And Then He Kissed Me

by Kim Amos

  “Look, we filled this job days ago,” he explained, rifling through the hangers, “but the girl we had lined up quit. Literally just walked out the door.”

  “Literally?” Audrey asked. “Because a lot of people misuse that wor—”

  “She’s gone,” Fletch interrupted, his dark brows pinched together with frustration, “and you’re about her size. With some help, you might do. The makeup artist is here now—she’ll teach you what you need to know. After today, you’re on your own, so listen to her. The gig is Monday through Friday, ten to four. Stand there, look pretty, make the hogs look even better.”

  It took her a moment to grasp what he was asking. “This isn’t a…sales position?”

  “Sure. In a manner of speaking.” He shook the clothing in his hand. It was a leather bustier and some chaps. It wasn’t just immodest. It was downright scandalous.

  Her face heated. She looked down at her long-sleeved T-shirt and track pants. Her typical uniform. If she was going to wear anything for this job, she’d thought it would be a pin-striped suit. “You want me to wear that?”

  “It’s not hard and it pays thirty bucks an hour. You want it or not?”

  Audrey blanched. That was close to what she’d made as a teacher. With a master’s degree.

  She thought about her dwindling bank account. Her piles of unpaid bills. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, it was true, but at that rate she wouldn’t be a beggar for long. No matter how humiliating it would be to march out there dressed like Mad Max crossed with Victoria’s Secret.

  She studied the skimpy clothing. “Okay?” she said, hating the doubt in her own voice, hating the alarms that were firing, saying Leave now.

  This didn’t have to be so bad, she reasoned. After all, there had been a wilder version of herself that had loved being on the back of a Harley. That Audrey would have grabbed these clothes and worn them with pride.

  But that Audrey had existed a long time ago. And she’d been very short-lived.

  Even so, Audrey took the garments Fletch handed her. “Get changed in the employee bathroom down the hall. The makeup artist is two doors down from there.”

  The leather squeaked in her grip, as if protesting as much as she wanted to.

  * * *

  “Isn’t this a little much?” she asked ten minutes later as Deborah, the makeup artist, volumized her eyelashes to about seventy times their normal length.

  “Nope,” Deborah said. “It looks good.” Audrey wondered if she should trust the source, considering that Deborah’s bloodred lips were hammered through with thick posts.

  “You can just leave my hair,” Audrey said as Deborah undid her ponytail. “It’s hard to do much with.”

  “I have secret weapons,” Deborah replied, grabbing a nearby can of hairspray. “Close your eyes.”

  “But I—” She tasted hairspray and shut her mouth.

  When Audrey tried to take notes about when to use the eye-shadow primer and where to apply the bronzer, Deborah pulled the pen and paper out of her hands. “Watch, don’t write,” she said.

  Audrey didn’t know how to tell Deborah she didn’t want to watch any of this. She didn’t want to witness the humiliating aftermath of losing her job and having to dress for a part that felt downright embarrassing. But here she was. She locked eyes with the reflection in the mirror and tried not to blink.

  “Look,” Deborah said, softening after a minute, “this might not be your jam, but you need to look as dramatic and styled as those motorcycles out there. Your drugstore lip gloss isn’t going to cut it.”

  Audrey didn’t have the heart to tell Deborah it wasn’t even gloss—it was ChapStick.

  But as Deborah continued to work, Audrey found her words of protest drying up.

  The dusting of blush made her soap-clean face look sun-kissed. Her brown eyes, suddenly outlined in black, were both enormous and mysterious. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in a way that reminded her of a waterfall—fierce and a little reckless. Audrey studied the changes silently. If she were honest with herself, she had to admit she looked good.

  No, scratch that. She looked hot.

  “How do you like it?” Deborah asked.

  It was a wild, breathtaking look she’d only ever considered once before. And then locked away permanently.

  “I take it your silence is good?” Deborah asked.

  “Very good,” Audrey replied finally, almost smiling.

  “All right, tiger. Go get ’em.”

