Just One Kiss

by Isabel Sharpe

  “We almost weren’t.”

  “What? Why not?” Bonnie backed up without taking her eyes off Angela. Seth put a hand to her thigh to guide her to sitting—even closer to him than before.

  “Get this.” Angela leaned the rocker forward and gave in to the siren call of Cheetos. One handful wouldn’t kill her. “His former fiancée made him promise on her deathbed that he wouldn’t date anyone for two years.”

  Bonnie’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my God.”

  “Holy shit.” Seth’s nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled something foul. “That is just inhuman.”

  Jack winced. “Can she do that?”

  “So…he’s not dating?” Bonnie asked.

  “He’s not.” Angela shrugged. “Unbelievable.”

  “That is weird.” Bonnie frowned thoughtfully at her beer, while Seth and Jack contorted themselves in various ways meant to represent death from sexual deprivation. “But it’s also really romantic.”

  “Be serious.” Seth snapped out of impending rigor mortis.

  “No, no, I am. I know, it was a lot to ask, and probably not fair. I just mean that he did promise and now he’s honoring it.” She looked suddenly stricken. “Wait, though, Angela, how much longer?”

  Angela sighed. “Six months.”

  Bonnie sucked in a pained breath. “Ouch.”

  “Two years of celib— Celiba—” Jack pretended to be choking on the word.

  “Ce-lib-a-cy,” Bonnie said loudly. “Sitting home night after night with Hustler and the internet.”

  Jack cringed in on himself as if he were imploding. “Help…me…”

  “You know what?” Seth shook his head firmly. “I’m not buying it.”

  “What, you think he’s lying?” Bonnie asked.

  “I bet you anything it’s a line he uses on women to get them all schmoopy at how loyal he is and how noble, and then bang.” Seth snapped his fingers. “He’s got ’em. Piece of cake. The only hard part is getting anyone to believe such stup—”

  Bonnie coughed extra loud.

  Seth looked genuinely stricken. “Angela, I didn’t mean…”

  Angela shrugged. Weird as it might sound, she had believed him. No one could fake that kind of pain or vulnerability. And even if he did deserve an Oscar for his performance, she’d been planning to get what she wanted from him in a slightly twisted way herself, which didn’t leave her much solid outrage to get behind. “I guess I’m as much of a sucker from Iowa as I look.”

  Bonnie bristled. “You don’t know that he’s lying. Not all guys are complete scum like those in this room.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Seth held up his hands. “I just can’t imagine any guy promising something like that.”

  “No, you can’t,” Bonnie said primly. “But that doesn’t mean squat.”

  “Sorry, Angela, I’m with Seth on this one.” Jack got up and headed for the kitchen. “Something weird about this guy. I’d be careful.”

  Angela sighed. What had she just been thinking about not sharing her hopes about Daniel for fear they’d be destroyed?

  “Oh. Hi. Did I miss a meeting notice?” Demi stood uncertainly in the doorway, wearing black as usual—a scoop-necked clingy top and tight black pants that showed off her slender figure. On her arms hung silver bracelets, and the silver chain she invariably wore sparkled around her neck. She had medium-length straight dark hair parted slightly off to one side, and large exquisite eyes of an unusual gray color. The rest of her face was unremarkable except for an adorably dimpled chin. She was one of those women who exuded glamorous beauty no matter what because of her remarkable grace and style.

  “Nope. We’re just hanging out.” Seth craned his neck around and gestured her in. “C’mon in and have a seat. Beer’s in the fridge.”

  “Oh.” She glanced around the room, frowning. “I was going to take a shower and catch up on some reading.”

  “Plans were made to be broken.” Jack held out the bottle he’d just gotten from the refrigerator. “Take mine, I’ll get another.”

  She locked eyes with him for a beat too long, which made Bonnie and Angela exchange glances. “Thanks. Really. But not tonight.”

  “Okay.” Jack flicked the top off, still watching her. “Another time maybe.”

  “Sure.” She took a step back, then turned and disappeared through the apartment’s front door.

  “Brrrrr.” Jack hugged himself. “A certain chill every time she’s in the room.”

