles when he sees me, and makes a big show of sticking his folded arm out when I step out to meet him. I put my hand in the crook of his elbow and we walk to his car which is double-parked outside.

  “Wow,” he says, glancing at me as he pushes the door open for me and the bright sunlight hits us smack in the face.

  I fumble for my sunglasses and toss him a smile.

  “Wow yourself.”

  “Your chariot awaits, kitten,” he says, waving an arm out to his sleek ride. A black BMW, any other details are lost on me, except that it looks like the Batmobile.

  I mumble a thanks when he opens the passenger door for me and I take my time trying to figure out how to settle in without ripping my dress. Ah, there we go, butt first, then. Have to remember that for the ride home.

  “You know, with those sunglasses, you give off a Linda Hamilton vibe in Terminator two.” No question, Sara Connor is a badass, and Tommy basically just told me I am one. Well, only took a broken heart, right?

  “I’m starting to get suspicious with all the compliments you’re throwing my way, Russia.”

  He snickers and his hands tighten on the wheel as he maneuvers us through traffic and towards Alex’s parents’ restaurant.

  “Can’t a guy be nice without you questioning it all the time?”

  I look at him, get a little thrill that he can’t see my eyes through the mirrored lenses. “I start questioning when it comes to you, Tommy. You’re like a spy, working for the other side, trying to fish for information. Just come out and ask me. No need to butter me up.”

  “What if the butter is true? You look amazing.”

  I snort. “I’m just skinnier now. Not my fault you didn’t notice before,” I shrug, and pull down the visor to check on my makeup. I feel like this is what a badass would do, not pay attention to an important answer.

  “How’s your hand doing?” Nice deflection, Tommy.

  “Good. I won’t be punching anyone’s face in anytime soon thanks to you.”

  “Glad I could keep you from expressing violence on innocent passersby.”

  My eyebrows pop high on my forehead as I turn to him. “Innocent? Innocent?!”

  Tommy grins at me; it’s not as sexy as the Asshole’s. Damn it all to hell. I was kinda hoping for a flare of attraction between Tommy and I. Anything to forget him. “As always, it’s so much more fun when you’re riled up from something I said.”

  “Because you say idiotic things.”

  “Sometimes.”

  I roll my eyes, but he can’t see it as he drives. “All the time.”

  “Depends on who you talk to.”

  I snort. “How about you keep that mouth of yours shut and I promise you’ll end up in one piece to our destination, huh?”

  We’re quiet the rest of the way, and I mentally countdown until Tommy finds the balls to ask me the question. I know they all are going to ask me; I know Katie’s told them by now. They all know what happened between Hunter and I, that we’re no longer together and that’s going to be embarrassing. But I figure I can just deflect, deflect, and hey, deflect some more because tonight is all about Alex and Teresa getting engaged. Engaged!

  I let out a breath I’d been holding and stare out the window.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My heart squelches in my chest, caught in an invisible grip. I bite down on my back molars to concentrate on something else other than the ache in my chest.

  “About what?” My voice is hoarse and said through clenched teeth. If Tommy was smart, he’d drop the whole bloody thing. Tommy isn’t so smart.

  “You know, you and the thug. I mean, Hunter.”

  Did he have to say his name? “Thanks,” I say, having to clear my throat.

  More quiet driving punctured by the beats of country music. Russia loves country music. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause we could, we have some time until we get there-”

  I turn to him, hair whipping about. “Is this why you picked me up, to be an asshole? Rub it in? I don’t want to bloody talk about it, alright? I want to go to the restaurant, eat, get drunk, dance and do it all over again until it’s time for you to drive me home. Can you do that for me?”

  Tommy’s quiet a long time, looking sheepish and he won’t make eye contact with me, no matter how many stop signs or lights we pass. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  I nod in thanks and mentally go over what I’m going to say to everybody once I see them. They’re all going to comment on my weight and probably ask me how I came to lose so much of it.

  Rehearsed answer: spinning bike.

  The stark truth: I fell in love, got my heart broken, and stopped eating for three weeks while doing intense workouts everyday for up to three hours. Weight loss ensues. Shit happens.

  Nobody wants to hear that story. I won’t be able to handle the pity, the look in everyone’s eyes, expecting me to be broken and grovelling, and feeling bad that we’re all celebrating Alex and Teresa’s happy day. I plan on drinking so much wine, my pee could be distilled and used as some other alcoholic beverage for the next week.

  Tommy gets out of the car once he parks and comes over to my side to open the door for me. I let him, and take his elbow once he locks up with a beep, beep. He slows his steps as he notices the extreme height of my stilettos, and keeps looking me up and down.

  He opens the restaurant door for me and ushers me in with a hand at my lower back, a movement that takes me back to another time and place when Hunter did the very same thing. I move a little faster, losing that point of contact with Tommy. It doesn’t feel right, him having his hand on me, and I hate myself for even having that thought.

  Feels like Hunter’s still controlling my thoughts and emotions even after he’s left my life. Resigning myself, I square my shoulders and walk, well I sashay (never thought I would sashay anywhere in my entire life) into the restaurant’s parlour.

