My Kinda Kisses

by Lacey Black

  The air crackles around us as heat begins to spread throughout my body. My cheeks feel flush suddenly as I gape up at him, realization setting in that I’m still holding his bruised finger to my lips.

  “I was hoping that you’d be available Saturday to have dinner with me.”

  My heart pounds wildly in my chest. “You want to go out again?”

  “Of course I do. I have a great time with you and am hoping to get to know you better.”

  “Really?” I choke out over my too-parched throat.

  Ryan chuckles in response. “Yes. I love spending time with you. So what do you say? Dinner Saturday night?”

  “Okay.” The words are automatic and spill freely from my lips.

  I’m rewarded with another breathtaking smile, which I can’t help but reciprocate. “Excellent. How about I cook?”

  “Wait, you cook?” I don’t know why that would surprise me so much. I mean, he’s a single man who lives alone. If he doesn’t want to eat fast food every night, of course he knows how to cook.

  Again, he chuckles. “Yes. I do my own cleaning and laundry too. Come by my place around six. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Okay.” You know for someone with a bachelor’s degree, I seem to suddenly lack decent communication skills.

  Ryan smiles widely before leaning forward and placing his lips against my cheek. The kiss is sweet and chaste, but still packs a hearty punch of lust to my overactive libido. Just over his shoulder, I hear collective “aww” from the meddlesome duo. Ryan’s lips curve into a smile against my skin, which sends another flutter of something decadent in waves through my body.

  “We have an audience. I’ll text you later,” he whispers.

  Before he pulls away, I hear a sharp inhale in the hair behind my ear. Unable to formulate a response, I stand there, wide-eyed and mouth gaping, as he turns and heads towards the door. When he reaches the doorway, he throws a wink over his shoulder to me and a wave to the gossips at the counter before slipping out the door.

  “Holy moly, Jaime, that guy is smokin’ hot. I’ve seen him around town a few times, but never really noticed how gorgeous he is. Please tell me you’re going out with him again?” Lexi asks.

  “Of course she is! Look at her face! You couldn’t wipe that smile off with a putty knife and a two-by-four. She has that ‘I’m going to get laid soon’ glimmer.”

  “Payton! You’ve been hanging around Grandma too much. You really need to find yourself some friends,” I retort while walking back up to the counter.

  “I don’t need friends,” she says casually. “I have you guys.”

  And that’s the truth. The six of us are more than sisters. We’re best friends. Confidants. A team. We’ve been through hell and back together and, miraculously, came out smiling on the other side. My sisters are my lifeline; always have been and always will be.

  Smiling, I finish out my workday, anxious for my second date with Ryan this weekend. I can try to deny it all I want, but that would be fruitless. I want to see him again. And again and again. I definitely feel something powerful when we’re together, and as much as I want to fight it, I just can’t. I just need to remember to keep my heart out of play here, and I’m sure I’ll come out unscathed on the other side. If I don’t involve feelings and all that other mushy stuff, I’m sure I’ll be fine when he walks away.

  Because if I know anything, it’s that he will eventually walk away.

  Therefore, the only possible solution to this entire Ryan scenario is to have fun, but keep it light and my heart from getting involved. Mentally, I make a list as if to cement my plan in place. Fun–check. Keep your heart from getting involved–check.

  Should be easy enough, right?

  Chapter Eight

  Ryan

  The week crawled by at a snail’s pace, but it’s finally Saturday. Date night with Jaime.

  I’ve been looking forward to this night all week. I spent Thursday night cleaning the entire condo, top to bottom, and last night shopping for dinner supplies. I’m not exactly chef material, but I can grill a mean slab of meat. Hell, it’s practically written in my male DNA: Must be able to master the barbecue.

  I’m expecting Jaime any minute, and if I told you I wasn’t nervous to have her here, I’d be a damned liar. I’m very nervous. Jaime is edgy and jumpy when it comes to dating and relationships, this I figured out practically the first time I met her. But I don’t give up that easily. As long as I remember to take it slow and not scare her off, I’ll be fine. She’ll come around when she realizes there’s something real brewing between us. I know it–feel it.