  Bonnie’s eyebrow lifted. “Except when she was looking at you, Jack.”

  “Ha.” He dropped into his chair for a GQ pose, hand on his knee, head tilted sexily to one side. “Can you blame her? Seriously?”

  The room erupted into groans and snorts of derision.

  “What is her problem?” Bonnie asked. “I can’t believe Caroline stuck us with her when she moved. What was she thinking?”

  “She was thinking she had to sell her business fast, and this woman was buying,” Seth said.

  “Aw, come on, Bonnie,” Angela protested. “We barely know her.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  Angela shrugged. “Maybe she’s really shy.”

  “Maybe she’s really stuck up,” Bonnie said.

  “See, this is why I worry about you.” Jack pointed to Angela with his beer. “You always look for the best in everyone, which makes you a target for creeps and liars if you’re not careful.”

  “Like my ex, who was both?”

  “I want to hear more about this Daniel guy,” Bonnie said. “How did you leave it? Are you going out or not?”

  “We are.”

  Jack snorted. “Whaddaya know, he managed to suspend his monastic vows, ju-u-ust this once.”

  “And the other forty times,” Seth said.

  Angela grinned slyly. “I told him I wasn’t asking him out on a date necessarily, that I was hoping to get my bakery in to his company.”

  “Oh, ho! She’s playing her own game. I like that.” Seth laughed, a white-toothed guffaw that turned his fierce masculinity into endearing goofiness.

  “Actually it is sort of true,” Angela said. “I could do worse than cater for Slatewood.”

  “How did he react?” Bonnie asked.

  “He said maybe we could get together sometime and brainstorm how to make that happen.” Angela waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Woo-hoo!” Bonnie jumped off the couch again and did a victory dance. “This is fabulous.”

  “What, like over coffee or something?” Jack asked.

  Angela’s triumphant grin could not be held back any longer. “Dinner.”

  “Yes!” Bonnie pumped her fist. “You’re in.”

  Seth and Jack exchanged glances. “This is not good.”

  “Aw guys, come on.” Bonnie flopped back down on the middle cushion, just about sitting next to Seth.

  “You watch.” Seth shifted his position casually, turning toward Angela, now close enough to touch Bonnie’s shoulder with his bent arm along the back of the couch. “He’ll spend the whole meal acting like he can’t believe what a great time he’s having. He’ll order cocktails, then wine and make sure you have plenty. At the end of the date, he’ll suggest a nightcap. Then on your doorstep, an I-can’t-help-myself kiss and ‘Oh, my God, Angela, this is like nothing I’ve ever felt before,’ while he’s counting on you to be thinking, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m so special to him, what we have is really special,’ and bingo, he gets what he was after the whole time.”

  “God, you are disgusting.” Bonnie shoved at him. “Don’t listen to him, Angela. It’s great news you’re going. I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there.”

  “I guess. Even if things don’t work out it’s worth getting a shot at Slatewood. I really want to move the new line of pastries.”

  “Good for you.” Jack grinned. “If you can’t get laid, at least get hired.”

  “Seriously?” Bonnie smacked her forehead. “Seriously, Jack?”

  Angela shook her head,
laughing. “Are you guys this horrible with other women?”

  “Of course not.” Seth was grinning. “We’re trying to sleep with them.”

  “What he said.” Jack’s smile came on full force, warming his eyes. Bonnie and Angela dissolved into giggles. Who could do anything else when Jack and Seth turned on the man-charm? Angela was sure they regularly dropped women in their tracks.

  She also knew Jack was incredibly solid, one of the really good guys in spite of his tendency to strut, especially when he and Seth tried to outdo each other with the Cro-Magnon routine. But underneath he had a sensitive, vulnerable side he rarely showed anyone. She knew it was there. Bonnie, too. But Angela would guess few other women had glimpsed anything but his tough-man act.

  Seth on the other hand…Seth was a really, really nice guy who needed to grow up and get a clue. Given that he was pushing twenty-seven, like the rest of them, Angela wasn’t laying great odds that would happen.

