by Denise Wells
I turn to give him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. He turns at the same time to say something, and I end up kissing him in his mouth.
His lips close.
My lips move.
And just like that, he’s kissing me.
Or I’m kissing him.
It’s still unclear. Regardless, I didn’t move away. I couldn’t. I liked it too much. I can still feel his lips on mine. His tongue working its way into my mouth, and his arms snaking around my waist as he pulled me against him and deepened the kiss.
It may very well have been the best kiss I’ve ever had.
Ever.
And then, just as soon as it started, it was over.
Brad said, “Goodnight,” and was down the hill and out of sight before I even caught my breath.
I have to fan my face just thinking about it. Maybe I should turn the AC down more. Or is it up more? I mean, the temperature is going down, but the cost is going up.
Stop, brain, stop!
The sound of a truck engine turning off catches my attention.
Shit, they’re here.
I leave my shoes by the couch and walk barefoot to answer the door.
20
Brad
Nessa had texted me yesterday about getting together today to work on the recruitment fair, which I had forgotten about after my grief support group and beers with Andy.
And then, of course, Tenley.
So, this morning, I forced our company on to Tenley via text and offered to pick Nessa up on my way. Partly because I didn’t want to show up alone, and partly because I wanted to tell Nessa what happened last night. I had to tell someone who, A, wouldn't judge me, or B, wouldn’t get their hopes up that I was moving on. Yes, I told Kat in the truck last night, and even though it brings me great solace to talk to her, I know she’s dead and we aren’t really communicating. And, I kind of wanted to see Tenley again.
Nessa is waiting on her front porch when I pull up, a coffee thermos in one hand and a large bag in the other. I get out and meet her halfway, taking the items from her and carrying them the rest of the way to the truck.
“Such a gentleman,” she says as I open the car door for her and help her in. I smile at her praise. It makes me feel good. I mean, I help women in and out of my truck because I try to be a gentleman, but also because it’s tall and can be difficult to navigate.
“What’s in the thermos?” I ask as I slide into the driver's seat and start the engine.
“I brought some real coffee for you to try, so you can taste the difference between that sludge you serve at the firehouse and what you could be experiencing instead.”
“Thank you, Nessa.”
“How have you been, Bradley?”
“Good,” I say, giving her the short version.
She looks at me. I avoid her gaze and keep my eyes on the road, even though I’m dying to tell her what happened last night.
After a couple blocks, I blurt it out. “I kissed Tenley last night!”
She watches me for a moment before speaking. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know.”
“Was it a nice kiss?”
“It was a great kiss.”
“That’s a start.”
“It’s not a start to anything. I am starting nothing. There are no starts.”
“Bradley.” Her voice deepens as she says my name. She couldn’t make her disappointment more obvious if she tried.
“Nessa.” My voice sounds whiny as fuck. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t believe that.”
I shrug in response.
“Bradley, if you truly did not want to start something you would not have kissed her.”
“It was an accident.”
She laughs.
“It was,” I argue. “She was going to give me a kiss on the cheek, only I turned my head to say something, and there it was.”
“I see. So, it was just a peck with no real contact?”
“No.”
“Was there tongue?”
“Yes.”
“Yours and hers?”
“Yes.”
“That was no accident.”
I turn onto the road leading into Tenley’s neighborhood, which only gives Nessa about two minutes to fix the mess I made of my life.
“So, what do I do?”
“I’ll help you fix it.”
“How?”
“Now, Bradley, a woman cannot share all of her secrets, can she?” She winks at me as she says this, and I laugh in response.
“Okay. I trust you.” I haven’t said those words to someone in years. I also would not have meant it before now. But there is something about Nessa that makes me believe she will do what she says. If she plans to handle it, then there isn’t much left for me to do. I take a deep breath and let it slowly, trying to relax my mind before we get there. It’s not that I’m nervous, per se. It’s just that we kissed last night. I haven’t kissed anyone in over three years and now I have to see her.
Fuck, I guess I am nervous.
I turn into her driveway and head up the steep incline. Before I know it, I’m helping Nessa out of my truck and we are at Tenley’s front, door ringing the bell. Memories of last night flood through me.
Walking her to the door.
Turning to say goodnight.
Her lips brushing against my cheek.
My lips meeting hers.
Kissing.
I step discreetly behind Nessa and adjust my dick. He’s the only one out of the two of us that is excited about seeing Tenley again. I mean, I like her, I’m attracted to her, but I can’t have her getting the wrong idea as far as what the kiss meant, or where she and I might be going. The one and only answer to that is nowhere.
The door opens, revealing Tenley, and the air whooshes from my chest like I’ve been hit.
Fuck.
I can’t do this.
I can’t keep working with Tenley. I can’t run into her or see her regularly. I have to separate myself from this as soon as possible.
Kat’s voice rings through my mind. “Promise me you’ll move on. Find another love.”
Fuck.
Not that there is any love between Tenley and I, nor will there ever be.