  She tottered out to the showroom floor in her new heels, part of her wondering if she was going to make it—and if everything was going to be okay after all.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Audrey could feel her underwear riding up her backside. Sweat was trickling down her thighs in rivulets. Skin-tight jeans were nearly cutting off her circulation, and leather chaps on top of the denim were raising her core body temperature enough to make her light-headed. A girl could be uncomfortable or embarrassed, she thought, but to be both at the same time was a special kind of torture.

  She cringed at how alien she felt. What part of her had thought this was a good idea? Sure, she needed a job, but this wasn’t employment, it was torture.

  Bright light sliced through the showroom’s enormous floor-to-ceiling windows and Audrey squinted, allowing that maybe this had been a mistake. She was a fish out of water in these clothes and with this hair—or maybe it was more like a monkey in a costume.

  But it was either perform or walk. And Audrey had no other options.

  She placed her hands on her hips, determined to look alluring just like Fletch had asked. Leather fringe on her cuff links fluttered like strips of ribbon in the wind. Standing next to one of the Harley-Davidson motorcycles in the showroom, she wondered what, exactly, alluring was. Track coaches didn’t get much practice with things like that.

  Former track coaches, that is.

  A sharp pain pierced the tender place just behind her breastbone. She gritted her teeth. Smile more, think less.

  The murmurs of the customers filled her ears. People swarmed amid the shiny chrome and sleek black lines of the motorcycles lining the floor all around her. For the past few hours, drivers had been thundering up and down the road just beyond the towering showroom windows, like cowboys riding handlebarred horses.

  The noise from the engines was nearly loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Which was a good thing, considering that the only thing her brain wanted to focus on was the question of what in the heck she was doing here. And whether or not she should ever come back.

  “Audrey?”

  She turned. It must have been the sixth or seventh time she’d heard the question since she started her shift, the vowels and consonants of her name laced with disbelief.

  This time, it was Red Updike. He’d sold her grass-fed beef from his farm for years. He stared at her, flannel shirt tucked into his well-worn Levi’s, his mouth pulled slightly downward.

  Her spine stiffened with embarrassment and something more. Frustration, maybe. It was one thing if Audrey wanted to feel out of place in these clothes and with all this makeup, but why did the people of White Pine have to stare at her like she was a circus freak with three heads? She imagined tongues were already wagging down at the Paul Bunyan Diner about her changes.

  The thought made her want to stick the heel of her stiletto through one of the motorcycle tires and listen to it deflate with a satisfying hiss. She was irked enough with her situation without her community piling insult on injury. Instead of using her heel like a steak knife, Audrey plastered on the smile she’d perfected through a lifetime of agreeable rule-following.

  “Hello, Mr. Updike,” she said as professionally as she could. “Are you looking for a Harley today?”

  He shifted. Right then, the only thing he was looking at was her. Probably wondering where the town’s track coach and physical education teacher was hiding under all the hair and makeup.

  Blame district downsizing, she wanted to
tell him. But she held her tongue.

  “This, uh…” Red seemed to be searching for a question that didn’t involve a query about what she was wearing. His head, more square than round, tilted to the side.

  Audrey fought off an eye roll. She almost liked it better when strangers from Marston or New Prave or Faldet or any of the surrounding towns would give her a once-over and a low wolf whistle. It might be chauvinistic and objectifying, but at least their jaws didn’t go slack and their eyes round with bewilderment. For crying out loud, she thought, was it really so impossible that she could work her…assets a bit?

  She didn’t need the folks in her hometown to stand up and slow clap for her, but she wished they could be a bit more supportive.

  Because, truthfully, there was a tiny part that didn’t hate this. Deep down she felt a crackle of energy where a thrumming sliver of her was somehow more awake in these new clothes. More present, perhaps, as if their contour and shape were bringing her to the forefront of her own life just a bit more.

  She kept it buried, though. Audrey knew all too well where such wild-hearted blazes could lead. And she wasn’t about to go down that road again anytime soon.

