Deepen The Kiss

by Willow Winters

  “Can you get me some wings?” he says as he pats his stomach. His shirt strains as he stretches backward. The buttons on his shirt gape and are showing a bit too much, just like Grace’s.

  “Course, Mickey.” I open the double doors just a touch and call out to Mags. “An order of wings, hot.”

  I look back to make sure Mickey wants his usual. This bar’s become a routine for him, just like it has for a lot of the town.

  He nods his head, and I don’t even hesitate to walk right back to Grace. It’s become a natural habit of mine when she’s here.

  Most of the people here want to get away. They want a place to watch the games, to drink, to chat with their friends they came with. But Grace comes alone most of the time. She sits by herself, and I’m the only one she talks to. I like it that way. It’s like she comes here just for me.

  Inwardly I scoff at myself.

  Yeah she makes me smile and likes to chat, but she sure as fuck doesn’t want me. She’s told me more than once about the dates she’s been on and the guys she’s meeting up with. And not a damn one of them is a country boy with a reputation like mine.

  I think she knows enough about all the shit I’ve been through. The whole damn town does… although, she’s not from Vinings, so I don't think she knows the whole story. Plus, she’s asked about my dating life before. I didn’t give her much, but I told her the same thing I tell every woman. I’m not interested in settling down. Not now. Possibly not ever.

  Either way, she's ready for the whole nine yards. She had no problem telling me that and making it clear she wasn’t into one-night flings. Although, I’m not sure if she told me that more to remind herself, or to make me keep my distance. If it was the latter, she failed miserably. It only made me want her more. I’m not interested in all that shit she wants though. I’ve hardly got time for myself, let alone a family. But I fucking love flirting with her. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t have her. It’s the challenge.

  “So how’s your day going?” I ask.

  I grab the stool from behind me and pull it closer to her to take a seat. It’s dinner time now, so the evening rush won’t come till later. I’m going to need my energy then.

  “Eh.” Grace makes a cute scrunched up face and takes another drink with her eyes closed tight.

  “That bad, huh?” I ask her with a grin. I love how animated she is, how she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She really is a sweetheart.

  “Yeah, it was rough,” she sighs.

  She doesn’t look at me as she puts her glass back down on the bar and lets her fingertips glide along the edge. My smile falls.

  I lean back on the stool, stretching my back and running my hand over my hair. “Sorry your day was shit. You need me to go have a word with your boss?”

  My joke makes her smile at least. She shakes her head gently with her eyes closed.

  “I don’t think that would help,” she says softly and then focuses those baby blues on me. She has the kind of eyes a man can get lost in. They're a pale blue with tiny golden flecks that lure me in. “Least I’m not doing dishes.”

  That’s my girl.

  Her voice is a bit choked up which is unusual for her. She’s been coming in here for a while. I’m getting used to looking forward to her coming in and chatting with me, but the look on her face right now is making my chest hurt for her.

  “I went to the doctor today.” She taps at the stem of the glass as she talks, staring where her fingers play along it. “I can’t have kids.” She takes in a shuddering breath and then rolls her eyes, playing it off and shaking her head. “Well, not the traditional way anyway. And they’ll be expensive as fuck if I do have them.”

  “You alright?” I ask her. I watch the raw vulnerability as it's replaced with a mask of lightheartedness.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just unexpected.” She finally looks me in the eyes as she adds, “I’m gonna start a bill for each one now so they can cover these fertility treatments. They can pay me back after they graduate.” She laughs at her joke, and I let out a huff of a laugh just to make her feel more at ease.

  “Sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I’ve never even thought about kids. With the bar, I don’t have the time, even if I wanted them.

  “Don’t be, it’s stupid. I just got the news, so I’m all flustered.”

  “I can imagine.” No I can’t. But I think what I’m saying is comforting.

  A few more people come in and take me from her, but I keep my eye on her glass. I'm waiting for it to empty, so I have a reason to get back to her. The beer flows easily as the orders continue to come in. UGA is playing, and most of the bar is rooting for wins, which means Mickey buys the guys in the back a round of shots.

