by Gigi Blume
I join in, slapping all over my chest and butt. I’m pretty bad at it but I’m starting not to care. I swing my foot back and narrowly miss it. Must be this sensible skirt. Still, Ingram managed to get me laughing which surprises me in a warm fuzzy sort of way. I’m not a sad person—I’ve just been too busy to laugh. It’s scary how adulting creeps up on you.
We freestyle it for a while. Ingram does the moonwalk and I about lose it. I cup my hands around my mouth.
“Way to go, grandpa,” I shout over the music.
He throws me a challenging look. “Oh yeah?”
Then the tie comes off and he swings it like a Rally Monkey. Next thing I know he lassos me around the waist and pulls me in. There’s enough space between us still, but he’s shakin’ and bakin’ with hands on both ends of the tie. I’m caged in doing this hot dance-off with Ingram and all I can think about is him practicing his moves at home—in boxers. Must look away. Must look away. I feel the burn in my cheeks and I know my whole face is wildly flushed. If he dares to tease me, I’ll blame it on the exercise.
I’m saved by a drum-heavy break in the music. This is our line dancing moment.
“Grapevine!” Ingram calls out the moves like an emcee. He’s all smooth dance floor guy and I go the wrong direction, bumping into him. Yeah. Grapevine to the left first. Got it. It doesn’t faze him, though. He grins and calls out another move.
“K-step.” The cowboy within makes an appearance. He’s got his thumbs in his belt loops and I decide it’s a good look for him.
Yeeehaaaw! Save a horse... No, no, no. Concentrate on the dance steps, Rose. 5, 6, 7, 8...
Ingram goes for an epic hitch-kick. I end up doing my own thing, scissoring my arms, banging my head. My hair is history. Ingram gets the memo and now we’re dancing like fools, kicking up our heels and wiggling our hips. We lock eyes and a zing shoots though me. We’re connected by an electrical current and dancing is how we keep it charged. We must keep it charged or the universe will implode. It’s a thing.
I hardly notice when the song ends and transitions into another. My chest is heaving with glee, so high from the crackling energy. I’m glowing with white heat. I can feel that same fever in Ingram when he takes my hand and pulls me against his chest. It’s a piano-heavy rock ballad now. Something by Air Supply or Journey or one of those 80’s hair bands.
“Song’s over, Kevin Bacon.”
“And now we’re slow dancing.”
I shake my head and step back an inch, but he’s got me in his firm, yet gentle, hold. “I don’t have enough AquaNet for this song,” I say.
His lip curls a millimeter and he pulls my head against his chest. A sea of flames courses through me as I allow myself this moment. This achingly glorious moment. His heartbeat drums savage and hot and I entertain the fleeting thought that this exquisite rhythm beats only for me. It’s thrilling. His whole torso vibrates divinely as he hums along to the chorus.
Makin’ Love out of Nothing at All...
This has got to be one of the most gooey, drippy, sugary sweet love ballads in the history of music. I’m more of an Uptown Funk sort of girl but here in Ingram’s arms, it’s now my favorite song in the whole wide world. The piano swells, electric guitars soar in harmony, my senses heighten. Ingram trails his fingers along my back, leaving delightful sparks in their wake. I turn to pixie dust. I’m not entirely sure I even had a chance from the first second his eyes raked over my body this afternoon, alight with flame and desire. Earlier, I let myself believe his fiery gaze was his way of telling me he’d have me for breakfast. Now I’m thinking he’ll still have me for breakfast... but in an entirely different way.
He dips his head—I can feel his warm breath on my neck through the jungle of my hair. It’s the Amazon rainforest in there—heavy with humidity. A shiver trickles down the surface of my skin and I shudder. His body responds with a buzzing answer, his pulse quickening thick and steady. It’s almost too much. I lift my chin to give me some reprieve and he moves with me. We’re nose to nose, just studying one another. There’s a question on his features and something inside tells me it’s not about the weather. Does he find an answer in my face? Do I even know what I want? I think I do, because against my better judgment I want him more than anything. I want him bad. And the way his burning palm cups my jaw, he’s getting the signal strong and clear.
