Chemistry

by Oliver, Tess

  "That's what I need," I muttered as I headed down the hallway to my bedroom. I rummaged through my drawer for my neon pink tank shirt. It was easy enough to find in the sea of grays and muted blues. When I had become such a color prude? I pulled off my lovely, oversized gray t-shirt and pulled on the pink tank. I walked to the mirror and brushed my hair behind my ears and stepped back. "There, that's better. Can't be cheery in gray. You can get past this, woman," I said to my reflection. "You are Kinsey Greene."

  I headed to the garage to dig out the overpriced mountain bike I'd bought myself on a whim. I had big plans to build up slick, taut thighs with vigorous bike rides. Bought all the skin tight bike clothes, ridiculously expensive and atrociously ugly bike shoes, a bright white helmet with black racing stripes and one of those bladders in a backpack for keeping hydrated on my long, strenuous rides. I had looked like a true pro, slick and aerodynamic, as I pushed the bike out of the garage for my first ride. Four blocks down, I had to come to an unexpected stop because an ambulance was racing down the street. I hadn't realized how high the seat was and I fell right over, ripping a nice gash in my two hundred dollar bike shorts and putting some nice scabs on my elbow. That put a quick end to my slick, taut thighs dream.

  The bike was behind a barricade of boxes filled with crap from my first move that I never unpacked because, stupidly, I decided I had enough money to buy all new stuff. I really was a dimwit. I pushed the boxes aside and with a few good yanks managed to get the bicycle free from all the crap. I rolled it out to the open space next to my car and stared down with disappointment. Both tires were flat, and while I knew little about the mechanics of bicycles, I was fairly certain the chain was not supposed to be hanging down like a long string of greasy pearls on a flapper's neck.

  My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my back pocket. I answered the call and my entire family's smiling faces appeared. They were huddled together to fit on the screen. Each of them was wearing a pair of felt covered antlers. Except for my dad, he was wearing a baseball cap that had a plastic holly leaf glued to its crown.

  "Merry Christmas, Kiki," they all yelled. "We miss you," my mom added after the cheer. "How are you feeling?"

  I'd told my mom I was feeling rundown and on the verge of some kind of bug when I left the filming location. It was the most logical excuse I could come up with. "A little better. I'm drinking lots of orange juice." They all looked so cute and smiley in their holiday finery, I hated to lie but I kept going. "I was kind of feverish last night, so I'm glad I didn't show up there and infect everyone else." The doorbell rang in the house in a literal saved by the bell moment. "You guys have a good time and eat some pumpkin pie for me. I need to see who's at the door."

  "Why are you standing in your garage, princess? Are you hiding?" Dad asked. "Who's at the door?" His voice grew urgent. "Don't answer it. Check through the peep hole."

  Their smiley faces turned to expressions of concern, which looked extra amusing beneath deer antlers.

  "I'm not hiding in my garage. I was going to take a bike ride."

  "But you can't with a fever," Mom said brusquely. "You need rest and fluids."

  Holy heck, I was a shitty ass liar.

  "You're right. That's what I'm going to do right now." There was no follow-up ring or knock. It seemed the visitor had the wrong house. "Got to go. Have fun, everyone. Love you all." I hung up and rested the bike against the boxes. I walked inside and glanced out the kitchen window. A car I'd never seen before was parked on the driveway.

  I headed to the front door and did just as Dad had instructed, I peeked through the hole. I sucked in a breath and froze in place. Jameson was walking down the steps to leave. I debated whether or not to open the door. It had taken me hours of Doris Day and Audrey Hepburn movies to wipe away some of the fresh heartbreak our one night together had produced. It would be crazy to wipe out all that classic movie therapy, I thought as I opened the door anyhow.

  Jameson turned back with a look of surprise. "You're home."

  I stared down at my cut off shorts and pink tank. "I was just on my way to a holiday gala, as you can see by my stylish attire." When I was nervous, which I certainly was considering the man standing on my front stoop, I tended to resort to humor. It was my defense against awkwardness, and this moment certainly called for that.

