Kiss the Girl

by Tara Sivec

  I let out a deep sigh, finally glad to get all of this out in the open and not hold it inside anymore.

  Belle disappears behind the bar and pops right back up with a bottle of top-shelf tequila in her hand, pouring a double shot into each of our empty glasses. Cindy and I look at her questioningly when she leaves the top off and the bottle within reach.

  “Every year, six thousand people get away with murder,” she says. “Despite drastic improvements in DNA analysis and forensic science, police fail to make an arrest in more than one-third of all homicides. I think plotting the murder of a bag-of-dicks Frenchman where we can be certain we won’t get caught calls for tequila. Any objections?” she asks.

  Cindy and I shake our heads, and Belle raises her glass. Both of us follow suit.

  “Drink up, bitches. Since studies show it’s difficult to bleed to death from a severed penis without taking anticoagulants, we need to get creative,” she adds with a smile.

  I changed my mind. I’m kind of happy I rubbed off on Belle a little bit, even if I am a little afraid of her right now.

  * * *

  “Now you know why I can’t have anything to do with Eric. He likes boats. And freedom. Freedom. Freeeeeeeeedom. Free. Dumb. Freedom is a weird word,” I giggle, trying to bring my glass of tequila to my mouth and missing it completely because I’m lying on my back on the living room floor.

  When the fuck did I get down on the floor?

  The cold liquid splashes against my cheek and slides down the side of my face and into my ear.

  “Shut your mouth right now,” Cindy scolds, smacking my arm so hard I let out a yelp of pain as she leans over my body. “Eric is nothing like Fuck Face Frenchy. He’s sweet, and he’s hot as balls, and he gave you a place to stay. He’s not an unemployed loser. He barely knows you and he wanted to take care of you.”

  “IT’S LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT!” Belle screams at the top of her lungs, suddenly popping up to a sitting position where she had been previously lying on her back right next to me.

  “Jesus, we’re right here. You don’t have to shout,” I scold her. “And it wasn’t love at first sight. It was annoyed at first sight. And second sight. And B sight. And the square-root-of-pi sight. Math is hard.”

  We all start laughing, Belle and Cindy collapsing on top of me in a pile of stupid girly giggles.

  “Oooooh, is this the naked tickling portion of the evening?”

  Our laughter immediately stops and we all jerk upright at the sound of Eric’s voice.

  He’s standing at the base of the stairs with an amused expression as he looks down at the three of us in the middle of the floor.

  He had changed his clothes from earlier today. If I thought he looked good in a simple T-shirt and jeans, I’d obviously forgotten what he looks like in black tailored dress pants and a blue dress shirt the same color as his eyes. The top button of the shirt is undone and his sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. I can see the muscles in his forearms flex as he pulls his hands out of his front pockets.

  “Sorry, no naked tickling,” Belle informs him with a laugh.

  “Naked pillow fight?” he asks hopefully.

  “Nope,” Cindy replies with a smile.

  “Naked Twister? Naked wrestling? Seriously, give me something.”

  “Nope, nope, and nope,” Belle says, pushing herself up from the floor and holding her hand out to help Cindy up.

  “My whole porn viewing life has been a lie,” he mutters, shaking his head in fake sadness.

  As this entire exchange happens, I just sit here, staring at Eric and thinking about what Cindy said about him being sweet and wanting to take care of me, and how even though I want to stick him in the same box as Sebastian, I can’t. He’s nothing like Sebastian, no matter how hard try want to convince myself he is just because it’s easier than the idea of being vulnerable and hurt again.

  “We should probably call an Uber,” Cindy says, moving on unsteady, drunk feet over to the couch to grab her purse and pull her phone out.

  “No need. I already called Vincent and PJ when I heard all the giggling from over on my yacht after you opened all the windows on this booze cruise. I know drunk giggles when I hear them. They should be pulling in any minute now,” Eric tells her.

  Uuuggghh, why can’t he just be an asshole?