Despite what my grief group thinks, I can’t imagine ever having any kind of love for someone again. But I made a promise and I owe it to Kat to at least make a bit of an effort to keep it. I can reimplement my practice plan and use Tenley to my advantage. Keep my emotions in check, and more importantly, my libido. Make sure nothing gets out of hand.
That’s what I need in my life—containable ardor, controllable people, and for no one to have a hold on me. Someone right in the middle of my emotional spectrum. I can take her or leave her, but still enjoy the company and the sex. If I lose her, I won’t be devastated, but being with her won’t be taxing.
It’s a perfect plan, and I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Moving on will be easy as long as there’s no risk. As a result, everyone will leave me alone about this dating and finding someone new shit. If Tenley has any crazy ideas about she and I, my muted behavior will shut that up right away and soon everything will go back to normal.
It’s perfect.
“You don’t need to fix anything, Nessa,” I say as we step through the doorway, my voice low. “I got this.”
The inside of Tenley’s house is amazing. There are windows everywhere, with views that go on forever. All her furniture is man-sized, comfortable for a guy like me. It’s not too girly or cluttered, and it’s inviting, in a non-threatening kind of way. I love it.
We take a seat in the dining room, at a large natural wood table that has beautiful lines and knots in the top. I’ve never been much of a woodworker, but I can definitely recognize fine craftsmanship when I see it.
“This table is incredible, Tenley,” I tell her.
/> “Thanks,” she says. “The guy who makes them sells out of the Farmers Market on Sundays in the square. He has all kinds of stuff already made, or you can special order about anything. They are all unique and well-built.”
“I’ll have to check him out,” I say.
“Let me know when you go, I may join you. I want to order more pieces from him,” Tenley says.
Well, shit, that was easy. I’ve practically got a date already. What’s lower key than the Farmers Market? It makes me happy to feel my plan coming together.
Not one to waste time, Nessa claps her hands for our attention, much like a teacher with her students. Tenley and I both take our seats and class is in session.
We bounce ideas back and forth, and Nessa watches us like it’s a tennis match, with a small smile on her face. I preen, fucking preen, each time that Tenley tells me that my idea is a good one, like a fucking sap. I’ve got to ignore this effect she seems to have on me. Figure out a way to turn off my receptors to it.
We take a brief break for lunch. Tenley sets out cookies and sandwich makings, and then we go back at it for another few hours. Everything seems to come together in exactly the way the girls want it to. I’d include myself in that, but I doubt I’m as invested in the outcome as they are, even though my career relies on this being a successful event.
I mentally scoff at my job being a career. I’ve FUBARed it enough at this point that I’ll be lucky to continue receiving a paycheck until my pension kicks in at the rate I’m going.
By the time we finish for the day, it’s approaching early evening and I’m hungry again. I’ve been waiting all day for Nessa to fix my life—even though I told her I had it covered—but she has yet to do anything, which has me more curious than anything else.
“If I dare say so, I think we are close to being finished with everything we can be this far in advance,” Nessa says with a grin on her face.
“I agree,” Tenley says.
“What do you say to happy hour? My treat,” Nessa continues.
“Sounds good,” Tenley and I both chime in at the same time.
“Bradley.” Nessa turns to me. “Can your truck provide adequate seating for all three of us?
“Of course,” I tell her.
“Wonderful.” Nessa packs up her things and Tenley does the same. I didn’t bring much with me—depending on the girls to already have anything I may need—and instead make sure we’ve not left a mess in Tenley’s dining room or kitchen.
Next thing I know, we are seating ourselves in a small, rounded booth at The Crazy Burro, everyone’s favorite, and the only Mexican restaurant in town.
21
Tenley
Brad has been treating me differently today. All I’ve wanted to do all day is text Sadie about it, but I couldn’t make up an excuse to be messing with my phone for that long, and there wasn’t really an opportunity to slip away from Brad and Nessa. Somehow, I now find myself wedged between the two of them in a booth at the downtown Mexican restaurant, a large, salt-rimmed margarita in front of me.
We order the typical happy hour fare of nachos, rolled tacos, and fresh guacamole to go with our drinks. Me with my margarita, Nessa with her dry martini, and Brad with his beer. I had a feeling Nessa would be a dry martini kind of person, I’m not sure why, but it fits with her. To me, she’s a woman of class and refinement—the epitome of a dry martini. Though, I can’t imagine it tastes good with the spicy salsa they offer.
The server flirts with Brad when she delivers the food, but it doesn’t even phase him. I can’t tell if it’s because he so used to being desired that it doesn’t register, or if being desired is so far from his mind that it doesn’t register. Either way, she walks away disappointed when he doesn’t reciprocate.
It makes me think of the kiss from last night, and it’s all I can do to push it back out of my brain. The last thing I need is to dwell on that. Part of me is still embarrassed that he’s the only person who I had to call last night for a ride home. How is it I’ve been living here over a year, and I still have no more friends than Sadie and her inherited crew?
Someone makes an announcement over the loudspeaker, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just a reminder folks, tonight is our first night of salsa lessons here at The Crazy Burro. And it’s coming right up.” Whoever is speaking, draws out the word salsa when he says it.