  "Then I suppose a breakfast at the diner down the street is out of the question. I noticed they're open and serving pumpkin pancakes today." He was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched tightly across his broad chest. Black shirts always made his eyes that much greener.

  "I thought you were in the Bahamas?" I asked.

  "Yeah, well, it's kind of a long story. How about I tell you it over hash browns?" he said adding in a nice smile. "I could really use a friend right now."

  "I suppose I can make time for hash browns with a friend." I motioned for him to come inside. My heart was doing a weird, little skippity-hop as I headed down the hallway to change into something less pink.

  I raced around, trying to decide on the best color for my pale, television binging skin color. It was hopeless, so I brushed on some blush and grabbed a navy blue button up shirt. I lifted the collar and rolled up the sleeves. Thank goodness I'd had the energy in the shower this morning to shave my legs.

  Jameson had helped himself to a glass of water while I changed. He looked pointedly at the empty cookie dough bucket on the counter. "Seems like someone's been doing some holiday baking."

  "You know me and my broad skills in the kitchen. Only, this time, I was the sole taste tester. I'm pretty sure I won't be eating any cookies for a long time. Or at least not until New Year's Day."

  Jameson put his glass in the sink. He walked around the island and stopped close enough to me that I could smell his aftershave and see that he'd nicked his chin with a razor. "Keezy, I know you weren't expecting me. I was going to text first, but, to tell you the truth, I didn't think you'd respond. I decided to take a chance and drive up here. Thought you might be home."

  I laughed lightly. "Yep, I was just talking to the family on FaceTime. They are all wearing reindeer antlers."

  He chuckled. "Mine were doing the ugly sweater thing. My Uncle Ben was wearing one that had a very Stephen King style Santa face on the front. I'm sure my younger nieces and nephews are going to be scarred for life after seeing him in his scary sweater gnawing on the turkey drumstick. It's his favorite part of the turkey."

  I laughed again and realized the earlier tension and case of nerves had vanished. It was like that with Jameson. It always felt so right being around him, as if we were meant to be in each other's lives.

  I decided I couldn't wait for the hash browns to hear the story. I needed to know why he was standing in my kitchen instead of stretched out on the warm sand next to his girlfriend.

  "Did the trip get cancelled?" I asked.

  He hesitated. I was sure I was going to get the 'it's a long story' excuse again. He shrugged. "Not cancelled. She's there, I assume." He finally looked directly at me. "I broke it off. We've been growing apart. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

  "I'm sorry, Jameson. You two have been together a long time so I'm sure this is tough." I was genuinely sad for him. There was just enough anguish in his expression to assure me it had been a tough decision. At the same time, the immature, terrible person side of me was thinking, ha, too bad for you Harlow. I reminded myself that I never would have thought such mean things if Harlow, in our few, brief encounters, hadn't been particularly awful to me.

  "We'll both be better off," Jameson said. "She was constantly suggesting ways for me to improve myself. I started thinking, hell if you don't like me the way I am, why the fuck are you bothering?"

  "Well, just for the record, and, of course, this is coming from a highly biased opinion, I always thought she was the one who needed a bit of improvement. You, on the other hand, well you are Jameson Slate, stopper of apocalyptic events and really good on set kisser."

  His grin brok
e free, the one that he used when he was flirting. "Good on set kisser, eh?" He stepped closer and looked pointedly at my lips. "Does that mean I need some practice with the off camera stuff?"

  "You don't need practice, just a little fine tuning." It was happening again, and I was letting it, even encouraging it. I was just high enough on cookie dough and news of their breakup to fall right under his magnetic spell. I melted against him and his arm wrapped around me.

  Our mouths pressed together. We instantly began clumsily trying to undress each other. His fingers tugged impatiently at the buttons on my shirt before he finally grunted with frustration. "What the fucking kind of buttons are those? It'd be easier to get you out of chainmail." He grabbed the hem of the blouse and yanked it off of me. Then he pulled at the back of his shirt and swept it off. He had an easier time with the hooks on my bra. It fell away as our hungry mouths joined again.