  My friends gather their things and tell me they’ll call me tomorrow. As they walk across the room, each stops to raise up on her toes, kiss Eric on the cheek, and tell him thank you. Then they disappear up the stairs.

  I start getting jealous that those bitches know what it feels like to have their lips pressed against his skin, and then get annoyed with myself and blame it on the alcohol. I try to get up from the floor, but quickly flop back down when my hands don’t want to work. Before I can press my hands into the carpet and try again, Eric is across the room standing over me.

  “Need some help?” he asks with a smirk that I absolutely do not find adorable.

  “Nope. I’ve got it,” I tell him, trying to get my legs under me and failing as the room spins and I flop back down on my ass.

  I hear him chuckle, and while I’m busy glaring at the goose bumps that pop out on my arms, he bends down and scoops me up in his arms.

  “What are you doing?!” I screech. “Put me down. I’m too heav—”

  “I swear to Christ if you say you’re too heavy, I will walk you out on the deck and toss you overboard,” he mutters angrily, tightening his arms around my back and under my legs as he hugs me tighter to his chest, carrying me like I weigh no more than a feather. “You’re perfect. Everything about you is fucking perfect.”

  As he starts walking us through the living room, I think about how he said he could hear us giggling. And I start to panic, wondering how much else he heard over on his boat, since we opened all of the windows in the living room to let some fresh air in.

  Oh, my God, what if he heard all the pathetic things I said? What if he knows how much of a fool I was? How insecure I am?

  Since I have now entered the drunk-crying portion of the evening, I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my cheek against his shoulder to try and blink the tears away so I don’t have to be any more mortified than I already am.

  “I don’t like you,” I mutter against his chest, even as I breathe in deeply just to fill my nose with the smell of his cologne.

  His chest rumbles with laughter against my cheek as he carries me down the dark hallway towards where I’m assuming the master bedroom is; I never made it past the living room to explore, even after Belle and Cindy arrived.

  “You’ve made that startlingly clear,” he replies.

  “But you’re pretty,” I sigh, knowing I’m going to regret this in the morning, when I’m puking my guts out.

  “I’d prefer hot, but I’ll take it.”

  Eric turns a corner and somehow flips a switch on the wall while still holding tightly to me. A small lamp on the bedside table lets out just enough light for him to see where he’s going as he crosses the room and gently lowers me to the bed.

  “Do you play PlayStation?” I ask, cursing Belle and her heavy-handed tequila pour.

  “I’m not twelve, so no,” he replies quietly, the corner of his mouth tipping up and his face so close to mine as he leans over me in bed, I start to wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

  Then I realize my arms are still latched behind his neck, and I quickly drop them and roll to my side, curling my legs up to my chest. My eyes flutter closed and I feel the blankets gently pulled out from under me before I’m covered up.

  I think I feel Eric’s fingers brush across my cheek and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, but that’s probably the tequila making me imagine things.

  “I dropped my panties tonight,” I whisper loudly, and then I giggle. “I dropped sooooooo many panties tonight. Panty dropper, what-what?!”

  My giggle turns into a snort, and then I let out a sigh when I hear Eric’s quiet laughter.

  �
��I’ll leave some aspirin and a bottle of water on the nightstand for when you wake up,” I hear him say in a soft voice before the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut fills my ears, and I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room.

  “Annoyed at first sight, annoyed at first sight, annoyed at first sight . . . ,” I chant to myself before I close my eyes again and pass out.

  Chapter 8: Derrick Alfredo

  “Be kind, be grateful, smile. Be kind, be grateful, smile,” I repeat under my breath, squaring my shoulders as I walk down the dock from my boat to Eric’s.

  Ever since I came clean the other night with Cindy and Belle, they’ve been texting me nonstop about things I can do to reestablish the confidence in myself I seemed to have lost recently. Each article and statistic on gaining self-confidence Belle sent me made me roll my eyes and almost toss my phone across the room. Who needs a self-help book when I’ve got a walking, talking encyclopedia for a friend?

