by J. L. Berg
I’d been standing since she arrived, but after saying those words, I felt physically weak. Sinking to the edge of the bed, I rested my forehead on the palms of my hands as the memories of that day tried to force their way back.
“Plane crash,” Kate said, pulling my attention upward.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s how mine died.”
She took a few steps forward and hesitantly sat down next to me as I processed the words she’d spoken.
“Both of them?”
She simply nodded.
“Jesus.”
“I was supposed to be leaving for a study-abroad program. An entire year in Spain. But, in my haste, I’d forgotten to pack my passport. I realized it the night before my early morning flight.”
“Your parents hopped a flight to get it to you,” I guessed.
“Kind of,” she replied. “Do you remember me telling you I used to go to the beach all the time?”
“Yes.”
“My dad was quite the adventure seeker. He loved to ski and jump out of planes, even fly them. I always loved to brag to my friends that my daddy was a pilot. We never flew far, just to the beach for the weekend or up to Seattle for the day. But it was something we did as a family.”
I remembered the little ice cream shop down the street from our house or sitting in the kitchen, making pasta with my mom. Every family had their traditions.
“Until you didn’t,” I said, knowing the pain she must have felt.
The pain she still felt every day.
“Exactly,” she replied. “No one really knows what happened, how the plane went down. The weather was clear, and it was an easy thirty-minute trip from our house to Portland. The only thing we can figure is, my father got sick, maybe a heart attack or something, and couldn’t land.”
“Is that why you never speak about your family?” I asked, watching her gaze down at her feet.
She nodded. “I’m not sure why I’m even talking about it now.”
“I take it, you never went to Spain?”
“No,” she answered. “I haven’t been on a plane since it happened. How’s that for issues?” A pained laugh broke free from her mouth.
“Join the club,” I said. “I’ve never been to my mother’s gravesite.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “In the beginning, I told myself I wasn’t ready. Total crap. Honestly, I think I’m mad at her.”
“For dying?”
I nodded.
“I get that,” she replied, turning to me.
“Really?”
“I went to a support group for children who’d lost a parent,” she began. “And, while a lot of it was just sitting around, listening to people cry, some of it was helpful. Not that helpful—obviously.” She laughed. “I’m still pretty messed up. But one of the things that stuck out for me was the idea that it was okay to be mad at the dead.”
“Go on.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice becoming more focused and clear. “Have you ever heard the saying, Dying is easy. It’s living that is hard?”
“Yes.”
“I think we all go through this period of grieving where we end up angry at our loved ones for leaving us. Especially when we’re faced with something difficult. For me, it was figuring out all the finances after they died. Having to sign documents I didn’t understand, become an executor of an estate I had no information on. I was furious at them for not preparing me.”
I nodded, completely understanding. “My mom was sick for a long time,” I said. “But she never lost hope. Even on her deathbed, she wouldn’t concede. I remember being so furious because she didn’t allow us the time for a proper good-bye. My final words to her were stupid and meaningless because she couldn’t give in to her fate.” I paused for a second before adding, “I’ve never said that out loud to anyone.”
“Felt good, didn’t it?” She smiled.
“It did. Thanks.”
“You know what else helps with grief?”
“Sex?” I answered, a large grin spreading across my face.
A laugh escaped her lungs. “Food!”
“Well, I guess that will have to do. For now,” I said, lifting my eyebrows in amusement.
I grabbed my keys and her hand as we made our way out for some dinner, no longer thinking about long-lost memories or career advancements.
The only thing on my mind was the beautiful girl next to me and exactly how I was going to keep from falling in love with her.
By the time we got to the restaurant, I was more relaxed than I’d been in days.
That was, until we walked through the door.
“Oh, shit,” I groaned, seeing the massive crowd of dancers in the middle.
Kate turned to me, her teeth digging into that pouty pink lip of hers. “Sorry, I forgot they have a live band here on Fridays. We can go somewhere else,” she offered. “I’m not much of a dancer either.”
I shook my head, leaning into her. “No, it’s fine. You said they had the best Mexican food in town.”
“It’s true!”
“So, lead the way,” I instructed.
She pulled my hand toward the hostess, who happily seated us away from the dance floor. Although it was a lively restaurant, the music wasn’t so bad. It had a good beat and definitely got people moving.
Excluding myself.
“So, you don’t dance?” Kate asked after we were handed our menus.
“No, definitely not,” I replied, checking out the beer selection.
“I’m sensing there’s a story buried in those words?”
I grinned. “Isn’t there always?”
“Oh, come on!” she begged. “I’ll tell you a secret about me.”
I arched my brow. “Oh, really? Do tell.”
Her lips pursed together. She must have thought of a good one because her cheeks suddenly went red. “Okay, but not yet.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair.”