  She looked meaningfully at Bonnie, noticing again that she looked too thin, too strained. “The best part is that I’m really breaking away from the mess of getting over Tom. Now I can get out there and find someone who won’t treat me like crap, who won’t play mind games by toying with other women while taking me for granted.”

  “You go, girlfriend.” Bonnie pumped her fist, Angela’s message obviously having blown straight over her head. Jack, however, lifted an eyebrow. He got it.

  “So when is this epic battle of the manipulators?” Seth asked.

  “Thursday.” She laughed at the thrill, and at the irony of Seth looking at her with admiration for something other than her scones, the chocolate-chip version that could reduce him to begging.

  Even a few weeks ago, the idea of going after a guy, any guy, would have made her panic. Now she was not going after “any guy,” she was going after one of the hottest she’d met in a long time, deliberately, and with as much anticipation as nerves. Had she blossomed this much in such a short time, or was there something particularly powerful about her attraction to Daniel? Maybe Tom’s engagement had set her free in some way. Or maybe it was the safety represented by Daniel’s vow of chastity, making it unlikely he and Angela would go far. Perfect situation for taking that first tentative step.

  Angela had gone from the protection of her parents to the protection of dorm life, straight to Tom. Emerging battered and bruised from divorce, she’d worked up to starting her dream job, which, while not setting the town on fire, showed the possibility of solid success. So much of the past three years had felt like clawing her way through the pain, step by step, just trying to survive.

  Survive she had. And now, for the first time, she felt as if she were no longer just happy to be back on her feet, but ready to run fast and faster, until she could take off and really start living.

  6

  “NO, NO, NO.” Angela took off her six thousandth outfit and looked despairingly into her closet. She was meeting Daniel downtown at Fischer Grill in an hour, and the stunning ensemble she’d assembled in her mind hadn’t looked anything like stunning when she was actually wearing it. Nothing else suited her mood or the weather or her figure or the way she wanted Daniel to see her: as The Irresistible Seductress. But she couldn’t look as if she were trying to be The Irresistible Seductress, she had to look as if she was The Networking Professional arriving for a business meeting.

  Which meant, for one, she’d need to keep her tongue from hanging out when she saw him.

  Rose-colored suit with low-cut black top discarded. Too conservative, and her broad shoulders meant she couldn’t wear a suit jacket without feeling like a linebacker.

  Floral sweater over camisole with full ankle-length skirt discarded—too sweet.

  Little black dress that made her look fabulous—too formal.

  Slender figure-hugging pants with tunic top—too casual.

  Miniskirt—too much leg. Long skirt—not enough. Pants—too masculine. Shorts—too seasonal. Linen—too uptight. Cotton—too girlish. Tight was too sexual, loose was too unappealing. This didn’t go with that, that didn’t go with the other.

  She’d worked late at the bakery, helping Alice troubleshoot a new cranberry-lemon muffin recipe, and now…an apparel crisis. Forty more minutes. Still no makeup. Only vague plans about how she’d steer the evening.

  Time…to…panic!

  No, no, she didn’t have time to panic.

  Her eye fell on a purple flowered camisole she’d already tried paired with a short-sleeved close-fitting purple sweater. Great top, but wearing it over pants made her look like a flight attendant, and over a full skirt she looked like a Swiss Miss gone horribly wrong.

  Maybe with a slimmer skirt?

  Twenty minutes later, she was made up—not too much, not too little—wearing the outfit—not perfect, but the best yet—with her hair pinned up in a French twist she’d be able to release with the pull of a pin or two or three in a sexy flourish, letting her hair tumble down in a glorious mass about her shoulders. Or that was the plan anyway. On her legs, sheer black hose. On her feet, high black heels she hadn’t been able to wear with Tom because he didn’t like her being so close to his height.

  She’d be late. No two ways about it. But if she found a parking place close to the restaurant, she wouldn’t be rudely late, just coyly.

  Half an hour later, she practically pushed someone’s car out of a spot he was just leaving, wrenching her little Kia into the space the second his rear bumper cleared the car in front of him. Yes.