  A soft knock sounds at the front door and my entire body suddenly takes notice. Jaime’s here. Hell, even my dick knows when she’s close by. He’s standing up, ready to greet her too. And if I’m not careful, he’s liable to claw his way through my pants just to get to her.

  Adjusting myself and willing my hard-on into submission, I step to the door. Jaime is standing on my porch wearing a light pink dress that hits just above her knees. Her arms are covered in a sweater, giving her a wholesome look. But I know the fire that breathes to life when I kiss her. It’s a fierceness I wouldn’t mind revisiting later this evening.

  “Welcome,” I tell her, opening the screen door and dropping a light kiss on her cheek.

  “Hi,” she says shyly. “I brought a bottle of wine.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, taking the bottle from her extended hand. “Come on into the kitchen with me. You can sit at the counter while I finish getting the meat ready for the grill.”

  Jaime’s hot on my heels as I make my way into the adjacent kitchen. She takes off a sexy librarian sweater and sets it aside as I point to a barstool and grab a wine glass from the cabinet. Thank God my sister got me a set when I moved into this place, otherwise she’d be liable to drink white wine from a plastic Star Wars cup.

  “This place is great,” Jaime states while glancing around my space.

  Like the rest of the place, the kitchen is small but practical. “Thanks,” I reply as I add sliced onions and carrots to the potato mixture. “My neighbor, Mrs. Hanson owns it. She tried to hire me right after I moved in to fix the place up, but I wouldn’t hear it. I couldn’t take any money from her, you know? She bought the supplies and I installed them. I did it at night and on weekends so that I didn’t have to run it through the company. She’s the sweetest old lady and I enjoy spending time with her. She makes me dinner and brownies and stuff; it’s the least I could do.”

  When I’m greeted with silence, I turn towards Jaime. She’s staring at me with a small smile. Our gazes lock for several moments. My heart rate kicks up a few hundred beats per second with one look. Jaime has a shine about her, a lightness that breathes happiness and serenity. The crazy part is that when I’m around her–hell, when she’s in my mere thoughts–I feel that shine spilling over on me. I smile more than I have in God knows how long, and it’s all because of her.

  And I just met her.

  That’s terrifying and exciting all at the same time. Like diving headfirst into the blind water without having a single clue as to what dangers really lurk just below the murky surface.

  “That’s very sweet of you to do. I’ve known Mrs. Hanson most of my life. She’s friends with my grandma. She’s the kindest woman. She used to always bring over homemade angel food cake with fresh, sliced strawberries. My sisters and I used to fight over the last piece.”

  “Her angel food cakes are amazing. She made one for me a few weeks ago for taking her garbage out to the curb,” I say as I gather up my grilling supplies. “I think I’m ready to step outside. Care to join me?”

  Jaime stands up, grabs her glass and the pan of potatoes, and follows me towards the back door. Holding open the door, Jaime slides beneath my arm, careful not to knock into the platter of meat, seasonings, and grilling tongs in my other hand. I can’t help dipping down and catching the briefest hint of vanilla coming from
her hair. Her smell is intoxicating and, as always, causes things to happen in my pants.

  Outside, the air is brisk filtering off the Bay. I’m several blocks inland, but it doesn’t matter what part of town you’re in, you can still smell the salt in the air and feel the cool breeze swept from the sea.

  Sitting down on a lawn chair, Jaime sips her wine while watching me throw the foil packet containing the potato mixture and the pork loin on the grill. The gas is set to a low heat as I spread a honey glaze over the top of the loin. I can’t help but notice that she’s watching me intently. When I’m finished, I grab a can of beer from the fridge and join Jaime on the deck.

  “You seemed very interested in my cooking skills. I promise you I’ve done this before.”

