Black Number Four

by Kandi Steiner

  We hang up just as I reach the house and ring the doorbell. I hear a scurry of feet before it opens, three bashful girls standing in the opening. I flash a smile. “Good evening, ladies. I’m here to pick up Skyler.”

  Two of them look to each other and visibly swoon, which is actually pretty amusing. I’ve never been a bad looking guy, but I wouldn’t exactly say I’m swooned after. Perks of a small school and dating pool, I guess. The third girl, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me, suddenly realizes none of them have said a word and moves aside quickly to let me in. “I’ll go grab her. Do you want a drink or anything while you wait?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” I smile again and she nods, her mouth open slightly, before turning toward the stairs. I stand quietly with the other two for a few minutes, none of us saying anything. I smile at them and they smile back, and then we’re back to just standing and staring.

  Awk-ward.

  Finally, the girl returns and she and the other two run off to the other room just as Skyler walks down the stairs.

  Or should I say, half-walks, half-stumbles.

  She’s in heels – heels that make her legs even sexier than they are naturally but that I know she can’t stand wearing – and a tight black dress. I imagine her sisters helping her choose her outfit, telling her to pick the little black dress so that she’s sexy but not too eager. But, unfortunately for them, they won’t get to see her in it for long.

  “Um, hi?” Skyler asks as she hits the last step. Her eyes are taking in my attire and she quirks a brow. “Did I wake you?”

  I look down at the plain white tank top and flannel sleep pants I’m wearing, complete with dark blue fuzzy slippers. I smile and look back up. “I told you to stay in your sweats. Go change.”

  “What? But we’re going on a date.” She chokes on the last word a bit and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Your point? Go change, damnit, or we’re going to be late.”

  “For what, a slumber party?”

  I purse my lips and step toward her, pulling her close. She jumps a little when my fingertips touch the exposed skin on her back. “You know I like it when you’re feisty, so unless you want me to do very non-friend-zone things to you, I suggest you go change. And quickly.”

  She swallows, her lips parting softly. “You said hands to yourself. You promised.”

  I step back and shrug, smiling again. “Then don’t push me to break my word.”

  Skyler eyes me for a moment more before sighing in frustration and turning toward the stairs. I smack her on the butt playfully. “Move your ass, slow poke.”

  She feigns disgust but the corners of her mouth pull up into a smile before she disappears up the stairs. A few minutes later she reappears in gray sweat pants and a hot pink tank top with her letters on it. She even tied her hair up in a messy bun. “A” for effort, but I think I want to fuck her even more dressed like this.

  “Perfect,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her toward the door.

  “I look horrendous,” she says, shaking her head. “My make-up is the only thing saving me right now.”

  “Then you better be nice to me or I’ll make you take that off, too.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So where are we going? Because clearly we can’t go out in public looking like this.”

  I smile and tuck her under my arm, ruffling the hair piled on top of her head. “Calm your tits, bossy pants. I’ve got a plan.”

  “I cannot believe you brought me here like this,” Skyler says for the fifth time. She takes a sip of her wine and tries to sink lower into the booth.

  “It’s just Bella’s,” I remind her, laughing. Bella’s is a small but very nice Italian restaurant not too far from the coast. It’s romantic, white lights hung above an open garden type setting. Mostly everyone here is dressed formally. Everyone but us, that is. “And you look exquisite, so stop. Don’t you feel more comfortable in those sweat pants than you did in that scrap of fabric you called a dress?”

  “Well obviously, but you’re not supposed to wear sweat pants to a nice restaurant where there are other people dining. Or on a date. Or in public in general, really.”

  “Says who?” I ask, topping off our wine glasses with the bottle I bought.

  “Says,” she stutters, her hands gesturing to everyone around us. “Says everyone. It’s just not something you do.”

  I smile and shake my head. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who cares what people think. That sounds like the old you, the you that didn’t fit in and played poker at home every weekend.”

  She rolls up her straw wrapper and tosses it at my head, pegging me directly in the forehead. Bull’s-eye.