  Tripoli isn’t your common Greek restaurant. While the scent of oregano, olive oil and basil waft from the kitchen, and the smell of grilled chicken and octopus makes my mouth water for a taste; the carpet is brand new and not shiny from old footprints in the fibers. The decor is bright and cheerful, and the curtains are a darker shade of grey, rather than the heavy maroon of old-school Greek restaurants in the city. Neither is it cramped for space, using every available inch of table real-estate trying to squeeze customers in. Tripoli is welcoming and spacious, the tables are big and beautiful, inviting its customers to kick back and have a chat after a wonderful meal. There’s even a dance floor, and a sectioned area for a live band on Friday and Saturday nights. I wonder if they got anyone booked for tonight; I wouldn’t mind doing some traditional Greek dancing later on, especially zebeikiko, a dance that involves lots of spinning to sad Greek music and shots.I don’t think Alex could’ve picked a better place.

  We’ve got a whole section of the restaurant to ourselves. A massive table that seats fifteen is stuffed with our gang and empty chairs hold bags filled with bottles of wine. It’s gonna be one hell of a night,
and I can’t wait to get started.

  Everyone’s already here, and my stomach does a nervous fluttery thing like I’ve gone and swallowed a sting-ray. I pull in a breath through my nose, and grin at everyone when they turn to see who just came in from the banging of the closing door behind Tommy and I.

  Catcalls, whistles and wolf-howls. I could trade places with a tomato, I’m so red, my blood rushing to my cheeks in a heated wave. Tommy’s hand goes to my waist and I hear him chuckling next to my ear as we walk closer and closer to the table.

  I try and muster as much enthusiasm as possible. I’m not gonna be a Debbie Downer at a bloody engagement party. I can fake a smile, so I do. I say all the appropriate things, that I’m so happy for Alex and Teresa both, and I just know that they’re going to have a wonderful life together.

  It feels like I’m lying to them. I want them to hurt as much as I do. That wouldn’t be badass, that would be an asshole move, and I refuse to be an asshole.

  So I keep the smile on my face, and make my rounds around the table, kissing both of everybody’s cheeks, hugging closer friends and laughing when everybody comments on how good I look. I even do a few poses with my hands on my waist, cocking out a hip to the right, then to the left and pulling an almost-duck face. Those losers from Jersey Shore would’ve been proud.

  Finally, I come to Katie who grins at me and tilts her head to the side, silently asking if I’m okay. I nod, and hold my arms out for a rib-cracking hug.

  “You look like a Greek goddess,” she says in my ear, still holding onto my ribs.

  I squeeze her back, and say, “It’s the dress. Great call, by the way. I look good.”

  “You look hot,” Katie says, letting me go and swatting me on the ass. I can’t help it, I yelp and everyone stops talking to look at me. I give a dorky wave to my audience. Laughter ensues and I realize how much I missed my friends. Tonight is going to be more than okay. I’m going to make sure of it.

  I get seated between Josh and Tommy, Katie opposite me with Eli and Alex on either side of her. Obviously, Teresa is sitting next to her man, uh, fiancé, smiling and showing off her rock. The man did good.

  Josh puts an arm over the back of my chair and leans close to make a joke. I laugh so hard, my abs get a workout.

  “How are you doing?” Josh asks low enough that only the two of us can hear. I’m grateful for the quiet, for the intimate discussion. I don’t want everyone to be listening or looking at me for answers.

  “I’m getting better.” The only truthful response.

  Josh’s mouth twists and he stares into his wineglass. He huffs out a breath and finally stares me in the eye. “If it gets too much...with whatever, I can drive you back home. Just say the word.”

  Moved, I kiss his cheek, making sure to do it lightly so I don’t plant lip-gloss on him. “Thank you, Joshy. But I’m going to have a good time, tonight.”

  His face slackens before he erupts into his belly-laugh until the whole table joins in, not knowing what they’re really laughing at.

  I mentally shrug and turn my attention to Alex’s Dad and Mom serving us from the kitchen, stopping by and talking to each of us, proud of their boy and the choice he’s made for a future wife. I can see it the way his Dad keeps squeezing Alex’s shoulders as he’s seated, and in the way his Mom looks down at Teresa with a secret smile on her face, holding the hand with her engagement ring on it. All in all, really sweet to see.

  We start with spanakopita which for some odd reason, Josh and Tommy take turns feeding to me from their hands. I think it’s just a way to take a gander into my cleavage, but they keep looking at Katie as if asking if it’s okay. Whatever. I’m hungry, and if they want to be the slaves to my Cleopatra, well then, so be it.

  The salad comes, nothing but the simplest of vinaigrettes and awesome ingredients. The main meal consists of lamb chops, steamed vegetables and lemon-roasted potatoes with rosemary. Divine.

  I try not to eat too much. My poor stomach is gonna be an asshole if I do, but it feels like for the first time in three weeks, my appetite is back and I almost feel back to normal. I even forget about Hunter, about Matty, and if I do think of them, the memories are fleeting and they don’t hurt as much when I let myself dwell on them.