  All the while Grace spins slightly on her stool and occasionally checks her phone. Mostly she just stares directly ahead of her at nothing in particular, a vacant look in her eyes and her lips turned down slightly. It gets busier and busier, but all I want is for her to call me over to her or finish that last bit of wine.

  I check with her a few times, but she waves me off with a small smile. Each time she’s just as welcoming and tempting as the last. But work calls, stealing me from her and leaving her alone in the bar. Every time I peek up, I see a sadness behind those big blue doe eyes that I don’t like seeing.

  Time passes quickly and before I know it, she’s taking out her clutch and leaving cash on the bar. The second I see her put the money down, I stop pouring the draft beer in my hands and call out to her over the hum of loud voices.

  “You need a ride?”

  She smiles back at me and shakes her head no, but that happiness on her face makes it worth it.

  I slide the beer down to the very end of the bar, forgetting which one of the two men sitting there ordered it, and walk over to check her out. I grab the cash and turn to go to the register, but she tells me to keep the change. She always does.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I tell her and watch as she spins in her seat.

  “I bet you call all the ladies sweetheart,” she tells me playfully, but her words are a kick to my gut.

  “Just you,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice chipper and not let on.

  “Yeah, okay,” Grace says as she tries to get off the stool. She seems a little off balance, so I make my way around to her and I’m damn glad I did. She slips off the stool and nearly stumbles. I catch her in my arms and hold her upright as she struggles to slide her small foot back into her heel. Her hands are firm on my forearms until she’s got her balance back.

  That beautiful blush rises up her chest and into her cheeks as she shakes her head. She tries to play it off, backing out of my embrace. Her lush ass hits the stool behind her, and her hands grip onto it to keep from knocking it over. I can’t help the rough chuckle from vibrating up my chest.

  “You sure you don’t need a ride?” I ask Grace.

  “No, I’m fine,” she says. There’s a small smile on her face I can tell she’s trying to fight.

  “I don’t know if I believe you?” I tell her just to fuck with her. She only had one drink, but I love getting under her skin. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

  I give her a wink as I back away. I walk back around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.

  Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red blush floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.

  “Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.

  She waves shyly as she leaves me.

>   Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.

  But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.

  CHAPTER 3

  Grace

  * * *

  IT’S 3 P.M., and I have a thousand things to do at work. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle.

  I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads at my right hand can attest to that.

  I love being creative. I went to Rhode Island School of Design for painting, with a minor in graphic design. Eventually I settled in at a graphic design job. It’s not as fancy as painting for living, but it pays the bills. Plus, I love painting, so I never want to make it into a job and ruin the love I have for it. Painting is what I do to relax, and I’m keeping it that way.

  “Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me.

  I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way, leaning against the wall to show off how thin she is. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

  Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.

  It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it. She parties a little too hard, laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, she’s the only one in this building who does like to go out. So… Diane it is.

  “Uh, sure,” I say, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.

  “Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.

  “Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.

  “'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”

  With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.

  I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in my lap.

  I wheel my way back to my desk and look at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. I turn it over and see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.

  Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?

  An uncomfortable tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.

  I hesitate, then type a message in return.

  Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking?

  I press send and put my phone down while I sit a little straighter in my chair. Maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all.

  Picking up my desk phone, I return a dozen calls. When I hang up, I realize the knot in my stomach has returned. This job is really stressful, and it’s getting to me. Especially the part where I interact with demanding customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co.

  I tap my nails on the desk, taking in steadying breaths. Of course, Diane has promised this client the moon, but at half the cost of the creative hours billed. Which in turn means I have to work those hours after the workday is complete, often staying in this chair until 10 or 11 p.m. She’s supposed to stay back late too, but her car's always gone before mine is.

  “Hey! Got your coffee!” says Tracey. I turn around and instantly smile, letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It’s impossible to be mad or sad or anything other than grateful around Tracey, the office personal assistant. She’s pushing a cart around, and right now it’s loaded with coffee cups.

  “Anything good?” I ask, eyeing her coffee-with-cream skin and kinky mahogany hair. I'm weirdly jealous of Tracey’s consistent good cheer, her youth, and her easy breezy attire. I’m even jealous of the way she wears that pale pink dress which looks amazing on her.

