The Kisser

by Liv Kingstown

Against Ree’s wishes, I reach for the bag.

  “Taylor! Stop fumbling over yourself,” Penny scolds. “Leave her be. You’re behaving like a buffoon. She can manage.”

  Considering my grandmother’s tone, I reluctantly clear out of the way. I’m struggling to watch Ree move. My insides are twisting, wishing I could help her to do something as simple as sit since it’s obvious she’s having difficulty just getting her butt down.

  She said she’d never danced before and now I’m wishing I could’ve really helped her with that last night. In truth, I wish I was the guy who had carried her out instead of just standing there—watching.

  7

  Rerun

  I study the agreement Taylor signed that will put him on tour with the Patrizia Ballet. My boss is going to give me a raise when he sees this. If not, I might consider expanding my skillset from social to talent management and go into business for myself.

  “Thank you so much, Taylor,” I say proudly as I slip the document into a file folder and into my bag. “Now, about the photo shoot tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I like the idea,” replies Penny. “It appears the more video and pictures we share of Taylor plus a few of the other more attractive dance students,” she frowns at my leg, “the higher our enrollment and sponsorship becomes.”

  “Taylor?” I give him my best smile, trying not to appear too salesy. “Do you have time to do a photo shoot with me in the evening? At the school. It’ll be quick. Just a few poses.”

  His grandmother interrupts with a rattle in her voice. “He has time when I say he has time. You’ll make time for this, won’t you, Taylor?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says to her, although his eyes are fixed heavily on me.

  “Wonderful,” I say, deciding to leave before he changes his mind.

  I grab the handle to my cane and attempt to stand but I slip. An excruciating pain surges from the sole of my foot through my heel wrapping around my ankle and shoots up my calf forcing me to fall with my butt planted back on the sofa.

  “Child, are you okay?” asks Penny.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m okay,” I lie before she never invites me back.

  “Let me help you,” says Taylor, gripping under my arm to pull me up while grabbing my bag. “I insist this time. I don’t want you to end up suing us if you should get hurt.” He turns his head towards his grandmother.

  “I wouldn’t sue.” Why would he think that?

  “Hmm,” hums Penny, flicking her nose with a faux manicured finger displaying a gaudy pearl ring. “Taylor’s right. We don’t want you to get hurt. Let Taylor escort you out. In fact, Taylor, why don’t you take the poor girl home, so she doesn’t trip on herself.”

  “You don’t drive?” Taylor asks me.

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he says, gripping my arm more tightly as we walk towards the front door. “You ride the bus.”

  Exiting the Rose Mansion, which looks like it was handcrafted by Greek gods, Taylor escorts me between tall white columns that lead down white marble steps. He asks me to wait, handing me all my things, while he goes to pull a car around.

  As I wait, I notice the throb in my foot. Ever since I slipped last night, my foot has been pulsing painfully.

  Taylor’s engine revs when he pulls up in front of me but I’m reluctant to get in. He rolls the window down while fixing his sunglasses over his eyes and I swallow my pride. “Woman, c’mon. Get in,” he encourages.

  I glance down at the car door handle and then look up to the open gate leading out of the estate. This is one of the reasons why I learned to never accept a ride and decline to have too many friends. I hate to be an inconvenience. I should’ve made a better effort to refuse a ride. It’s embarrassing that I can’t even help myself get into Taylor’s car, at least, not with everything I’m holding in my hands. I consider making a run for it even though I know I won’t make it far.

  “Shit,” Taylor curses to himself, getting out and stomping around the back end of his fancy sports vehicle. He yanks away all I have in my arms and opens the car door for me. The way he does this seems extremely uncoordinated. He spins a few times, trying to work his way around me. I would’ve never guessed he was a dancer if this had been the first time we’d met.

  “You’ve never opened the door for a girl before, have you?”

  “Nope,” he admits, putting his hand at my back to nudge me in.

  I make one more attempt to make my own way home. “Taylor, you don’t have to—”

  “Ree, get in,” he says.

  He knows my name!

  I don’t even think his grandmother knows my name. “Girl,” “You there,” “Excuse me,” “Child,” are all the ways she’s addressed me.

  As I flop into the vehicle, Taylor takes my cane from my hand.

  “I need that,” I plead as he shuts the door on me.

  From the side mirror, I see Taylor pop the trunk and dump all my stuff in the back, including my cane, which makes me nervous, before he climbs into the driver’s seat to rev the engine.

  “Where do you want to eat?” he asks.

  “Oh,” I pout. It’s lunchtime and my stomach is grumbling, but I’d really just like to go home. “I don’t—”

  “Let me guess,” he interrupts, swiveling his head and lifting his glasses to flash me those deep, dark indigo blues. “You don’t dance. You don’t drink. You don’t go out. So, I guess you don’t eat either.”

  I shuffle with my hair to cover my face. “I just meant I don’t—”

  “Tell me what you like to eat, and give me a straight answer for a change, will you?”

