Killing Me Softly

by Devyn Dawson

  “Hi Holland, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,” Tate holds my gaze as he talks.

  There is never a bad time to see him. I’ve been excited to see him all week.

  “No, not at all.” Because all I’ve been doing is checking the time every five minutes, six can’t get here quick enough. “Follow me back to the back, I was about to do my shift paperwork. Sam, buzz me if you need me.”

  “You smell nice,” Tate says as he follows me to the office. “This is like going to the principal’s office. I was really bad today, you might need to paddle me.”

  “Paddle you? We’ll have to see how bad you were.” With that, Tate closes the office door with his foot and pulls me up to him and kisses me. I take a step backwards to put my back against the office door to get my balance. His hands go to the door, one on each side of my head and my heart leaps into my throat. He kisses me on the neck, trailing his way to my mouth. I’m fighting to stay on my feet.

  He pulls away and after a moment, I open my eyes and he’s smiling at me. “I’ve been wanting to do that all week. Every phone call and text was great, but nothing compares to the touch of your lips.” He pulls away and braces me as I gather my balance.

  We’ve Skyped every night after my dad fell asleep and Tate’s roommate was out drinking. We sat on the phone so long the other night, I’m not sure we didn’t fall asleep talking. Now I know his favorite color is green, his middle name is Oxford after his grandmother’s maiden name. He had an imaginary pet goat until he was five, which he named Oxy after himself. He’s only dated one girl seriously and that was in high school. Saturday is his favorite day of the week because he can sleep in. He wears a size eleven shoe and doesn’t trust people who wear socks with sandals. His favorite type of comedy is storytelling and his favorite comedian died a couple of years ago. At least once a week he watches Wheel of Fortune because he likes to feel smart. He’s never told anyone other than his family that he loves them.

  I wish I had an imaginary goat.

  It’s been exactly one week since he asked me on our first date but I feel like we’ve been dating for months. By the way he kissed me, he does too.

  “Let me sign out this order and wait for the closing manager to come in for his shift.”

  “I’m content sitting here watching you be you.”

  “Oh lord,” I say shaking my head back and forth.

  Tate shrugs his shoulders with a big cheesy grin.

  ***

  I kick Tate out of my office so I can change clothes. My outfit from Andy’s box of clothes is a pair of white palazzo pants and a yellow fringed top. At five foot five, I’m barely able to get away with pants so wide in the leg. Andy and I were the same height, except she insisted she was an inch taller than me. The fringe started about an inch from my waistband and if I moved the right way, you can see my belly ring. The day I turned eighteen, Andy and I went to a piercing place and we both got matching piercings. I’ve concluded from that experience that I’ll never ever get another piercing. Ever.

  Tate’s face from across the room assured me I made the right choice in outfits.

  “Holland, date night suits you,” Sam says as I cross over to the cashier section. “What are you kids doing tonight?”

  He’s going to text me in five minutes and ask me why I didn’t just say I had a date tonight. I was afraid if I admitted to the date, Tate would cancel on me.

  “We’re going to dinner and then he’s performing at Witch-Crafts Brewery in Edmond.” No way in hell am I telling him that I may or may not sing with him. Throughout the week Tate made at least seven bribes worthy of collecting on. He promised me a trip to go to Six Flags over Texas, a day kayaking, the cheesecake of my choice from Cheesecake Factory and a few other bribes of chocolate and dinner.

  “Wicked! That place is really cool. You kids have fun,” Sam exclaims before turning his attention to a group of girls who walked in the store.

  Eduard, the closing manager walked over to me and I read him in, so I can leave.

  Tate and I walk through the mall holding hands and he has my backpack casually over his shoulder. I try to memorize every way his body moves when he walks, the same way I memorized his hand. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make myself stop grinning like a little girl with a chocolate bar.