  “I played poker at home on the weekends because I wanted to, thank you very much,” she says, laughing. “And yeah, maybe I do care what other people think. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that – perception is reality, right?”

  “If you say so,” I say, still smiling as the waiter drops off our food. We eat and talk about everything and nothing, sipping from our glasses until the bottle is devoured. I stay away from deep topics, not wanting to dive back into that territory. It killed me hearing why she played poker, even though I know I needed to ask. I’m supposed to use it against her, to figure out what makes her tick and manipulate it to break her. But instead, when she told me, all I wanted to do was walk away. I wanted to tell her I was a complete asshole and she should stay away from me and then call my dad and tell him to fuck off. But I didn’t. I asked more questions, shit got deeper and deeper, and now I’m in this game that I’m not sure I can play.

  While we wait for the check, Skyler’s knee bounces under the table and she keeps looking around like she’s afraid she’s going to see someone she knows. I take it as my cue and finish off the last bit of wine left in my glass before standing and straightening my wrinkled tank.

  Skyler’s eyes shoot to mine, her knee halting. “What are you doing?”

  I clear my throat and pull out the best Midwestern accent I can muster, drawing inspiration from the guys I used to hang out with in Kansas. They always said I talked funny, but I think they were on the wrong end of that sentence. “Ella Mae,” I say, grabbing Skyler’s hand. She’s looking at me like she would a flying purple turtle. “I know we’ve only been together for ‘bout a year now, but I feel like you’re my whole world. I wanna drive our RV all over ‘Merica and see everything with you. I can’t imagine sharin’ my pork rinds with anyone else. And, well, I guess what I’m sayin’ is…” I drop down to one knee, fishing in my pocket for the straw wrapper I’ve been tying under the table. At this point, everyone is watching us, some have even pulled out their camera phones, sensing what was about to happen. Skyler’s face is red – not pink, not flushed – but a deep, crimson red. I can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or pissed, but I’m leaning toward the latter. I bite my lip and pretend to get a little teary eyed as I present her with the make-shift wrapper ring. “Will you marry me?”

  I hear a few people gasp and a collective awww rings out. Skyler’s lips are pursed together in a hard line and her eyes are bulged wide. She’s trying to signal for me to get off the floor and call everything off, but I’m not done yet.

  “I know it’s just a straw wrapper. Heck, I never have been able to give you the finer things in life. But I promise to buy you a real nice ring when we can afford it. I’ll buy you whatever ring you want! Just please make me the happiest man this side of the Mississippi river and say yes.”

  Everyone waits, a few people whispering encouragements to Skyler as she stares down at me. I’m pretty sure she’s about to walk out, to smack me in the face and tell me to walk back to campus alone, but instead her free hand flies to her mouth and her eyes water. “Oh gosh, Tommy,” she says, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t spend my life with anyone else. Yes, a thousand times, yes!” She jumps off her chair and into my lap, throwing her arms around my neck. The restaurant erupts in cheers and we both laugh into each other’s sh
oulders.

  “Nicely played, Ella Mae,” I whisper. She digs her knuckle into my rib and I let out a yelp before standing and pulling her with me.

  “Kiss! Kiss!” Someone chants, and pretty soon a dozen others join in. The camera phones are recording and snapping away. I smile and turn to Skyler, who greets me with wide, shy eyes. Still grinning, I pull her in close and dip her in a dramatic fashion before pressing my lips to hers.

  And for a moment, I forget this is fake.

  When her mouth meets mine, that same magnetic charge from the first time we kissed flows through to my core, catching me by surprise. My fingers are splayed across her lower back where her tank top has risen a bit and I feel the chills race across her skin. I grip her a little tighter, my mouth eager, before I find control and pull her back up. Releasing her from my grasp, I offer a sideways smile and a shrug and she flushes deeper, more cameras flashing. I thank everyone in the crowd, leave enough cash to cover the bill and a nice tip on the table, and then grab Skyler’s hand and lead her out into the night.