  “Psshh,” she says, grinning as she hands me a cup. “Same thing as usual. A shot in the dark. Coffee, espresso, two creamers, and one Splenda.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, looking at the tiny puff of steam that escapes my cup. “I seriously need this right now.”

  “I got you,” she says, winking. “You need anything else?”

  A new job? Maybe some new ovaries? I think. But I stay quiet and shake my head.

  “Alright. Well I have tons of three-o’clock-slump-coffees to deliver,” she says, backing her cart out of my cubicle. “See you in the morning!”

  “See you,” I say, turning back to my desk.

  I’m quick to grab the paper coffee cup and pop the lid off, leaning in and breathing deep. The smell of the coffee and espresso makes my lips turn upward. I take a sip and sigh with fulfillment.

  Sure my job mostly sucks, but there is an endless coffee supply. That’s gotta be worth something, right?

  I snap the lid back on my coffee and return to my computer. I mouse over to Adobe Photoshop, clicking through the six ads I’m working on for clients. My phone vibrates, and I turn it over again, mostly because I don’t feel like doing any of these damn ads.

  Another message from Jason.

  How do you feel about The Brick Store Pub in Decatur? They have great drinks, and the food’s good, too.

  I bite my lip. Decatur isn’t that far away from where I work. I could get there in under an hour, even assuming that I stop at home first to change.

  I type back: Sure. It’ll have to be after seven, though.

  Before I can even put my phone down, he texts back.

  Great! Let’s say… seven thirty?

  My lips curl upward. Awesome. See you there, I type.

  I put my phone down and go back to the computer screen. I easily drink my coffee, letting myself be absorbed by my work. I don’t look up again until Diane sticks her head over my cubicle.

  “Time to go! I was thinking that you should leave your car here, and I’ll drive. I think I have something for you to wear, if it’ll fit…” I cringe at Diane, realizing I never told her. Shit.

  “Actually, change of plans. I’m going on a date tonight,” I interrupt.

  Diane looks a little shocked, and I feel awful. I always keep my plans with her and everyone else, chicks before dicks and all that. That’s going to change now that I got that news from the doctor though. I’m on borrowed time, and suddenly finding a husband is at the top of my to-do list.

  “Fine,” she snaps. “I expect the Kleinpeters ad on my desk tomorrow, though.”

  I would flinch at her sharp demeanor, but I’m used to it. “Already done. I cc’d you in the email.”

  “You sent an ad to the client without my approval?” she asks, her fury evident.

  I grind my teeth slightly, wanting very much to remind her that she’s not my fucking boss. “Correct. I don’t have to get your approval. I was just doing it to be polite.”

  Her gaze narrows. “I don’t kn
ow about that.”

  “Well, I do,” I reply cheerfully, deciding I don’t need this shit. “If you have a problem with it, I think HR is a good place to start.”

  She’s practically shooting lasers out of her eyes now; it’s almost comical. Diane has a long history of complaints filed against her in HR, including dress code violations and sexual harassment. HR is the last place she would go for help.

  “Have a great date,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “See you tomorrow!” I call out, feeling vindicated.

  This is for all the times that you didn’t come through on a deal, or ditched work because you were so-called sick, when I knew that you were really in bed with some new guy.

  Diane disappears, and I relax a little. I shouldn’t be enjoying Diane’s anger so much. It’s just this job, and how stressful it can be. Diane only adds to my to-do list of projects which adds to the stress. We’re equals although lately it doesn’t feel like it, and I’ve waited too long to confront her about it.

  And now this stress is bubbling over into my personal life, which I don’t appreciate.

  I gather my things and enjoy the last swig of my coffee, dropping it in the trash as I make my way out of the office. I can’t get the argument with Diane out of my mind as I walk to my car, digging my keys out of my purse.

  Is it really worth having such a stressful, fast-paced life? I’m honestly starting to think that maybe it’s not. My throat feels dry as I remember Doctor Abrahams asking me about my level of stress. That kind of stress can cause issues with fertility. I remember how she looked at me, her head tilted and sympathy in her eyes.

  I get in my car and turn on the radio. It’s not long before one of my favorite songs is playing, and I force myself to be upbeat. I have a date with Jason, a really sexy guy who wants a commitment. Nothing is that bad, right?