The Kiss Quotient

by Helen Hoang

  “No martial arts?”

  “Eh. I took a fencing class in college, but it seems silly in this day and age.”

  That meant Michael would probably trounce him in a match. She’d kind of enjoy seeing that.

  “I like martial arts movies,” she said.

  “That’s so unlike you. I’m more of a documentary person, myself.”

  As Philip droned on about the latest documentary he’d seen, Stella’s mind wandered. She found herself reimagining the night of the benefit dinner. In her fantasy version of that night, Michael didn’t break up with her. Instead, he declared himself helplessly in love with her. Enraged beyond all reason, Philip challenged him to a duel, and the men faced off outside next to the pool. Because they didn’t have swords on hand, they used golf clubs.

  When she smiled at her fanciful thoughts, Philip interpreted that as encouragement, and he grew more animated as he spoke of his fascination with exposés and political commentary.

  Stella wondered what a match between a kendo artist and fencer would look like. It would probably be pretty funny if they were using irons and putters—assuming they had enough control not to bludgeon each other to death. They really needed a scene like this in a K-drama. She’d watch it over and over.

  The hero didn’t even have to win. All he had to do to get the girl was fight for her. If he lost, she’d kiss him better.

  When they stepped out of the restaurant onto the crowded sidewalk, Philip smiled at her and captured one of her hands. “I think we get along really well, Stella. We should do this again.”

  Then he leaned down to kiss her.

  * * *

  • • •

  As Michael walked with Quan toward his favorite Korean BBQ restaurant on University Avenue, he couldn’t help scanning the sidewalks for glimpses of Stella. Her house was only blocks away. While it was unlikely she’d be out doing late-night shopping, it was possible.

  Even so, he was unprepared when he saw her standing outside a Mediterranean restaurant across the street. Her hair was up in its usual bun, her glasses were in place, and she wore her regular oxford shirt, pencil skirt, and pointed pumps. His Stella, his brainy, sweet—

  Was that Philip James? Was he about to kiss her?

  Michael saw red.

  His muscles tensed, and he lunged. Quan’s firm grip on his arms drew him up short.

  “Easy, man.”

  Before Philip’s lips could touch hers, Stella turned her face away and took a step back. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, saying words that couldn’t be heard from this distance but were clearly rejection.

  Instead of taking it like a man, Philip advanced toward her with a predatory glint in his eyes.

  “Okay, he’s asking for it,” Quan said.

  Quan let him go, and Michael crossed the street without consciously taking a single step. If there were cars in the way, he didn’t notice them. He plowed straight through them for all he knew. Before the bastard could touch his dirty lips to Stella’s side-turned face, Michael yanked him away and slammed his knuckles into Philip’s eye.

  As Philip staggered back, Michael drew a stunned Stella into his arms. Beneath the angry surging of his heart, a sense of rightness settled in place. The feel of her, the smell of her, his.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  She blinked at him in bemusement. “Did you really just punch him in the eye?”

  “That little shit was about to force himself on you. Again. No one forces you. Ever.”

  Philip lowered the hand from his quickly swelling eye to stab a finger in Michael’s direction. “We’re on a date. There was no forcing involved.”

  Stella pushed away from Michael and adjusted the purse straps on her shoulder. “I’m going home now. Alone. Good night.”

  “Stella, wait.” Philip tried to follow her, but Michael stepped in his way.

  “You heard her. She’s going home alone.”

  When Philip looked like he might press the issue, Quan came up beside Michael. His hands hung loose at his sides, but he was poised for violence, his eyes cold. “Do we have a problem here?”

  Philip took in the barricade formed by Michael and Quan and backed off. His mouth worked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, he clenched his jaw shut, glanced longingly in Stella’s retreating direction, and left.

  Michael squeezed Quan’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Quan’s lips quirked, and he tipped his head toward Stella. “You should go check up on her.”

  “Get a table. I’ll find you there.”

  He ran after Stella and fell in step beside her, but instead of slowing down, she increased her pace, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead.

  “I had the situation under control. Don’t forget I own a Taser.”

  Her abruptness and impersonal tone snuck right underneath Michael’s guard and irritated the shit out of him. He still dreamed about her daily, and she was seeing other people. It hadn’t even been two whole weeks.

  “Couldn’t wait to test your new skills out, I see.”

  She grasped at her purse straps and walked even faster. The sidewalk ended, and her heels clicked over asphalt as she marched down the now-residential street toward her house.

  “If you wanted to sleep with him, you were going about it all wrong. You should have let him kiss you. Why didn’t you? Nerves?”

  “Go away, Michael.”

  “I want to know why you didn’t kiss him. He’s what you want. Isn’t he?”

  She froze in her tracks. Her chest worked on rapid breaths as she stared to the side. “Why are you following me and talking to me? I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act or what I’m supposed to say.”

  “We can’t act like friends?” He’d thought they were that, at least.