  For a few moments she doesn’t say anything, just lets me hold her hand as we wait for the cab I called. Maybe she wants to continue the show, or maybe she likes the way it feels to have her hand in mine. I’m fine with it, either way. When the cab finally shows and we dip inside, she waits until I close the door and then smacks me hard across the chest.

  “What the hell, Kip?! What was that? Oh my God I could kill you right now. I’m in my sweat pants and you draw attention like that? And did you see everyone’s faces and all the cameras? And a paper ring? Seriously?” She starts off angry, but with every word I laugh harder until she gives up fighting the curve of her mouth and eventually ends up laughing with me. “You’re such a little prick.”

  “Oh I have quite a large prick, actually,” I say, holding up a finger in correction. She shakes her head, still laughing, and I direct the cab to our next destination.

  “The beach?” Skyler asks, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can’t walk on the beach in my sweats. They’ll get all sandy.”

  “Roll up the pant legs.”

  “What? No, that’s silly.”

  “Who cares? You trying to impress someone?”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

  “Give me your legs,” I say, motioning with my hand. I hold it out and wait as she stares at me, confused. “Seriously, give them to me.”

  She goes to ask why and I get tired of waiting, so I reach down and grab her ankles, pulling them into my lap. Slowly, I begin rolling up her left pant leg, letting my fingers rub against her smooth skin more than they need to. She jerks back at first, but I grab her calves in protest and she gives in. As my fingers work, I imagine pulling her to straddle me so I can feel her thighs the same way I’m feeling her ankles. After that kiss, I can’t think about anything else but how close her body is to mine.

  “This is stupid, I’m going to look ridiculous.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” I say, finishing her other leg and dropping her feet back to the floorboard as I pull my own up onto the seat. “I’ll have mine rolled, too.”

  She tucks her arms across her chest and looks out the window, mumbling. “How very comforting.”

  The lights from the pier are bright against the otherwise dark beach. The Ferris wheel spins slowly, the old wooden rickets colliding with the music in a strange symphony as we walk past the various food booths. I tried buying a pair of shorts from the beach shop when we got here, but Kip refused. So here I am, rolled sweat pants and faded Kappa Kappa Beta tank top walking around the pier like it’s a normal thing to do.

  “Have you ever been here before?” Kip asks, biting a hunk off his cotton candy stick. Some of it sticks to his nose and it somehow turns me on. He’s dressed like a bum and eating like a child yet somehow my ovaries are reacting. Cool.

  “Surprisingly, no. I always knew it was here, obviously. I see it when I’m paddle boarding, but I’ve never actually been here.”

  “Good,” he says. “I figured it could kind of be like your senior fair, since I’m assuming you didn’t go when you were in high school.”

  “My what?” I ask, confused.

  “Fair? You know, the senior fair?”

  I stop walking and stare at him blankly.

  “What? You guys don’t have those?”

  I laugh. “No, Kansas boy, we don’t. We have proms. You know, that normal thing most Americans do where you go to a lame dance and spend five hundred dollars on a dress that ends up getting stripped off by a nervous virgin at the end of the night?”

  “Oh yeah? Is that how yours ended?”

  I flush red and start walking again. “I didn’t go to mine.”

  “Okay, well then this can still be like your senior fair. Since you didn’t do prom, you get a fair. Deal?”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very good trade.”

  “What if I win you a teddy bear and let you kiss me at the top of the Ferris wheel?” He waggles his brows and smiles a goofy grin.

  “You mean what if I let you kiss me?”

  “Whatever makes you feel better, Toots. Want a bite?” He thrusts the wad of cotton candy toward me.

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on,” he says, pulling off a small piece and holding it between his fingers. “You can’t have your senior fair without cotton candy.”

  “You make me feel like a charity case.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not like that. I just want to show you a good time. I know you fit in just fine here. You’re Miss Popular and all that. But, I still think you probably missed out on a lot. I just want to show you some of it now. Life is too short to miss out on the dumb and insignificant rites of passage.”