  "Seems to me we had a scene to finish," he said in a low, gritty tone. He backed me up until I was pressed against the cold plaster wall. His hard body pressed against me as he kissed me and pushed my shorts down to my ankles. I managed, somehow, in my dizzy state of arousal to step free of them while he pushed down his jeans. His erection pressed against my belly as his hands smoothed over my naked ass. He clutched each cheek roughly spreading them as he lifted me off the ground. I wrapped my legs around him and he pushed inside of me. It took only minutes for us both to climax.

  I moaned appreciatively as my head dropped back and rested against the wall. Jameson pressed his mouth against my neck. "Fuck, Keezy, you're pussy is so sweet," he groaned as he came inside of me.

  He stayed inside of me. I stayed braced against the wall as our breathing slowed and our pulses stopped racing. "Merry Christmas," he cooed as he kissed my lips.

  "Does this mean I'm not getting the hash browns?" I asked.

  His laugh tickled my neck. He released my ass and I lowered my legs to the floor. "Nope, hash browns on me, my little blue-eyed elf. But I think we should probably pull our clothes back on."

  I leaned down and reached for my shorts. "I don't know. It might be entertaining for the other pathetic holiday losers who are spending Christmas morning in a diner." I stepped into my shorts and searched around for my discarded blouse.

  Jameson's arm wrapped across my waist. He took a delectable moment to kiss and tease each nipple before I pulled on my bra. "I might be one of the pathetic holiday losers, but this has already been one of the best Christmas mornings of my life."

  I had to work hard not to smile too broadly or allow myself to slip into a state of giddiness. The whole damn thing was way too unbalanced. Jameson had only just broken up with a longtime girlfriend, and I had only just talked myself out of needing him in my life forever. Stay grounded, Kinsey. If Cassie could do it, so can you.

  * * *

  Dear friend, I feel I've neglected you lately and for that I apologize, but once I explain to you my reasons for said neglect, you'll understand. Because that is the kind of friend you've become. A listener who absorbs all my heartbreak and thrills and fears without boring me with unwanted advice. And, for the state I find myself in now, there simply is no advice. I know I was terribly cryptic and reticent about that day, the day the rain fell. The only words I have to describe the heavenly, dizzying moments in the barn with Nate are stuck firmly in my heart. Even you, dear friend, will never know the depth of my feelings. All I can say is that I now know what true passion looks, feels and even tastes like.

  I have also learned another important thing—it seems I am not barren after all. The fault of our inability to conceive children lies totally with Tom. For months, he made me feel less a woman, a failure in my wifely duties because I could not get pregnant. But all the time it was him. He was the failure not me. Now, I'm with child, and the man who will be the father to my baby is not the man I love. I've kept the secret for several weeks, making an excuse to see the doctor in town. I told Tom it was for a persistent ear pain. A simple test proved my suspicions. Now, it seems, I am destined to carry Nate's baby, a constant reminder of my love and my heartbreak, with me every second of the day. Would he suspect it is his? Definitely.

  I know I have assigned you the important position of best friend, dear diary, but in truth, I am on my own. I will carry this secret with me and share it with no one. I have determined to keep my wits about me. I can't allow a man, any man, to destroy my happiness. After all, I'm going to be a mother. Isn't it wonderful, old friend?

  * * *

  Forty-One

  Jameson

  Kinsey concentrated fully on the ketchup bottle, squeezing it until her fingers turned white. The tomato sauce cascaded onto the hash browns, forming a pillowy mountain of red.

  "Why do I get the feeling I could replace those hash browns with that paper napkin and you'd be just as happy as long as you had the ketchup?" I asked.

  She put the bottle down and licked her fingertip. "Ketchup does make everything taste good. I'm counting this as two servings of vegetables for the day, potato and tomato."

  "Probably most nutrition experts would disagree with that logic but what the hell do they know?" It was freeing to sit with a person who wasn't calculating calories and nutritional values of everything I put in my mouth.

  Kinsey's feet accidentally kicked my leg as she stretched them out under the table. I caught her ankle between my calves and kept it there. I just wanted to be touching her. "Why did you decide not to go to your family's celebration?" I asked.