  She met his gaze. Beneath a mixture of streetlights and moonlight, her eyes looked watery and vulnerable. “We’re friends?”

  “I hope so.”

  “That doesn’t work for me.” She stepped away, her jaw stiff and her eyes narrowed. He thought she was angry until tears started tracking down her face. “I don’t want to be your pity friend.”

  His chest constricted at the sight of her tears, and he quit breathing. “Who ever said anything about pity?”

  She swiped at her cheeks as her chin quivered. “You did. You said you were done helping me but I still wasn’t enough. You said it, and you meant it. You can’t take it back now.”

  “I never said you. I said we.” He swallowed hard. “You never once thought I meant me? That I’m not enough for you?”

  Guileless eyes searched his face, wide from her lack of understanding. “Why would I ever think that?”

  “Because I’m a prostitute, and my dad is a criminal.”

  Her lips turned down, and she took a step away from him. “I don’t care about those things. None of that impacts who you are or how you treat me. You’re using those things as excuses because you don’t want to hurt me. But I want you to know I can handle the truth. If I’m not enough for you, that’s fair and I accept it. I’ll get over you eventually. I don’t want to be coddled or lied to because of what I am. I don’t need your pity friendship.”

  With that, she breezed past him and sailed down the street. Her walk was fast and all business. There was no seductive swaying of hips, no grace; this was no runway walk. He loved it.

  He loved her.

  And she was trying to get over him.

  In order to get over him, she had to have fallen for him first. She knew about his escorting, his financial situation, his education, and his dad, and she still loved him.

  That changed everything.

  Determination coursed through him. He’d been so blinded by his insecurities that he’d pushed her away and hurt her. What he should have been doing
instead was fighting for her.

  The fight started now. If she could trust and accept him as he was, then he could, too. She deserved that kind of man. For her, he was going to be that kind of man.

  He followed Stella from a distance to make sure she made it into her house safely, and then he ran to find Quan. He needed help devising a battle plan.

  { CHAP+ER }

  28

  A knock on her office door distracted Stella from the new algorithm she was formulating. As she swiveled around, the door opened, and an enormous bouquet of calla lilies walked into the room.

  Their lead receptionist, Benita, a curvy brunette in her early forties, set the vase on the desk and exhaled through her mouth. “Okay, that was heavy. It looks like you have an admirer.”

  Stella plucked a card out from between the blooms. She recognized Michael’s bold scrawl immediately.

  For my Stella. Thinking of you. Love, Michael.

  “I don’t know what this means.” She stared at the note sitting in the palm of her hand.

  Benita craned her head to the side to read Michael’s script and grinned. “Michael is the honey you’re dating, isn’t he? He’s quite the looker.”

  “We broke up.”

  Benita’s grin turned sly. “Looks like he wants to get back together. Are you going to give him another chance?”

  Before she could reply, Philip stalked past her door. After a split second, he reversed and glowered at the bouquet on her table. An impressive black eye decorated the right side of his face.

  “That son of a bitch.” He barged into her office, headed for her flowers.

  She threw herself in front of them. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to throw those in the Dumpster where they belong.”

  “No, you’re not. They’re mine.” This was her first bouquet from a boy ever.

  “I’ll get you better ones,” he said through his teeth. “Those have to go.”

  “I don’t want you to get me flowers.”

  “We’re dating, remember?”

  “We’re not dating. We went on one date, and I don’t want another. We’re not compatible at all.”

  Benita pursed her lips and watched Philip with raised eyebrows, obviously enjoying the drama.

  He approached Stella with tensed shoulders and clenched hands. “And you’re compatible with him?”

  She curled her fingers around the card. Was it still compatibility if it was one-sided?

  “I was really happy when he and I were together. He’s a good listener. More than that, he wanted to know about me, my day, what I was doing, and—”

  “All I care about is whether or not he’s good in bed,” Benita interjected.

  Stella bit her lip and blushed down at the carpet. The word good didn’t do Michael justice. Phenomenal was more like it.

  “You lucky duck.” Benita turned to Philip and grabbed his arm. “Come on, PJ, let’s go to the kitchen. You need to ice that eye.”

  PJ?

  Philip grumbled under his breath and stared a few daggers at her lilies before he allowed Benita to pull him out of Stella’s office. As the two of them walked down the hall, he settled his hand at the base of her spine, slipped it lower, and squeezed. Instead of smacking him as Stella thought she would, Benita brushed the light hair from his brow and clucked over his bruise.

  That was . . . interesting.

  Apparently, Benita didn’t care that Philip was a complete hound when it came to women. That worked out just fine for Stella. She didn’t have to feel bad for not asking him out again.

  She rotated the flower vase and fiddled with the stems. Flowers had always seemed pretty senseless to her. They stank, they wilted, and then you had to clean them up. But these were from Michael.

  Her phone buzzed repeatedly, and when she retrieved it from her desk drawer, she saw it was him. She considered letting it go to voice mail, but her thumb hit the talk button on its own.

  “Hello.”