  “Actually, I was making mental notes,” she says. “I’ve never really been able to master the grill. Everything I cook is either charred to a crisp or is still clucking when I pull it off.”

  I try not to chuckle at her admission, but it slips out. “Grilling is an art. It’s not to be taken lightly.”

  “It’s on my list of things to learn. Maybe, someday, you can help teach me.”

  “I’d be honored,” I tell her honestly. We stare at each other for several heart-pounding moments before she breaks eye contact, looking around.

  “This is a nice area,” she says, the sun’s just starting to drop below the trees.

  “It is. Mrs. Hanson plants and maintains the flowers around the trees and I mow.”

  “Do you always call her Mrs. Hanson?” she asks, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

  “Not always. Sometimes I call her Mrs. H.” I take a drink of my beer, fighting the smile that threatens to spread across my own lips.

  “Funny guy,” she says with a grin.

  “Truthfully?” I ask with a serious look. As soon as she nods her head for me to continue, I add, “I have no clue what her first name is.”

  Jaime stares at me stunned for several heartbeats before laughter bursts from her sweet lips. I’m helpless at the impact of that simple gesture. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. When I moved here, I was referred to her place by one of the local realtors. She called her Mrs. Hanson, and every time I spoke with her, I always spoke to her more formally and politely. I’m pretty sure she knows that I have no clue what her first name is and she’s playing me now.”

  “I bet she is.” More laughter fills the evening as Jaime’s sparkling eyes lock on mine. “It’s Patricia, but she goes by Pat,” she offers, throwing me the life raft.

  “Good to know,” I whisper, giving her a wink and a smile in return.

  I relax in my chair, content to just sit beside her. The crickets start to chirp as the breeze starts to pick up a bit. Jaime runs her hand up her arm as if attempting to warm her cooling skin. Quickly, I jump up and slip back inside my condo. I could step further into the kitchen and grab the sweater she arrived in, but a hoodie sweatshirt is folded atop the washing machine by the back door, so I grab it instead and slip back outside. At least it’s clean and not a random work shirt.

  “Here,” I say as I step before her. “Stand up.”

  Jaime’s several inches shorter than I am and petite compared to my broad shoulders and long arms. Placing the sweatshirt over her head, Jaime fits her arms through the sleeves, which easily hang about five inches longer than her fingertips. She giggles as she whips her hands around, the loose material of the sweatshirt flopping around like a fish out of water.

  “Come here,” I say as I roll the sleeves up to her wrists.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, gazing up at me with those big green eyes.

  Angling her face upward, I trace her jaw with my thumbs, gently pushing the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. The slightest touch of her skin against mine seems to cause instantaneous reactions to both of us. Jaime’s breathing becomes labored, her lush mouth opening to form the perfect little O. My reaction is more visible in the crotch region, but it’s a painful reaction I’ve become accustomed to with her.

  And because I’m weak and unable to resist her, I bend down and brush my lips against hers. I can taste the wine on her lips and feel the heat of her mouth as I do everything I can to keep the kiss somewhat platonic. The last thing Jaime needs is for me to turn into a caveman on her, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her off to my lair where I’m sure to ravish her from head to toe for hours on end. Days, even.

  “Dinner should be ready soon,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she replies, her eyes clear and bright.

  “Do you want to eat out here or go inside where it’s warmer?”

  “I’d love to eat out here. Unless you’re cold and want to go in.”

  “I’m good. If you’re comfortable in the sweatshirt, then we can eat out here,” I suggest which earns me a head nod.

  Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting around the small table on my small deck. The pork loin is perfectly tender and the vegetables crisp. Jaime switched to water when I took the meat off the grill, and I figured it was probably wise to follow suit. Last thing I want to do is get buzzed up and alter my state where Jaime is concerned.

  “This is so good,” she moans with a mouth full of food.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  “From my mom, actually. She used to cook like this daily when I was growing up, and she always made sure that my siblings and I learned how to cook. We each had a job in the kitchen nightly.”