  She picked up her napkin and blotted ketchup from her lips. I watched with keen interest. Her mouth, like everything else about her, was so sensual it was hard to look away.

  "Why did you decide to skip yours?" She fired back at me. "Whatever your response is, just bounce it off me and you'll have my answer too. I'm sure we avoided it for the same reasons."

  I nodded. "Yep, I needed a break. It's been a long few months, and somehow watching my aunts and uncles argue over a game of Scrabble just didn't sound relaxing."

  She picked up her fork. "Yep, that's my answer too. Only we don't do Scrabble. There is a Charades marathon that begins about halfway through the day and ends just before dinner. Also, I didn't want to be questioned about my failed wedding. I'm totally over it, but my mom is still traumatized by it all. I'm pretty sure she gets together with my aunts at least once a week to lament what could have been and how I turned an absolutely beautiful wedding day upside down but that it was all because Kent is a wretched man."

  "Then there's the one difference in our reasoning. I wouldn't get questioned about a failed wedding, however my perceived engagement would be a certain topic during the pumpkin pie."

  She washed down a bite of food with her coffee. "So were you or weren't you engaged? It sure seemed as if you two were official."

  I shook my head. "That was all Harlow's doing. She just assumed we were going to get married. I suppose after five years it made sense for her to assume that." I leaned back, finished with my food. "I'm a fucking heel, I guess. I will no doubt get raked over the coals on social media for the breakup."

  "Excuse me." Two young girls, both still in braces, carried over a paper napkin and a blue marker. "Could you please give us your autographs?" Kinsey and I signed the napkin and sent the two girls off with their nervous giggles.

  I glanced around at the half filled diner. People were sitting behind tall stacks of pumpkin pancakes and baskets of biscuits. Plenty of curious glances fell our direction but most people went about their breakfasts and left us to do the same. "I thought this place would be empty today. Guess there are a lot of people avoiding family get togethers," I said.

  "I think there are plenty of lonely people in the world," Kinsey said, quietly. "I'm glad you came by, Jameson. It's nice to share the holiday with a friend."

  "Friends," I repeated. I'd been doing that a lot lately. "Is that what we are?"

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and slipped her foot out from between my calves so she could sit
back. "I hope we are. I know we let a lot of time lapse and there was the whole big wide out in the open breakup, but it would be nice to think I could still call you occasionally to talk or laugh or treat ourselves to ketchup drowned hash browns."

  "Right." I nodded and stared down at my plate. I'd come to let her know just how I felt, but it seemed she was letting me know how things stood between us. It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. I pulled a hundred out of my wallet and placed it next to the bill. "Are you ready to head back?" I couldn't hide the disappointment in my voice. What shocked the hell out of me was just what a slam in the chest it was to hear her categorize our relationship as friendship. But then why was I expecting more? I'd hurt her once, unintentionally, but the whole thing had been brutal for both of us, mostly due to the excessive coverage. It was hard to mend a broken heart when every damn magazine had your pictures plastered across the cover. Maybe she was right. We couldn't even think of starting over, of repeating the past. It would just be a clusterfuck. Maybe my bloated head just had to absorb the fact that she only wanted to be friends.

  We slid out from the booth. Faces and a few phones followed our journey to the exit. The winter sun was coupled with a brisk breeze. It felt good. It also woke me the hell up. I grabbed Kinsey's hand and spun her toward me.

  "I'm just going to say this, then we can go back to the whole friendship thing. I'm going to fucking hate the idea, but I'll accept it if that's what you want."

  She pulled off confusion adorably, like a baffled kitten with big eyes.

  I raked my fingers through my hair. "Fuck, I'm rambling like a lunatic. Look, I told you I broke up with Harlow because we just weren't working well together and that was mostly true. But the real reason I broke it off with her was because I realized I didn't love her. For a long time, I thought I did. Then you walked back into my life and all of a sudden, the true feelings of love, you know when you're constantly thinking of the person night and day, when that other person is the main character in every damn daydream because life doesn't exist when they're not with you. I never had that with Harlow. I cared for her and sex—well, sex was—"