  I’m having a great time, and the wine is helping. Three glasses in and I feel like dancing. Teresa opens the dance floor once Greek pop music comes on over the speakers. Alex’s parents join in and whatever other patrons are in the restaurant start keeping time to the beat with clapping hands. We dance. I smile more than I have in the better part of a month, I feel like me before all this shit started with him.

  My alcohol-befuddled brain looks for affection. I’m constantly hugging Katie, or Josh, or Eli and even Tommy. They hug me back and kiss the top of my head if their heights allow for it, as I’m still wearing the stilettos. Whatever pain is throbbing in the balls of my feet pales in comparison to what happened to me three weeks ago and I’m enjoying being tall far too much to take them off.

  I lose Katie for a while but that’s okay since I’m having too much fun on the dance floor to really mind that she’s not clapping for me on her knees as I do a zebeikiko. I spin in time to the beat, watch my feet as I do intricate steps, even slapping the sole of my stiletto while waiting for one of the guys to put a shot on the ground for me.

  Crouching down and somehow managing to keep my balance, I hold up the shot to my friends, saluting them and down it. Getting up, I keep dancing, smiling when both Alex and Eli make their way into the circle and we battle, drunken-man style.

  The sadness of the song, the sorrow in the lyrics gets to me and that weight in my chest is back and the only thing I can do is dance it out. I close my eyes to the view of my friends crouched around me on their knees, clapping to the beat. I will myself deaf to the catcalls and ‘yeah, Sera!’. I’m in the quiet of my head and all I hear is the song, the saddest song ever written. I let it thrum through me, matching its rhythm to my heartbeats as I twirl and dance in my section of the dance floor.

  When the music stops, my feet come to a halt and I crouch down for one more shot, holding it up again to Alex and Teresa, wishing them from the bottom of my tattered heart that they have what I lost.

  I toss the shot back, letting the vodka burn down my throat, lighting its way to the pit of my stomach, already cushioned by food. While I’m fuzzy and groggy from the alcohol, I’m not drunk, just tipsy.

  So I can’t really explain why my vision gets blurry when I look up from my crouch and see him standing there by the doors, looking at me with a bitter smile on his face.

  I blink a few times, thinking it’s my imagination, my cracked psyche playing tricks with my eyes. Nope, he’s still there, and Katie’s standing beside him, giving me a guilty wave with a nervous smile on her mouth.

  Hunter MacLaine just crashed the party.

  I’m not drunk enough for this shit.

  The music keeps playing but I’m in limbo and I don’t hear it. All my attention centers in and pinpoints to Hunter, standing there by the doors in a suit.

  The suit is navy by the looks of it, and the light coming through the glass doors from outside halos him. I can’t seem to look away.

  Why is he here? Why is he ruining everything?

  I stand on numb legs; I’m not even sure how I manage it. I never told my legs to straighten out, and my brain sure isn’t the one calling the shots. I’m pretty sure I’m doing a great fish-out-of-water impression, opening and closing my mouth with words that I want to say, with words that need to be said, but nothing comes out.

  So I stand there, let myself be tugged forward by Katie, Katie the traitor. Her mouth’s open and I’m sure sounds are coming out, but I can’t hear anything. I keep staring at Hunter, wondering how he got here, when, where, who? Did he freaking apparate or something? God, this can’t be happening.

  I was having fun. I was dancing and having a good time. Motherducker.

  Tearing my gaze away from him, refusing t
o take in how great he looks in his suit (hotter than Harvey Specter, that’s for sure), I stare hard at my best friend, feeling my face start to crumple, folding my features into lines of pain.

  My heart has been replaced by a gaping hole that has been chain-sawed out, edges ragged and broken.

  “Why? Why would you do this to me?” I look at Katie. My voice is pinched with hurt, and I keep moving forward as she coaxes me closer and closer to Hunter. I look back at him, note that his hands are in his pockets, legs spread wide. His eyes are intent on me, watching my every move, the way a predator stalks its prey. I don’t want him here, I felt safe here, like I was getting stronger.

  “Why is he here? God, Katie, what did you do?”

  I start to shake and my hands spasm around her fingers that are still tugging me forward, closer to the man who’s tormented me in my dreams for the past three weeks. I’m glad for my dry eyes; this pain is too great for tears. Either that, or I’ve cried so much over the past month that whatever little factory in my body that makes tears doesn’t work anymore.

  Stupid, pathetic questions come to my lips, and I have to clamp my mouth shut so I don’t ask any of them. How’s Matty? Is he here, too? How are you? Do you miss me at all, like I miss you every day? Why are you here, shoving it in my face with what I’ve lost?

  My free hand comes up to cover my mouth as double-insurance.

  “I know this is a surprise, sweetie, and I’m sorry I sprung this on you, but it needed to be done.” Katie says. She turns to Hunter, pointing a finger at him, jabbing it into his sternum. “I got a secluded table for you guys back there, away from the speakers so you can talk.”

  Katie hands me my phone that I didn’t notice she was holding. The bitch took it out of my purse. Rude.

  “Here. If shit gets real, call me and the boys will come as back-up. You,” she swings to Hunter again, and the lump in my throat becomes excruciating. I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to talk to him again.

  Katie swings her head and dark hair flies as she looks at Hunter.