Holding up her hands, she promised, “I swear, I’ll tell you. I just need a little liquor to get the words flowing first.”
That intrigued me. Maybe getting this secret out of her was going to be easier than I’d imagined.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But you promise not to laugh?”
“Absolutely not.” She grinned.
“Fine. But you might think differently of me when this is all said and done.”
She rolled her eyes. “Would you stop stalling?”
I sighed. “When I was little, my mom took my younger brother and me to Broadway. I don’t remember the exact production, but it had a lot of dancing.”
“Most Broadway plays do,” she said.
“Anyway,” I went on, “being all of six years old, I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.
“You asked for lessons, didn’t you?” she guessed.
“Who’s telling this story?” I laughed.
“It’s not a very good one.” She smiled.
“It gets better. And, yes, I asked for lessons. My dad—the big, burly, tough New Yorker—was totally against it. My mom loved the idea. I think she had visions of me becoming the next Fred Astaire. Naturally, whenever my parents disagreed on something, my mom would always get her way, so I was enrolled in the local dance school.”
“How charming.”
“It was. And I wasn’t that bad,” I said. “But then we got further in, and our instructor began talking about something called a recital.” Her eyes sparkled with keen understanding. “I wasn’t too concerned about whatever the hell a recital was because I thought I was a fucking star, like those guys on Broadway.”
“What happened?” she asked, eager to hear of my inevitable downfall.
“They put me in tights.”
She nearly choked as the laughter tumbled from her lips.
“It’s not funny. I was at a fragile age. And my entire family came. I’m half-Italian on my mom’s side. My dad’s Irish. Do you know how big our family is? We too
k up half of the theater! For years, I was known as Killer Twinkletoes.”
“Killer?” she asked.
“A nickname,” I clarified. “My little brother’s doing.”
“Well, I’m sorry your childhood was so traumatic. Really, I am.” She grinned as the waitress chose that moment to show up and take our orders.
Kate ordered a frozen margarita while I stuck with a beer on tap.
We continued to chat while our drinks were made. I listened to her talk about her day while I made up more lies about my job search.
“Something will come up,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
I was about to nod in agreement when someone interrupted me.
“Kate?”
I looked up to see a tall man approaching the table. He appeared to be around my age with light-brown hair and a well-built body. I instantly felt warning signals going off in my brain.
“Brian!” Kate exclaimed before rising to launch herself into the guy’s arms.
My fists tightened at my sides.
“It’s so good to see you!” they both said in unison.
“How long has it been?” Kate asked, stepping back to get a good look at him.
“Too long,” he replied.
“Brian, this is Killian Townes,” she said. “Killian, this is my good friend Brian Chapman. Brian teaches at the local community college, and I was lucky enough to sit in on one of his courses a while ago.”
We stuck out our hands to shake, clearly sizing each other up.
“Nice to meet you,” I said a split second before he did.
“Won’t you join us?” Kate asked, making my eyes widen.
“Oh no, I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m here with a couple of guy friends. Bachelor party.” He grinned. “But I wouldn’t mind a quick dance if you have a moment.”
She glanced over to me, clearly asking for permission.
Could I say no?
Because I really wanted to.
“I’ll wait for our drinks,” I finally answered.
“Um, sure.” she answered, looking as awkward as I felt. “I’ll be right back.”
“Fantastic,” I grumbled.
I’d been reduced to the table bitch while my date danced with another guy.
From where I was situated, I could still see the dance floor as Brian led Kate toward it. She looked lighter, a happy smile on her face as she reacquainted herself with the tall stranger.
His hand brushed the small of her back, and I felt a growl rumble in my belly.
“Fucking asshat,” I mumbled.
Brian spun her around, and she laughed. Soon, their bodies were so close, there was no doubt what intentions he had for the evening.
Of course, he was an excellent dancer, twirling her with precision at all the right times, only to return her exactly where she’d started.
Fucking right on top of him.
“That’s it,” I growled.
“Sorry?” the waitress asked as she approached, drinks in hand.
“Can you bring me a shot of tequila?” I asked.
She nodded before I added, “Actually, make it two. Oh, and do you see that guy over there? The one with his hands all over my fucking date?”
She turned to where my hand was pointed.
“Does he have a tab open?”
She nodded.
“Good. Put our drinks on his tab.”
She gave me a knowing smirk, making haste back to the bar. Within a few minutes, she returned, tequila shots in both hands. Obviously, she had an interest in how this would all turn out for me.
Guessed I owed her a show.
Taking both amber-colored shots, I downed them one after the other, feeling the cheap liquor burn all the way down.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go reclaim my date,” I announced before adding, “On the dance floor.”
Dance. I was going to go dance.
For a woman.
Damn it all to hell.
“YOUR BOYFRIEND DOESN’T LOOK TOO happy,” Brian said as he twirled me around, making me slightly dizzy.