  Red cleared his throat. “What’s the, ah, front-tire speed rating on this hog?”

  Audrey brought herself back to the job at hand. She flashed Red the smile she’d taught herself at the beginning of the day when it dawned on her that she’d be spending her time in a Harley-Davidson dealership and she knew nothing about most things on two wheels.

  “I can find out about that tire rating for you, Red. In the meantime, can I show you some of the features of this one right here?”

  She had no idea what any of the mechanics were on the Harley Street Glide she was pointing to, other than it was a beautiful, inky black that reminded her of a moonless night, and the seat was a scoop of leather deep enough to throw on a horse and call a saddle.

  “These are the…handlebars,” Audrey said, tottering over to the front of the motorcycle in her heels and wishing momentarily for her sensible running shoes. “This is where you steer.”

  The lines on Red’s forehead deepened in a confused crinkle. Audrey was never going to be any kind of help to the dealership if she kept this up. She straightened, and looked at Red square on.

  “Honestly, I never would have guessed that a Harley was your kind of ride. Tell me what you like about them.”

  Red’s expression relaxed a little. He stared at the bike. “Oh, well, you know. Machine like this is quality, a real piece of craftsmanship. And—a fellow can dream, I suppose.”

  Just goes to show how little I know, Audrey thought.

  She never would have figured a Harley store in a small town like White Pine could make it. After all, her community comprised everyday folks who were farmers and teachers and small-business owners. But White Pine Harley had been open for a few weeks now, and it seemed to be doing fine. Today, there had been a constant, steady trickle of people in the showroom. And more sales than she’d expected. Ben Howell, her dentist, had bought a three-wheeled Electra Glide. And Lester Lawsick, the local large-animal vet, had bought a used machine off the back lot.

  I may have been wrong about everything, Audrey realized suddenly, wondering how well she really knew her hometown. If the community could fire her from her dream job, stare at her like a freak when she found a new one, and support a Harley dealership, what was next?

  “They’ve got used ones, too, if you’re interested,” she said, trying to help Red think about his options, if price was an issue.

  “I suppose I’m just browsing,” Red replied. “Though I do like the idea of change. Riding this around instead of my old truck. Can you imagine?”

  Audrey felt herself smile—this time for real. Part of her could imagine Red whipping along White Pine’s back roads, the rumble of the Harley echoing over the hills, the smell of hay and grass on the wind as he sped past fence posts and freshly painted barns.

  “Sometimes we all need a little change,” Audrey agreed, speaking the words for her sake as much as Red’s. A few short weeks ago, she’d been coaching long-legged girls over hurdles to get the whole team to the state finals. As a P.E. teacher, she’d been teaching volleyball and softball and lacrosse. Then, the principal had told her that the district had eliminated P.E. from the curriculum due to emergency budget cuts that would avoid a district shutdown. Paul Frace, the bearded English teacher, would be taking over coaching duties. She didn’t even get to finish out the remainder of the school year.

  “No child left without a huge behind,” she’d quipped to some colleagues about the disbanded P.E. program as she packed up her things. It was either joke—or bawl.

  And now, here she was, standing next to a motorcycle thanks to the fact that she’d been a runner, an athlete, and she could look good in some chaps.

  She caught a glimpse of her body in the showroom’s large display mirrors. Every curve of her was pressed against leather and denim, every piece of her glossy auburn hair had been sprayed to tousled perfection. She looked like a different person.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  She smoothed the front of her leather bustier, wondering if she should have been strutting around Harleys all along. She figured she would at least have had more fun.

  “You have a good day now,” Red said, jolting Audrey back to the here and now. She blinked, worried she’d missed conversation with him while staring at herself. But Red had been looking at the motorcycle and was probably lost in his own fantasy, too.