  “Did you get them?” he asked.

  “Yes . . . Thank you.”

  “How’s Philip Dexter’s eye looking today?”

  “Purple.”

  He made a satisfied sound, and she could almost see his evil smile. She barely refrained from sighing like a schoolgirl. His barbarism shouldn’t please her like this.

  “It’ll start turning green in a few days,” he said.

  “You really shouldn’t have given him a black eye.” But she loved that he had. It made her feel special in a way she’d never known. She was a bloodthirsty villainess.

  “You’re right. Next time, I’ll double-punch him in the balls. If anyone’s going to kiss you, it had better be me.” After an awkward pause, he asked, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Her foolish heart leapt at the thought of seeing him again, but she forced it into submission. She didn’t understand why he was doing any of this, didn’t trust it. “No.”

  There was a long silence before he said, “Good. I like a challenge.”

  “I’m not trying to challenge you.”

  “I know you’re not. You’re trying to get over me, which is worse.”

  “Michael . . .”

  “I have stuff to do. Talk to you later. Miss you.” The call disconnected.

  She paced about her office with increasingly agitated steps. He didn’t want her to get over him. How irritating. What was she supposed to do? Pine over him for eternity?

  This burst of outlandish courting had started immediately after he saw Philip trying to kiss her when she didn’t want it. Michael was trying to warn Philip off because he didn’t think she could protect herself.

  She was still his charity case.

  Breathing heavily, she picked up his note, crumpled it into a misshapen ball, and tossed it in the trash. That was what she thought of his pity.

  If she wanted to get over a man, she was going to get over a man.

  She sat down and read over the last few lines of code on the programming screen. Her brain was too distracted to concentrate. She kept thinking about Michael. Her body still yearned for his caresses and his dirty words. More than that, she missed him and the routines they’d made together.

  He couldn’t really want her back, but it would be wonderful if he did. When she noticed the hopeful direction of her thoughts, she scolded herself and told herself to focus on the data. It didn’t work. Making a frustrated sound, she fished his note out of the trash, smoothed it out, and stuffed it in one of her drawers.

  * * *

  • • •

  Each day that week, he called and asked her out to dinner. Each day, she refused. She didn’t need or want his help. She could take care of herself just fine.

  As of Friday evening, her desk sported the vase of still lovely calla lilies, another vase of roses ranging in shade from bloodred to pink, a bundle of balloons, and a fuzzy black teddy bear in a karate gi. She was far too old for stuffed animals, and the sight of it embarrassed her. Michael’s extravagance was making her the talk of the office. She had to figure out a way to make this stop.

  When it was time to leave, she powered off her computer, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, snatching Karate Bear on the way out. She didn’t want him, but the thought of him sitting alone in her office all night made her heartbreakingly sad.

  She squished the bear under her arm, making him as small as possible, and exited the building. No one needed to see her walking around with a stuffed animal in tow.

  “Heading home?” The solitary voice came from behind as she crossed the empty parking lot, and her heart leapt into her throat.

  She whipped around with a hand on her chest.

  Michael pushed away from the wall of her office building, thumbs hooked into his pockets. He wore a fitted black vest over an oxford shirt that was unbutton
ed at the throat and dark slacks. Too gorgeous. She dragged her eyes away and went to pick up her bear from his abandoned location on the blacktop.

  Brushing off the bear’s fur, she said, “This can be interpreted as stalking, you know.”

  He ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “I know.”

  “You need to stop all of this.”

  “It’s not just a little romantic? I don’t have a lot of experience with courting, so you’ll have to excuse me if I come across too strong.”

  She pursed her lips. With his looks and charisma, she was sure all he generally had to do was crook his finger and wait for women to crawl to him. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish women anymore. “Cut it out, Michael. We both know you’re not courting me.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t need to protect me from Philip anymore. He’s switched his attention to the receptionist.”

  “None of this has been about Philip.” He stalked toward her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.

  Her instincts told her to back away as he neared, but stubbornness had her digging her feet in. She lifted her chin. She wasn’t scared of him. “I’m done being your charity case. I don’t want—”

  Clasping the sides of her face in his hands, he kissed her. Sensation shocked through her, ending her struggles before they began. The cool silk of his lips on hers felt like heaven. As he stroked his hot tongue into her mouth, his salty taste and familiar scent intoxicated her. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her body to his. He surrounded her with his arms and aligned their hips, her softness to his hardness. Liquid aching pervaded her limbs.

  “Look at you melting for me,” he rasped against her mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

  He kissed her again, a deep, slow tasting that curled her toes and made her sigh against his lips. Her hair loosened, and she shivered as he threaded his fingers into the mass.

  “Pretty Stella,” he whispered, running his hands over her loose locks. “I might not have the hang of courting, but I kiss you right.”

  That snapped her out of her kiss-induced haze immediately. She jerked free of his arms and wiped a sleeve over her mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Don’t touch me. I don’t want you doing anything with me out of pity.”