  ***

  After dinner, we head to Edmond. I’ve never been in Edmond without the traffic being bumper to bumper, tonight is no different. Tate doesn’t seem to mind all the cars and he never once yells at anyone who cut us off. I counted three people and he never yelled anything or acted frustrated.

  Tate turns down the radio and looks over at me. “My grandma is coming out here in two weeks, I was hoping to introduce you to her. I understand if you think it’s too soon.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “You would ask wouldn’t you? She’s coming for my birthday.”

  “Your birthday? You’ll be twenty-two?” Twenty-one plus one is twenty-two, but I had to ask.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “For your birthday, yes, I’ll meet her. How long will she be in town?” I’ve never met a guy’s grandma before.

  “She’s flying out on a Thursday and flying home on Tuesday morning.”

  “What day is your birthday?”

  “Sunday, the eighteenth. I have a gig that Saturday night in Norman. It would be awesome if you could go with us and sit with her. Don’t worry, she isn’t a typical granny, she’s more granola who isn’t a vegetarian.”

  “She’s what? Granola?”

  “All about healthy foods and against processed crap as she calls it. She runs and does yoga before she starts her day.” Tate’s voice is filled with love and admiration as he talks about her.

  “Oh good, I wasn’t sure if we were going to eat granola for dinner or something. Not that I have anything against granola,” I stammer.

  His GPS announces, “Your destination is on the right.” The bar’s sign is short and squatty, part of the bi-laws in Edmond, they can’t have tall signs. They’re afraid of cluttering up the view, is what my dad told me one time when I was little. I think the town looks silly with the short signs, but I don’t have to live here, so no worries from me. My hands start sweating as we pull around back to enter through the employee doors. Cars are already parked in the front parking lots but the back is still pretty open.

  Tate tells me to wait for him and he runs around to my door and helps me out of the truck. His guitar is in a hard case tonight. The thought of him playing reminds me of our evening looking out on the lake. Before closing the passenger door, he pulls me in for a hug. My arms go around him and we stand that way for a good minute before he says anything.

  “Holland, if you’re too nervous, I won’t make you sing with me.”

  I sigh in relief. “Are you sure?”

  He holds my arms and he leans back so he can see my face. “I wouldn’t embarrass you. Don’t get me wrong, I want you to sing with me, but I won’t make you. Nothing’s worse than being forced to do something you’re uncomfortable with. Not that you’re uncomfortable. I’m hoping you understand what I’m trying to say.”

  “I understand you. We’ll see.” I pause as I look up at him and he tilts his head toward me.

  “Tease,” he says and gives me his sexy up to no good grin. “Ready?”

  “Just don’t abandon me.” Why did I say that? “I’m ready.” For anything you want. Bad girl! Don’t think things like that. You’re a new and improved Holland. This is the kind of relationship writers dream about writing. Like a Nora Roberts couple or possibly Nicholas Sparks with romantic gestures and rugged good looks. I’m not giving into my hormones before I know him and he knows everything about me. I haven’t even told him about Andy. Why? I don’t know.

  He takes my hand and we go through the back door. It reeks of spilled beer. Tate leans over and tells me it’s coin night from eight until ten. People can get a beer with any coin in their pocket. It occurs to me that you
have to be twenty-one to be in this bar. My fake ID is at home under my lamp. Tate came this way so I wouldn’t get carded. A couple of employees are on their way out the back door with their cigarettes for a smoke break.

  “Tate, I don’t have my fake ID with me,” I whisper to him.

  “Don’t worry, the owner said I could bring you in with me. If the cops come in, he will have you go out the back door. It’s all good, especially if you decide to sing. Tons of bands are under age and they’re allowed to be in a twenty-one and over club if they’re working.” He smiles at me and relief rushes over me. “You have a fake ID? Awesome. Just don’t bring it on base with you, they will send you to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Okay.”

  We are shuffled off to the green room to get ready before the show. Tate tells me there’s an actual stage for him to sing. The lighting guy comes into the room and asks Tate what songs he wants the lighting changed to a different color. He not only handles the lighting, but the special effects too. If we do the song we worked on, Tate asked them to use the smoke machine and blue lights.