  She turned off the motor, shot out of the car into air still chilly in mid-April, turned to slam the door and noticed white powder on the front seat. Oh, no. It looked like confectioner’s sugar from the emergency load she’d hauled the previous day. Which meant the rest of it must be clinging to her ass. Black skirt. Not good.

  She twisted around, swiping back and forth at her butt, which of course she couldn’t see, and which made her teeter on the heels and catch her shoulder painfully on the open car door.

  Super.

  At least the parking spot was decently close to the restaurant, which was a small miracle given the parking situation in the city. Otherwise she’d have to sprint for it, and risk arriving breathless and sweaty.

  A deep breath, and she headed down Sixth Avenue in an elegant saunter, aware that Fischer Grill had solid glass all around, so that if Daniel were watching, he’d see her approach.

  A quick glance showed a familiar, very masculine blond head outlined by the entrance, face turned in her direction. Her stomach somersaulted. It was Daniel. Had to be.

  She drew herself up, made her saunter even more elegant, concentrated on looking wildly and confidently sensual.

  Until her heel caught in a crack in the pavement and brought her down. And her pride. And her hair.

  Ow. She’d landed hard on her right knee and hands, scraping all three on the rough cement. Her right stocking was shredded. Blood beaded around bits of dirt over the burning pink mess that had become her kneecap.

  Super.

  Even better? Here he came, loping down the sidewalk toward her, not blown away by her blatant sexuality, but concerned for his clumsy date who’d gone “boom” and skinned her knee like an eight-year-old.

  “Angela. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She rubbed her palms together to brush off the dirt, wincing at the sandpaper effect on her raw skin. “Just a klutz.”

  “You came down hard. Let me see?”

  She held out her hands on either side of her knee. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  “Ouch. Those wide, shallow scrapes can be brutal. I fell off my bike last year, going fast. It was not fun.” He took her elbow, helped her gently to her feet. “There’s a drugstore down the street. Let’s get that dirt off you before it causes trouble.”

  “Okay.” She let him help her up, embarrassed to find her body shaking, typical overreaction to pain. If she ever got pregnant, she was asking for medication during the entire last month just in case. />
  A picture flashed into her mind of her in labor, Daniel holding her steady, as carefully and calmly as he was now. There’s a hospital down the street. Let’s get that baby out of you before it causes trouble.

  She must be slightly hysterical.

  “Thank you, Daniel.” She laughed breathily, still having trouble calming down. “I’m sorry about this. It’s not at all how I wanted to start our da—”

  No, Angela. As far as he was concerned, this was not a date. Remember?

  “Not a problem. Whoa, hold on.” He pulled her back from the curb, which she’d just stepped off of without checking for cars, and nearly got run over by a speeding Prius.

  Her heart sank. By now it was official: Project Seduction was a failure. In the back of her mind, Tom’s voice again, accusing her of overreaching. Why didn’t she recognize her limits and be content with them?

  No. Tom was a self-serving prick whose main interest was in keeping Angela down so he could feel superior.

  She straightened her shoulders to cross the street, forcing herself not to limp. The evening was only over when it was over.

  In the store, she ditched her ruined pantyhose in the bathroom and grabbed a new pair from a nearby display. Then she and Daniel searched the shelves together and picked out a bottle of antibiotic spray, a small package of gauze and a box of extra-large adhesive bandages.

  Being in the store with him felt strangely intimate, more than being together at the bar would have. Strangers belonged in bars. Buying everyday items in a drugstore was for established couples. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed doing ordinary, everyday things with someone special.

  Don’t get used to it. Not with this one. Daniel was about getting her dating feet re-wetted, and about helping him escape the monastery his self-centered ex unreasonably imprisoned him in.

  After he insisted on paying for supplies only she’d be using, Daniel led her to a bench on the street where he gestured her to sit.

  She peered up at him with faux suspicion. “So we’re going to play doctor now? Do I know you well enough for this game?”

  His grin made her catch her breath. His blue eyes had caught the late evening light. His white teeth were surrounded by golden, smoothly shaved skin that looked as if it smelled and tasted wonderful. Angela sat, paralyzed, as if her body had stopped functioning. Certainly her brain had.