He takes my mouth, soft and sweet, exploring in a slow, intoxicating kiss. His lips are everything I imagined they’d be and more. They possess me, keep me, turn me inside out. I cling to him, lifting from Earth—weightless among the stars. Bolts of lightning surge through me, plunging into my core. I’m trembling for more. Ingram is insatiable. A growl resounds deep in his throat and his kiss devours me and becomes wildly demanding. His mouth is fierce, raging in intensity with each all-consuming stroke. I feel I might shatter into a thousand pieces of stardust. He’s an amazing kisser. A savage kisser.
Confident hands roam over my back, his fingers kneading my skin through the thin fabric of my blouse. My breathing speeds. I feel so alive right now. My body hums in response to his every touch. Every hot breath on the surface of my skin.
“You’re burning up,” he says as he trails his lips down my neck. “So feverish for me.”
My belly quivers and the only sound I can manage is. “Gug.”
Super smooth, I know.
I press into the strong lines of his hard chest. I want to meld into him and live my life like that forever. I’d just walk around like that with half my body glued to Ingram. Trips to the store would invite some strange looks, but I don’t care what people think.
I don’t even care what I think. This is not how I envisioned my Friday night. Even if I had managed to find a date (unlikely), I’d never have imagined Ingram in that scenario. And now he’s giving me mind-bending kisses and I’m ruined for all other men.
The realization makes me both tingly and angry. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember. But that nagging heartache has been my constant companion ever since Ingram left me waiting all those years ago. A storm rushes through me and I could choose to run from him or rain down my scorn in a punishing, raging kiss.
Perhaps he deserves both.
6
INGRAM
I have no self-control. Sue me.
One minute we were talking business and the next thing I know I’m all over her and she’s climbing me like a monkey in a tree.
The Downer Dan inside my head tells me it’s just my dry spell. I work too hard. No time for dating.
But I know that’s not true. The few times I’ve forced myself to take girls out, not one measured up to Rosemary. It’s actually been detrimental to my love life. Even when a date was going well, Imaginary Rosemary would always make an appearance, shaking her head at my stupidity.
Now I realize my expectations of Imaginary Rosemary fell woefully short. Real Rosemary is raising the bar exponentially. I’ll never recover.
I’m just a tiny bit scared because if this thunder and lightning show is any indication of what’s in store for us, I’m convinced we’ll go up in flames like the ending of Like Water for Chocolate. Muy caliente. The Notebook has nothing on that movie.
Rosemary’s lips are soft and warm—and she’s a live wire under my touch. Extremely responsive. Primal. And those breathy little sounds she makes send me over the edge. I’m mad with hunger, greedy for more. I can’t explain it. I want all of her—I want her mind, her smiles, her spirit. And yeah, I appreciate her body, too. Hey, I’m a guy.
She exhales hard. It drives me freaking crazy. My fingers snake through her beautiful hair and I treat myself to a handful. I tug gently, just enough to give me access to her neck. She’s so into it. I pepper her with sweet kisses along her jawline, all the way down to her collarbone. Her skin is pliant and dewy and I’ve decided I’ve passed the point of no return.
I’m falling. Hard. It’s no surprise. I’ve carried a torch for her for too long.
I explore t
he column of her gorgeous neck and every nerve ending in my body comes alive when she releases a guttural breath. This woman is dangerous. All my blood has left my brain. I’m on reaction mode now.
“Ah... Rosemary... what you do to me.”
Her hands are everywhere. Heat-seeking missiles desperate for skin on skin contact. She seems to especially like the firm sinews of my forearms. Also, a stealthy finger finds its way between the buttons of my shirt to make sure my abs are in working order.
Don’t tempt me, woman. I am not that attached to this shirt.