  The room has a window that looks out on the stage and bar. Tate said they can’t see in the room but we can see them. He goes over and flips a switch and now we can hear them too. We walk over and admire a table with junk food and various beers and sodas.

  “Do you get nervous before you go out and sing?” I hold his hand and we walk over to the window to watch the crowd.

  “Not really nervous, but I get jittery. If I had a choice, I’d just play the guitar. For the time I’m on stage, I’m able to be someone else. It’s hard to describe, it’s probably nothing other than adrenaline.” He walks over to the leather couch he propped his guitar against and opens up his case. “Let’s practice the song.”

  My stomach flips around at the idea of singing in front of strangers. I take in a deep breath and I sit on the coffee table facing him on the couch.

  We decided on a Destiny’s Child song, Say My Name. He told me that he saw a Youtube video of a guy and girl singing the song and it came out cool. I’ve watched that video at least a thousand times over the last five days. If we can pull it off, it will be awesome. If we don’t, he’ll probably never want to see me again.

  The opening act was a local comedian. The bar quiets down as he tells a few jokes that get the crowd laughing. I can see the bar is set up with jars with witchy labels that I can’t read this far away. Each of the barmaids and waitresses are dressed in short sexy witch costumes. The owner has spent a lot of money making this the coolest place I’ve ever been. Just from the green room I can tell this place is awesome.

  The comedian announces Tate’s name and my instant reaction was to hold my breath. Over the next ten minutes, I reminded myself to breathe at least a dozen times. A couple of beers would give me the liquid courage I need right now. No drinking, that’s my number two rule for when I’m on a date. Number one rule is not to have sex with anyone until we’ve dated for a few months. That rule is going to be hard to follow with Tate in the picture. These rules were created tonight when Tate kissed me in my office.

  He’s finishing up a Lenny Kravitz song, which means his fifteen minute break is about to start. By the applause from the crowd, they enjoyed the set.

  “What did you think,” Tate asks as he comes in the room.

  “You were fantastic! I love that Lenny song, you didn’t sing it at the book store.” I grab a cup and fill it up with water. “Here, I’m sure you need something to drink.”

  He takes the cup and sets it on the table and pulls me to him. “That song does better when you have a large crowd and better acoustics. The bookstore isn’t set up for music, but this place is another story. Ha! No pun intended.”

  “I’m going to do it,” I blurt out. I’ve been possessed! I’d never agree to singing. Oh god, what have I done?

  “You are? You’re going to KILL!”

  “Yup, someone might die.” Me! I’m going to die from a damned heart attack. Why did I say that? Face palm.

  Tate takes my hand and pulls me to him. He’s going to kiss me. The thought literally makes me smile. “I hope I put that smile on your face,” he says and pecks me on the lips.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe huh?” He quickly kisses me again.

  “Maybe not.” I tilt my head to the side defiantly.

  He licks his lips right before his mouth comes down on mine. His mouth is cold from eating a piece of ice, there’s something sensual with the difference in our temperatures. As quick as it had started, he pulled away. “Interested in retracting your last maybe?”

  Oh god yes! “Okay, maybe you did put the smile on my face. Kiss me again so I can be sure.” Look at me being all brave and flirty. No alcohol needed.

  “You don’t need to ask me twice.” This time, he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. “That buzz was my queue that my break is up. Come on stage with me.”

  No! What the hell! No! God! I can’t believe I agreed to sing. “Okay. If I sound terrible, don’t tell me. If they throw things at us I’m going to cry.”

  “You’re not going to cry. You’re going to do great. Come on.”

  The bar is packed with twenty somethings looking for a good time. Karaoke is easier, people expect you to mess up and sing off key. How is it that I’ve agreed to stand up and sing a song that I’ve only practiced over Skype with Tate? I couldn’t even sing it in my full voice because I was afraid my Dad would walk in and throw a fit.

  Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

  “You’re going to break my fingers,” Tate says. I look down at our hands and sure enough, I am squeezing his hand until my knuckles are white.

  “Tate, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.”

  His face goes from smiling to one of concern. “Holland, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry. Just sit on the barstool and I’ll sing to you.”

  “Are you sure?” Please be sure!

  “I’m sure. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Holland, don’t be sorry. We’re about to start.” Tate takes the microphone in his hand. “Hey everyone, if you’re just getting here, I’m Tate, and this is Holland.” Everyone who heard him starts to applaud. “This next set is new so please indulge me.”

  Tate grabs two of the plain wooden barstools from the back of the stage and sets them next to the mic stand. Without warning, he grabs me by the waist, lifting me up to set on the seat. “Relax, I’m not giving you a lap dance, no matter how much you beg.” A grin spreads across my face, one of the ones that make me look guilty as hell. “You’re so pretty when you smile,” Tate says barely audible. He picks up his guitar and sits down on the barstool facing me and adjusts the mic stand to his sitting height.

  He starts singing my favorite Sara Bareilles song, Gravity. Every lyric, every note, has grabbed my heart and lifted it with invisible strings. He’s giving me chills and for two minutes, the entire room is empty except for the two of us. The crowd applauding reminds me that we’re not alone, we’re in front of a packed room. Over the next twenty minutes he sings everything from a Carrie Underwood song, to The Beatles. When he started singing, Just the Way You Are as a slow song, I knew it would be a crowd favorite.

  Back in the green room, Tate grabs me pulls me in for a hug. “You were amazing!” He says to me.

  “What? I sat there while you sang your face off! You were the one who was amazing.”

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as great if you weren’t there.”

  “You are seriously a cheesy guy.”

  “Without the cheese, it is simply a grilled sandwich,” Tate says.

  I roll my eyes at him and we both crack up laughing.

  “Let’s go out there for a few minutes and then we can leave and do anything you want.”

  I take his hand and we go into the main club area. He explains to me that a part of his contract says he has to stay in the main area for a minimum of thi
rty minutes. The manager comes over and tells Tate what a great job he did and said he’d like to talk to him about coming out again.

  “Tate, come with me to my booth, I want to talk to you for a minute, alone. Sweetheart, order yourself something and he’ll be back with you in a little while.” The manager says and puts his arm over Tate’s shoulders pulling him away from me.

  “I’ll be right back,” Tate mouths to me.

  Something about the manager gives me a bad vibe. Then I had the girls walking over and telling me how lucky I am to have him sing to me and wanting to know if we’re a couple. Girls complimented me about how well Tate sings. Everything was perfect until some girl comes over and tells me he can do better than me. She doesn’t even know me and she’s talking shit about how homely I am. How she has a better body than me. I’d normally tell a bitch like her off, but I can’t since this is Tate’s deal and I don’t want to embarrass him. You don’t live with a mentally ill and verbally abusive person without having a thicker skin. Instead, I decide to go outside and wait for Tate. I don’t need to listen to a skanky bitch harass me.

  Just as I’m approaching the doors, someone grabs me. “Get your hands off me bitch!” I yell as I turn around.

  Tate has me by the arm. “Holland, are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t calling you a bitch. Nothing, just a girl talking smack and I decided to go outside to cool down.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter, I’m just glad to have you back. What did the manager want?”

  He shakes his head and smiles at me. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Really?”

  Tate smiles and says, “Really.”

  When we get in the truck I notice I have ten missed calls from my dad and Aunt Laney has sent me a text.

  HOLLAND – MEET ME AT DC MEMORIAL – I HAD AN AMBULANCE PICK UP YOUR DAD.

  “Tate, can you take me to my car? I’m sorry, I have a family emergency.” Dad what have you done? Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m destined to be an old maid caring for my mentally ill father.