  But as much as I hate to admit it, each article that had anywhere from ten to fifty suggestions, shared the exact same three: Be kind, be grateful, and smile. Three things that make me break out in hives, but I have to start somewhere. And Cindy told me I needed to start with my new neighbor. He gave me a place to live, carried my drunken ass to bed the other night, and when I woke up with the hangover from hell, I found a bottle of water and two aspirin sitting on the nightstand, just like he promised. I also found a fully stocked fridge and pantry when I walked into the kitchen that morning, both filled with every possible food item you could imagine. I guess he deserves my gratitude. Especially since I haven’t thanked him for anything.

  Stepping onto the metal gangway that connects Eric’s boat to the dock, I wipe my sweaty palms against my black yoga-pants-covered thighs, wondering why in the hell I’m so nervous to see him again. I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to get rid of the guy once I started living next to him, that he’d be popping onto my boat unannounced at all hours of the day just to piss me off, but that hasn’t been the case. The only reason I know when he’s been home the last three days is because I can always hear him playing music when I have the windows open. When I’m lounging on one of the chairs on the deck, I can also hear him singing along sometimes. Which is probably why I’m so nervous. I haven’t seen him since I realized he most likely heard the things I told the girls that night. I haven’t had to look him in the eyes since he realized what a head case I’ve recently become.

  Thoughts of turning around, running back to my boat, and locking myself in the master bedroom make me falter as I cross the deck to the steps leading down into the cabins, but I lift my chin with determination and quickly walk down the stairs. I’m not going to let a man make me feel stupid or nervous. Who cares if he heard that I spent years being verbally abused by my ex? Who cares if he knows that I haven’t started stripping because I lack the confidence? His opinion isn’t going to make or break me. He’s just a man, and I don’t give a shit what he thinks.

  “Daaaaaamn,” I whisper when I get halfway down the stairs and come to an abrupt halt, cocking my head to the side.

  The word is out before I can stop it, and honestly, if you were looking at what I’m looking at right now, you’d react the same way. Two words: Eric’s ass. He’s currently on his hands and knees, bent forward with his head under the couch in the middle of the room and his ass sticking up in the air. His grey sweatpants-covered ass. All hail sweatpants on a man and how tightly they cling to their rear ends when they bend over, showing every glorious, toned gluteal muscle.

  Can I get an amen?

  On top of that, he’s not wearing a shirt. The sweatpants are riding low on his hips and from my position up on the stairs, I get a perfect view of every muscle in his back, all of them rippling as he holds his body up with his arms.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” Eric complains, making me jump guiltily and quickly look away from his torso to a random spot on the wall above the couch, surprised as hell that he knows I’m here since I haven’t made a sound.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Can we call a truce?”

  I look back down at his ass . . . er, I mean him . . . and realize he’s not talking to me. He still has his head under the couch and is too preoccupied with whatever the hell he’s doing to realize I’m here.

  I gently clear my throat as I make my way down the rest of the stairs. “Is there a problem?”

  Eric’s head jerks back when my voice startles him and he smacks it against the underside of the couch so hard it makes me wince.

  “GODDAMN SON OF BITCH!” he shouts, and then he quickly sticks his head farther under the couch and lowers his voice. “No, no, no. I wasn’t talking to you. Daddy loves you and would never yell at you.”

  Sweet mother of fucks, what is happening right now?

  Does Eric have a kid? And more importantly, why in the hell is the kid under the couch? I’m not much of a kid person, but I’m pretty sure that’s not where you’re supposed to keep them.

  While my heart starts racing and I feel a mild panic attack coming on as I move across the room to stand right behind him, Eric finally crawls out from under the couch and stands up.

  “Sorry about that. He seems to like small, dark, confined spaces at the moment,” he explains as he turns around.

  My eyes widen in horror when I get a look at what he was talking to under the couch. I don’t even have to worry about ogling Eric’s naked chest, which would then cause me to be disgusted with myself later. And it’s all because of that . . . thing he’s hugging to said naked chest. I mean, at least it’s not a kid, but Jesus H—I’d almost prefer a screaming baby at this point to whatever that is.