  “That’s awesome. My mom tried, but there were so many of us that it was kinda just a free-for-all.” Jaime smiles, but gets a far off look in her eye like she’s reliving a pleasant memory of her happy childhood.

  “I’m sure it was poetic chaos in your household,” I tell her, finishing off my potatoes.

  “Most days, there was nothing poetic about it. It was just chaotic and dramatic. There was always bickering, crying, fighting over makeup and boys. But it was also amazing,” she adds. “I’ve become extremely close with all five of my sisters. We’re best friends as well as sisters.”

  My only response is a smile. She doesn’t need words. Every word she speaks is the truth if the way she glows is any indication. I was close to my siblings, but nothing like the bond she shares with her sisters. I’ve only met two of them, and I can see it. In fact, I’m pretty sure they all feel the same way.

  “How about a few getting-to-know-you questions?” she asks.

  “I’m game. Ask away,” I advise, leaning back in my chair.

  “Favorite color?” she starts off.

  “Blue. You?”

  “Red. Favorite food?”

  “Mexican. You?”

  “Does chocolate cake count?” she asks with a smile. “Chicago hotdogs are my favorite.”

  “Hotdogs? Really?”

  “Yep. The ones loaded with all the toppings including a pepper. They’re the best. Favorite movie?” she asks.

  “Easy. Shawshank Redemption. You?”

  “Radio. Cuba Gooding Jr. was outstanding in that role. It still makes me cry every time I watch it.”

  “I’ve seen it. Good movie. Now, my turn,” I say, straightening up in my seat.

  “I already know your favorite flower, so how about favorite sport?”

  “Hockey. Those tight pants are great to look at on television,” she replies, fighting her smirk. “You?”

  “Hockey. I used to play street hockey as a kid, and when I was in college, I joined a club at a community center and played ice hockey during the winter. It was fun.”

  “Huh. So, we have something in common.”

  “Oh, I think we have more than something in common. I think it’s safe to say we have a lot of things–important things–in common,” I say.

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “Like the fact that you like spending time with me as much as I like spending time with you.”

 
A small smile spreads across her face as she nods her head. I reach over and squeeze her hand, unable to keep my own smile off my face. When I let go, we each dive back into our dinner, each one silently lost in our own thoughts.

  After dinner, I gather up the dishes and run them inside. When I return, Jaime is curled up in a chair, her long brown hair gently blowing in the breeze. She looks casual, but deep in thought.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” I ask as I move my chair so that it’s butted against hers.

  Jaime looks over at me, her eyes guarded slightly. My heart stalls in my chest at the sight. She looks scared. Like she’s about to choose flight when having to decide between fight or flight.

  “Five years ago, I was living in Cleveland where I went to college. My degree was in hospitality, and I was working full time at a travel agency that specialized in cruise trips. It was fine, but not really what I wanted to do with my life.”

  She pauses for a moment. I almost ask for more information about what she wanted to do with her life, but I decide against it. My job right now is to keep quiet, listen, and offer her friendship if she wants it. Something tells me that Jaime revealing information about her past is a big deal for her. Therefore, I sit still and keep my mouth shut.

  “I met Gavin when he came into the agency to book a guys’ trip with some of his friends. He was good looking, charismatic, and flirty, and I was smitten.”

  My gut tightens with a foreign emotion that I haven’t experienced in a damn long time. Jealousy. Just the thought of some asshole with his hands all over Jaime, kissing that same place on her neck that I’ve been fantasizing about, makes me see red.

  “We dated for almost two years before we moved in together. He was working a lot of hours, and I was at home, taking care of the household. We wanted the same things and seemed genuinely happy, or so I thought. That’s why when he left me the week of our wedding, I was devastated.”

  Her eyes drop to the clutched fingers on her lap. She’s wringing them nervously, and all I want to do is make it all go away. I long to erase that wrinkled frown. I want to take away the hurt in her eyes. I want to eradicate her heartache and make her whole again.