  “Are you going to sign my yearbook, too?”

  “If by yearbook you mean cleavage, then sure.” He smiles and holds his index finger out, the blue stickiness holding on with a death grip. “Here, have some.”

  “What, you want me to suck it off your finger?”

  He shrugs, but doesn’t move. Oh that’s the way he wants to play? Please. Two can play that game.

  I grab his wrist in both my hands and pull his finger close to my mouth, my eyes locked on his. Slowly, I slide my lips over the candy and down to his knuckle, running my tongue along his skin as I suck the last little bit off. He swallows hard and licks his lips, his eyes hard on mine. When I finish, I pull back and smack my lips together. “Yum.”

  He shakes his head, grinning. “You know, you could have just grabbed it from me. You didn’t have to lick it off.”

  This time I shrug. “I guess you’re right, but that wouldn’t have been as much fun now would it?”

  Kip tries his hand at a few dart balloon games, winning small inflatable toys each time he failed to pop more than one. Then he moves on to a basketball game, a milk jug game, and finally a lucky duck game. Each time, he ends up with another small prize that didn’t match up to what he wanted. I can tell he’s getting frustrated, and it’s actually really cute. We have a pile of inflatable hammers and stuffed keychain-size teddy bears at this point, but he isn’t giving up.

  “I think I should try to win something for you,” I say, fishing out five dollars from my sweatpants pocket.

  “That’s not the way it’s supposed to go,” Kip says playfully, though I think he’s trying to disguise his frustration. I laugh and hand the man at the lucky duck game my money. He’s an older man with a flop of hair that’s half brown and half gray. He seems tired, but smiles a genuine smile nonetheless.

  Hundreds of little ducks swirl around in the turquoise blue water of a tiny inflatable pool. I get three chances to pick a duck with a star on its butt. Kip has tried nine ducks with no luck. He is now the dad to three adorable stuffed, consolation-prize ducks, though.

  I watch as the ducks circle, my eyes flicking to a new one each time I think I’m going to choose. Finally, I settle on one that keeps catching my eye. It has a strang
e stain on its rubber head that kind of looks like dried gum and one side of his little body is slightly dented. He’s kind of like the ugly duckling, which makes me like him even more. I wait for him to pass by again and snatch him out of the water, turning to Kip with his butt still facing down.

  “Moment of truth,” I say, slowly turning the duck. When the bright lights of the game illuminate a small red star, Kip curses.

  “No way!”

  “Winner!” the man running the game yells. A bell goes off after he pushes a button and I laugh as Kip shakes his head. “You have your pick of anything you’d like, young lady.”

  My eyes scan the plethora of large stuffed animals hanging from the top of the game until I spot a fluffy, goofy looking gray and white shark.

  “Do you have any Palm South gear in your apartment yet?”

  Kip shakes his head. “Not really. I have a banner thing they gave me at orientation.”

  I turn back to the man. “I’ll take the shark.”

  When he hands it off to me, I immediately turn and stuff it into Kip’s arms. “There. Your first Palm South University Shark.” The shark is our mascot, which is one of my favorite things about the school. We always have parties during Shark Week on Discovery Channel and we even have an on-campus aquarium with a few small sharks swimming around in it. It’s in the Student Union right by the cafeteria, which makes for an interesting tour stop for possible freshmen and their families.

  “I should feel embarrassed, but I think I’m too busy being excited. What should we name him?” Kip’s messy blonde hair falls over his eyes a bit as his smile widens, illuminating the night even more than the pier lights. He has his glasses on tonight, which fits perfectly with the laid back sweats and tank style. I still don’t understand how he can make I just woke up look so damn sexy.

  “Sparky?”

  Kip scrunches his nose. “That kind of sounds like a male stripper.”

  “Hey, you don’t know what this shark does in his spare time. And don’t judge, maybe he’s a good dancer. Maybe he’s the one that gets booked for all the bachelorette parties and sorority functions. Maybe he’s paying off college.”