Something like a growl rumbles within me. We’re coming in fast and furious, hot on the runway. It pains me to slow it down. Too many years of longing have led to this moment. I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a long time. But I don’t want to come on too strong. She’s too important to me. I want to do this right.
I cup her face, brushing my lips on hers with feather-light touches. Her eyes are drugged and heavy and her rosy lips are plump and raw. She looks like a woman who’s been properly and thoroughly kissed. I love to see her like this. She’s so sexy. I’ll do anything for her. I’ll feed her grapes and rub her feet. I’ll drop chocolate chips on her tongue. I’ll bring her sweet wine. I’ll lasso the moon.
She lifts her gaze to meet mine as our breathing calms. There’s a dialogue where words fail us. “You have my heart,” I say with my eyes. “Take it and do what you will. I’m yours.”
She sucks in a breath and her eyes go round, rimmed with a trace of salt tears. No, please no. I spooked her.
“I can’t do this.” She steps away, trembling. “It’s all wrong.”
“Please, Rosemary. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Her features grow stern. “I know you didn’t. It was a mistake.”
She puts some distance between us, and my heart rips from my chest.
“Wait.” I reach for her but she recoils. I manage a feeble hold on her pinky. “Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to say. Emotions are high because we’re trapped in here. I get it. You’re tired... or bored. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Don’t say that. That kiss...”
“Shouldn’t have happened.” She turns away and leaves me behind, taking her shoes with her.
“Where are you going?” She’s still stuck with me, after all.
She answers back without turning around. “To pee.”
7
ROSEMARY
My reflection stares back at me from the bathroom mirror and I’m reaching for some kind of affirmation to offer her. I don’t know any real ones. What was that one from Saturday Night Live? I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.
I don’t like me very much right now, so what kind of message does that broadcast to the world? I just turned down Ingram Connery Prescott the Third. That was either extremely wise or extremely stupid. I still haven’t decided which. Maybe I could have rolled with it. See where it led. Risked another heartbreak. Gotten in a few more earth-shattering kisses. Whew. He was freaking on fire. Rocking my world upside down. My skin still feels tingly all over.
Darn it, Ingram, why did you have to go there?
“And you.” I point at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes are rimmed with pink and a little puffy. Unlike the club lights in the warehouse, the bathroom fluorescents are unforgiving. It’s not a pretty sight. “Why did you let him get you hot and bothered?”
I felt up his abs for Pete’s sake. I bang my head on the mirror.
Then again, he was doing some things to me, too. Things I liked very much indeedy. I was under his manly spell. He coerced me. I plead temporary insanity, Your Honor.
I splash water on my face and freshen up the best I can. Welp, no use overreacting. I can’t avoid the man all night. Or can I? Nope. I’ll go out there and face him like the grown-up I am. He’s not my childhood crush. He’s just a dude.
I get back to the scene of the crime to find another bed of flour bags. It’s bigger than the first one Ingram made and covered with a fire blanket—or maybe it’s a large oven mitt. Whatever it is, and wherever he found it, I’m sure it’s better than nothing. My heart goes a little soft at the gesture. There’s no hope for me, is there?
Ingram’s on the smaller stack of flour sacks with his head bent down. His fingers hold chunks of his hair. Does he realize I’m here? If I’m quiet enough, maybe he’ll reveal his deep, dark secrets and I’ll feel much better about my non-pep talk in the bathroom.
“Why?”
Hark! He speaks.
He lifts his head and levels me with his weary eyes.
“Just tell me why, Rose. Do you have a boyfriend? Is that it?”
“No.” I’m probably too quick with my answer.
“Then why? What did I do wrong?”
What. Did. He. Do. Wrong. Hmmmm.
“How much time do you have?”
He waves his arms in a sweeping circle. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Right. Moment of truth. Somehow the sweet taste of vindication I’d dreamed of isn’t all that delicious. I’d rather shove this whole bag of flour in my mouth than unearth this old hurt. But the shovel’s already in the ground, so here goes.
“My Senior prom.”
“I don’t follow.”
“My Senior prom, Ingram. My Senior PROM!”