His hand returned firmly to my waist as I tried not to trip over my own toes. Dancing and I had never been very good friends. More like distant acquaintances that hung out only on certain occasions.
Like frat parties and those awkward Christmas parties at work.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied, sneaking a peek up at my former teacher.
Brian Chapman.
He’d been more than a teacher to me.
He’d been an inspiration.
A life-changer.
Brian had given me a glimpse at another life. A different life.
And I’d snatched up that idea and made it a reality.
Of course, he didn’t know that. No one did.
To Brian, I was still just Kate.
Plain old Kate.
The girl who’d taken a single writing class at the local community college and never returned. But I knew different. And I guessed that was all that mattered.
“Are you sure he knows that?” he asked, peering over at the table where Killian was keeping tabs on us.
“We’re dating, I guess. So, maybe this is a little awkward for him.”
His mouth turned up into a dark grin. “Good,” he replied. “Only dating. That means, I still have a chance.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re married,” I said, taking a step back.
The music still went on, but I’d lost the desire to dance.
“Recently separated,” he clarified.
Still dumbfounded, I didn’t quite know what to do. I’d taken him up on this offer of a friendly dance, believing I was catching up with an old friend.
Not adding to my little black book.
Did women have black books?
Did anyone have black books anymore?
None of this felt right.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“How could you have known?” he asked, holding out his hand.
His expression had morphed into something less seductive. He looked more like the old Brian I was used to.
The Brian who had inspired me to write.
I took his hand. “What happened?” I asked. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean, if it’s personal or too painful.”
We began dancing again, and he pulled me in close for a slow song.
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “What happened is the same thing that happens to so many other couples. We grew apart. What had brought us together in the beginning—that spark—it died. We didn’t nurture what we had, didn’t take care of it, you know? And, eventually, we looked around and realized, there was nothing left to save.”
“I’m so sorry, Brian.”
He shrugged, his thumb moving over my own. “It’s okay really. We’re still friends. We were able to part amicably, and at least we did so before we had any children involved.”
I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
“I’d like to take you out for dinner, if you’d let me?”
My breath caught in my lungs as I looked up at him. “What?”
“Dinner.” He laughed. “Just the two of us? It will give us a chance to catch up. Properly.”
My mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out.
What should I say?
I was on a date with another man. I was dating another man.
Since when did problems like this happen to me?
“May I cut in?”
As if my night could get any stranger, there was Killian.
On the dance floor, asking me to dance.
Is it a full moon?
Had I switched bodies with a hot model? Because men did not fight over Katelyn O’Malley. Ever.
I watched as the two men sized each other up. A lot of eye contact with nonverbal communication was going on. Whatever transpired, Killian obviously had the upper hand because Brian sidestepped, allowing him to take his place.
“I’ve got to get
back to my table anyway. Kate, I’ll give you a call later.”
“Um, okay,” I replied, still slightly dazed as Killian’s arm wrapped around me.
He didn’t try any fancy twirls or spins. He stuck to the basic steps, moving from side to side, allowing me to feel the gentle sway of our bodies.
“You’re dancing,” I said, a hint of amusement in my tone.
“Yep. Better go take care of any unfinished business. The end of the world is coming,” he said drily, causing me to laugh instantly.
“You’re not that bad.”
“But I’m not that good either.”
“How much alcohol did it take to get you out here?” I asked, looking up at his handsome face.
My fingers wrapped around his broad shoulder as he held me tightly.
“A couple of shots of tequila,” he admitted. “And several minutes of watching that douche bag with his hands all over you.”
“He’s just a friend.”
“Does he know that?” Killian questioned as the music changed to something more upbeat.
I replied honestly, “I don’t know.”
“Well, why don’t we go grab our drinks and talk it over? Or not.” He grinned.
“Good idea,” I said.
He took my hand and led me toward the table once again. The margarita I’d ordered before being whisked off to the dance floor was waiting for me, and I eagerly took a sip the instant I sat down, licking the salt from the edge.
“Do that again,” Killian said, his eyes dark and demanding.
Feeling adventurous, I did as he’d asked but slower this time. My tongue darted out, lapping up several grains of salt from the glass, and then I sipped the liquor down.
Before I’d even placed the drink down on the table, he was there, leaning over the table, eyes wild, as his mouth descended on mine.
He tasted like tequila and lime. My eyes fluttered closed as our tongues melted together over and over. I felt his hand against my cheek, pulling me close.
Someone groaned.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was me.
But, in that moment, I wanted to give in to every desire.
Every whim.
Every single secret fantasy.
Instead, I ruined it by opening my big fat mouth.
“I’m a virgin,” I said as our lips parted.
He instantly pulled back, eyes wide. “What?”
That seductive, almost hypnotic expression he’d had only moments earlier was gone.