  “What in the hell is that thing?!” I shout, stumbling backwards as Eric starts walking towards me.

  “Shhhhh, you’ll scare him,” Eric whispers, running his hand softly down what I’m assuming is the head of whatever the fuck that is, only because right below Eric’s hand are two black, beady eyes staring right at me.

  “Don’t come any closer! It looks like it’s getting ready to devour my soul!” I tell him, holding both my hands up to get him to stop walking towards me.

  “He’s not going to devour your soul,” Eric sighs with a roll of his eyes, stopping a few inches away from me. “He’s a cat, his name is Derrick Alfredo, and he’s a handsome young man. Aren’t you, Derrick? Aren’t you a handsome young man? Yes you are! Yes you are a handsome young man!”

  Eric nuzzles his nose against the wrinkly skin on top of the hell beast’s head, and I shudder. The whole thing is so white it’s translucent, and it’s covered in creepy, wrinkly skin. His ears are so big they look like they could pick up sound waves from Mars.

  “Dude, you just lost your man card for that baby talk,” I mutter, even though listening to him talk like that made my heart flutter just a little bit—but I will deny that shit until my dying day. “And that is not a cat. It’s a reincarnation of the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

  Eric quickly covers the monster’s ear with one of his hands and glares at me.

  “He’s a Sphynx. The most famous hairless cat breed in the world,” he tells me haughtily.

  “He looks like he’s inside out,” I reply, my nose wrinkling up as Eric turns his body to oh-so-kindly give me a better look. I swear the damn thing smirks at me before snuggling against Eric’s naked chest, his purr of contentment echoing around the room.

  I quickly shake my head in disgust when I realize I’m having a hate-filled staring contest with the damn thing.

  Am I seriously jealous of what may or may not be a cat?

  “I won him in a poker game two nights ago and we’re still getting acquainted,” Eric explains, scratching behind the monstrosity’s ears.

  “And you couldn’t have come up with a better name than Derrick Alfredo? Something like, oh, I don’t know, Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub. . . .” I trail off, wondering how there’s an animal like this even allowed in nature.

  “PJ sent
me a text yesterday about how Cindy was making fettuccini alfredo, but his phone autocorrected it to Derrick Alfredo, and he meowed when the text came through. I took it as a sign. He looks like a Derrick, doesn’t he?” Eric asks.

  “He looks like a gremlin you fed after midnight,” I deadpan.

  “As much as I’m enjoying your company and your sparkling personality this morning, is there any particular reason you stopped by? Or was it just to check out my ass when I was bending over to get Derrick?” Eric asks, looking up from the cat to give me a smirk.

  Goddamn it all to hell.

  “Oh, piss off,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff.

  Eric’s eyes trail away from mine to roam down to my cleavage, which my arms are now pushing up and out of the tank top I’m wearing. My body instantly heats with the hungry look in his eyes, and I quickly drop my arms back down to my sides.

  I open my mouth to call him a pig when I hear Belle’s voice in my head.

  Be kind, be grateful, and smile.

  “Is something wrong with your mouth?” Eric asks drolly when I try to smile.

  I don’t need a mirror to tell me I look like the grimace emoji, clenching my teeth with my lips pulled back as far as they’ll go.

  Blowing out a breath, I run my hand through my long red hair and try one of the other suggestions.

  “Why in the hell did you stock my fridge and pantry with food?”

  Oh my God, I suck at this.

  Eric chuckles, walking away from me and over to the couch, gently setting Derrick down on one of the cushions. He turns back around to face me and slides his hands in the front pockets of his sweatpants, the movement pulling the waistband down a little lower until I have a perfect view of the V indents by either side of his hips.

  I will not succumb to the V, I will not succumb to the V. . . .

  “What kind of a landlord would I be if I didn’t make sure my tenant doesn’t starve to death?” he asks.

  “Which reminds me—how much do I owe you for rent?” I ask.

  “You’re not paying me rent,” he scoffs with a shake of his head.