  He walked away, his workman’s boots clomping on the white-tiled floor. That left Audrey alone for the moment. She lifted her face to the afternoon light that slanted into the showroom. It sparkled on chrome fenders and warmed the buttery black leather of the motorcycle seat enough to make her want to lie down and nap. Not that she was going to do any sleeping anywhere in her current attire. But she could sit for a while.

  Grasping the motorcycle’s handlebars and pitching herself forward, she scooted and shimmied until one leg was over the seat. It wasn’t graceful, and she was pretty sure there were titters coming from customers in the showroom, but at least she was off her feet in those heels.

  She readjusted herself on her machine, trying to ignore the pinch of jeans on her flesh. She’d just gotten comfortable when she heard her name again, spoken from behind.

  “Audrey.”

  This time it wasn’t a question.

  A shiver ran through her, as if the air conditioners had suddenly kicked in and icy gusts were coursing through the room. Beneath the bustier, her heart began to pound so hard she worried for a moment the stays might not hold and she’d come toppling out of the whole contraption.

  Her nerves tightened with adrenaline, both hopeful and fearful at the same time. It couldn’t be…

  “Audrey.”

  She struggled to breathe. Steadying herself as best she could, she turned and stared into the pale green eyes of Kieran Callaghan.

  Her whole body swayed. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she would have certainly fallen like a tree in the middle of a clear-cut.

  Kieran Callaghan.

  Dear God.

  He was wearing a dark leather jacket and jeans, standing with both hands in his back pockets as if he were reclining on life itself. His eyes were the color of new blades of grass reaching toward the spring sun. They searched her face as he likely tried to figure out what in the world she was doing in front of him, butt cheeks on a Harley.

  With every ounce of composure she could muster, Audrey straightened her spine. She tried not to focus too much on the cleft in his chin, or how the afternoon light ignited hints of gold in his dark red hair.

  She spoke the first three words that came to mind: “You’re an asshole.”

  The insult was out before she could take it back. Not that she wanted to, but the vehemence behind it jolted her. Maybe it’s the new clothes, she thought.

  Or maybe it was five years of anger finally
getting a chance to vent.

  Kieran raised a brow at her. He opened his mouth, but she found herself leaning forward, the words coming hard and fast. “I’ve been waiting five years to tell you that. And I have no idea what you’re doing back in town, but you should leave this store. Right. Now.”

  Kieran’s wide mouth twitched. Audrey tried not to stare at the movement, tried not to think about how much she’d once loved that mouth.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Kieran grinned—a goofy, toothy motion that had her insides fluttering.

  “Well, since you’re asking,” he said, his eyes traveling slowly along her body from head to toe, assessing her curves and attire like she was what he wanted to ride, “I suppose I should tell you that I’m your boss.”

  Audrey stared. “Excuse me?”

  “And calling me an asshole is grounds for firing.”

  Audrey’s brain buzzed, trying to process how in the world her ex-boyfriend was standing in front of her claiming to work here.

  Kieran Callaghan didn’t hold down steady jobs. He didn’t stick around anywhere for very long, in fact. That was a lesson Audrey herself had learned the hard way.

  She stared at the expensive leather jacket covering his broad shoulders, the fine cut of the jeans he was wearing, the thick silver watch on his wrist. Audrey had pictured Kieran in her mind’s eye a thousand times over the past five years. He had been both handsome and intelligent when they’d met, and she figured he’d simply become less so as time went on. In her imaginary picture of him, he’d grown thin and ragged. In her version, leaving her had been the thing that had broken him.

  In her wildest dreams he’d never improved. He was even more chiseled somehow, and his eyes held a depth—a wisdom—that unnerved her. Audrey’s breathing turned uneven, and it wasn’t just because of the corset.

  “I don’t believe you,” Audrey said, trying to keep the turbulent emotions off her face. “There is no way you work here.”

  “Now you’re accusing your boss of lying. You’re not really getting off on the right foot.”

  The rule-obeying part of Audrey’s brain raised an alarm. If there was a chance Kieran was telling the truth, she needed to shut up now. In fact, she’d needed to shut up five minutes ago when she called him an asshole.