“Okay, got it. Your Senior prom. What happened at your Senior prom?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He runs his palm over his face. That same strong palm he had all over me fifteen minutes ago. Gah! Focus. I’m supposed to be angry.
“I’m sorry, Rosemary, but I don’t get what this has to do with us. I wasn’t at your prom.”
“Exactly.”
He grunts and pushes up to his full height. He’s giving me the hair show again, pacing and mussing his silky locks.
“Throw me a bone, here. I really don’t get how your Senior prom has anything to do with... that hot kiss. Or why you ran out of here. Did some guy hurt you? Broke your heart?”
“YES!” I scream. Wow. I’m surprised at how cathartic that feels. I should scream more often.
Ingram’s standing in front of me before I realize he moved. His warm hands caress my shoulders. He speaks softly, barely a whisper, and he’s so gentle, I almost believe him when he says, “That guy’s not me. I’ll never hurt you.”
I can’t even look him in the face. If I do, I might crumble.
“That guy is you.” He doesn’t even remember. It was that insignificant to him. Mr. Ivy League.
“Me? I... I was away at school. Hundreds of miles away.”
“You promised me you’d come. You said you couldn’t wait.”
His brows twist in dismay, putting deep wrinkles in his forehead.
“I didn’t even know when your prom was. I would have dropped everything if you’d asked me to take you. Even my finals.”
I shake my head, trying to wiggle from his magic man sorcery.
“You don’t believe me. Rosemary, I swear. I would never break a promise to you.”
“And yet you did. You even told me what color dress to buy.”
His gaze scans my body unapologetically. “I think I’d remember a conversation like that.”
I smack his arm. “Pig.”
“So sorry.”
“You wrote me back. I read your words over and over again. But they were all lies.”
“Hold up. This was an email?”
“No. I’d at least think you’d remember all the letters I sent you.”
“Letters? You wrote me letters? And mailed them?”
“Yeaaah. That’s usually how you send letters.”
He stares off, playing dumb. “I never got any letters.”
“But you wrote me back. You even quoted Taylor Swift songs.”
“I don’t even know any Taylor Swift songs.”
“You said... you loved me.”
“That’s the only true part in this whole crazy story. I’ve
loved you ever since that summer before your Senior year when you and Bing drove me back to the University. I probably loved you before then but didn’t realize it. The way you helped carry boxes into my room and shoveled pizza in your mouth with the worst of the frat boys... I was a goner.” He chokes out a soft half-laugh. “The frat brothers used to tease me about it.”
“Pretty words, Yale Boy.”
“You know I went to Stanford, right?”
“Yes, yes. But Stanford Boy doesn’t have the same ring. I remember where you went to school. Duh. That’s where I sent the letters.”
Awareness dawns on his features. “You sent them to the Frat house?”
I nod, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. There’s a serious Immortal Beloved vibe goin‘ down in my head. Beethoven’s stuck in the rain with a broken carriage wheel while his love awaits. But she can’t wait forever. And she’s gone when he arrives too late, just missing her by minutes. It rips my heart out every time. And yes, I do realize I watch too many period dramas.
“No wonder the guys never shut up about you.” He’s speaking under his breath into the distance. It’s more of a thought than a statement. “Rose, I moved out of the Frat house before Christmas break. I couldn’t stand those jerks.”
“So, if it wasn’t you who answered my letters...”
“It was probably Nate. Or Deke.”
I don’t remember any Nate or Deke but I imagine a picture of two quintessential frat boys and my blood boils. Ingram snaps his gaze back to me. He’s wearing that same Beethoven look of horror.
“I came home to see you graduate high school. I came to tell you how I felt.”
His eyes search mine and I can see all the years we spent hating each other flood to the surface and bleed out. “When you saw me after the ceremony your exact words were, ‘Kiss my grits.’ I’ll never forget how it felt when I realized you weren’t joking.”
“Kiss my grits? I said that?” I shouldn’t want to laugh but it’s too good.