“Oh my,” Nessa says. “That sounds fun. You two should try it.”
I glance at Brad. Seeing the look of dismay cloud his expression. I answer for both of us. “Oh, I’m not much for Latin dancing.”
“Then it’s good that they’re giving lessons, isn’t it?” Nessa replies.
Brad has yet to say anything; instead, tilting his head back and draining his beer. He signals the server for another round.
A nicely dressed couple heads to the clearing in front of us, where the dancing will take place. The music starts and the sound of guitar strings plucking, backed by the trumpets blaring, fills the surrounding air. The low tenor of the singer is smooth, blending seamlessly with the music. The man and woman begin by circling one another, fast then slow. His gaze on her is so direct, so focused, and how he touches her, it’s like everything she does is a direct line to amplifying his sexual attraction for her. The way they move together, in synchronicity, is so in tune to the other’s body. His hands glide across her body and she leans into his touch.
It makes me squirm in my seat. The heat between them so palpable. I wouldn’t be surprised if this couple snuck off for a quickie in the broom closet right after this. I can’t get past the way he keeps his eyes on her. And when they aren’t on her, his gaze is turned down. So far, I think I love everything about this dance. It’s so erotic.
We finish our appetizers and are quickly sucking our way through the second round of drinks as the dancers begin their third dance. I want to fan my face, it’s so sexy, so carnal. It would shock me if the dancers didn’t affect Nessa and Brad in the same way that they affect me.
The song ends and the couple finishes with flourish, legs pointed, hands in the air. The fluidity in their bodies is elegant and magical. Dancing is something I’ve always wished I could do well. Sadie could pick this up quickly; that is, if she doesn’t know how to do it already. She’s tried to teach me to dance multiple times, but I lack that bendy quality that makes movement look effortless and appealing.
The dancers introduce themselves as Gerardo and Lilliana—what we’ve just witnessed is the Argentine tango—and call for volunteers to step up and learn the dance.
No one comes forward.
Gerardo circles the room completely in time with the sensual music that has started again in the background. He’s dressed in all black and moves like a panther stalking his prey, sinewy and sleek. He grabs my hand and pulls me to the middle of the floor motioning for Lilliana to do the same with Brad. Nessa must have made a motion toward us because I know nothing about either of our body language suggests the two of us dancing together would be a good idea.
Gerardo and Lilliana shove Brad and I together, as though we belong that way. Brad stands, stiff and unyielding, as I embody awkwardness and oafish tendencies. Lilliana takes my arms and places one hand on Brad’s opposite shoulder while Gerardo sets Brad’s hand at my waist. They take our free hands and join them together, forcing our fingers to entwine. Lilliana kicks my feet apart slightly and tells me to loosen my knees.
Luckily, I changed into strappy sandals from my flip-flops before we left—I can’t imagine trying to do any kind of dancing in a shoe so loosely attached to my feet.
Brad stares off over my shoulder, his gaze hard and jaw set—no one had to kick his feet apart or caution him about his knees. I focus on the small piece of lint stuck to his shoulder. Gerardo and Lilliana join in a similar embrace beside us and demonstrate the steps we’ll be taking. Neither Brad nor I watch them. I try to listen but all my attention, all my focus, is hyper-aware of how close together we are standing. The heat of
his touch seeps through the thin fabric of my dress where his hand rests at my waist.
We stand, stilted and tense, unmoving and aloof.
“No, no.” Lilliana leaves her partner and rushes toward us, pushing our heads together, then addresses Brad. “This dance is one of seduction. Your connection begins with your eyes and moves through the rest of your body. Show her the desire with your gaze.” She turns to me. “And you, you must let him see you are open to his passion. You are willing woman with lust all your own.”
I giggle at that.
She rejoins Gerardo and the music starts anew, with him calling out the steps we are to emulate as they move. “Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.”
I watch as the two move effortlessly around us, my head turning with them. Brad remains impervious to everything around him despite the fact I am in his arms and we are in the midst of an impromptu dance lesson.
“Feel the down beat with your body,” Gerardo instructs, his head moving at a rhythmic pace.
I do as he suggests and nod in time with the music.
Brad smirks, the first sign of life he’s shown since we started.
“Now you try.” Gerardo claps his hands to the same beat and Brad moves us forward. Well, him forward and me backward. My feet have yet to cooperate because I step down on Brad’s toes. Hard.
To his credit, he remains silent, but I catch the wince of pain that crosses his face. As we begin a turn, I’m unexpectedly whisked into Gerardo’s arms. Lilliana steps into Brad’s embrace and we all move. Usually, I find it difficult to follow a man when dancing because my muscles just don’t want to cooperate in that respect. Not that they would cooperate in any other respect either. But with Gerardo talking to me as we move, telling me to step with the downbeat and walking me through each step as we go, I start to get it.
Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.
The beat I nod my head to.
Okay, got that.
And we move with something that feels a bit like grace.