  I’ve been giving him straight answers. He just won’t listen to or accept them. Surely, this is as straight as it gets. “Mac and cheese.”

  His tongue comes out of his mouth as he gags. “Macaroni and cheese?”

  “Microwave mac and cheese.” I clarify. “I pretty much eat that every day.”

  “Seriously? Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for you?”

  “I’m alive.”

  “Not for long.”

  It’s a shame that I have to tell him, “I don’t cook. I’ve learned to stay away from hot kitchens. Slipped and fell too many times. Not to mention, I don’t want to create any kind of catastrophe. I’d never outrun a fire if one should ever ignite.” I cross my leg to hide my boot the best I can but my skirt flips up high on my thigh as I do this. Quickly, I pull the hemline down.

  “That’s good to know if I should ever decide to turn the heat up.” He’s devilishly looking at my leg but I don’t think it’s my foot. I think he’s looking between my thighs!

  Taylor revs the engine loudly and the next thing I know my back is pressed flat with my spine sunken into the black leather of his bucket seat as we take off.

  Twenty minutes into the drive that has taken us deep into the city, I glance over at Taylor. He’s been glancing at me as well—finally looking at my foot. He’s curious about it. Most people are. He’s also refraining from saying or asking anything about it, as most people do.

  Recognizing familiar buildings and realizing I didn’t give him any directions, I ask, “Taylor, how’d you know to come this way?”

  “You live past Seventh Street.”

  “I didn’t tell you that.”

  “The Bus.”

  “Oh, right,” I mutter, feeling my heart flutter with the thought he remembers.

  Watching him turn into a gated underground parking structure, my heart rate picks up. “This isn’t where I live.”

  “Nope, this is my place.”

  My foot throbs with the memory of last night’s fall. “Your place? Taylor, you really should take me home.”

  “I will,” he says, pulling into a reserved stall where he throws the car in park and cuts the engine. “Right after you drink, eat, and then agree to go out and dance with me.” Removing his sunglasses, he swiftly gets out of his car.

  After grabbing my cane from the back, he comes
over to open the door. I’m as reluctant to get out now as I was to get in earlier.

  “C’mon, Rosie. Don’t make me chase you. Like you said, you’ll never ever outrun a catastrophe, and right now, that’s me. So, get your pretty little ass out of the car.”

  “Ass?” My jaw drops! How can he say that? “That’s rude.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m a Rude Boy, just like Rihanna sings.”

  My eyes blink emphatically at him and he changes his tone, putting his hand out. “Okay, I won’t say ass if that seriously offends you. Will you bring your sweet derriere out here so I can make you lunch? You can tell me all about this thing.” He twirls my cane. “Would you believe I thought this was an umbrella when we first met?”

  That explains his continued interest. He’s not interested in me. He just feels sorry for me. “Don’t you have to go to the school and dance or train or something?”

  He picks up my hand. “Yes, but what would you expect me to do if a girl with special needs needed to learn how to dance.”

  “Please don’t call me special needs.”

  “Oh, you thought I was talking about your foot?” He points at my boot while sizing me up.

  Jesus, he’s so cocky. Nothing like I thought he was going to be. Rumors did say he was full of himself, but I always hoped he was sweet under all that sexiness.

  “What else besides my foot could you be talking about?” I ask.

  Taylor bends forward. “You need me, Ree.” Our eyes lock as he licks his lips. “You need me to make up for letting you fall last night or I’m never going to live with myself. I never let my dance partners fall.” He sighs. “And I genuinely want to help you dance, but not before I feed you some real food first. Now, come out.”

  I do as Taylor says. He’s gritting his teeth and I figure I could argue with him all day or appease him. I choose the latter since he’s my client. Not to mention, I get the feeling he’s the type to get turned on by arguing and I don’t want that.

  With my hand in his, Taylor helps me out. He hands me my cane and stares at my feet as we walk to the elevator side by side. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing happened to me.”

  He huffs. “Something had to have happened to you.”

  “Nope.” I pick up my pace despite my nerves firing against the pulled tendons in my heel.

  “Oh, c’mon. You can tell me,” he begs and hits the elevator button.

  “I could,” I smirk. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

  Squinting an eye, he replies, “So, you’re a rogue spy then. Got injured in the line of duty. Is that it?”

  “Yep.” The elevator doors open and we step inside.

  “No, seriously,” he says. “What happened to you?”

  “No, seriously,” I reply back. “It’s none of your business.”

  The elevator doors close. “Are you ashamed or something?”

  “No,” I reply, although I’m absolutely embarrassed to be having this conversation. No one has ever been this forward with me about the issue. Never. Not in my whole life. “Why does it bother you so much?”

  “It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Sure, it does.” My embarrassment is turning into anger. “My foot is the elephant in every room I enter.”

  “I happen to like elephants,” he says. “I got to ride one when I was a kid when my grandmother took me to learn tumbling in Asia, although I believe it was really to teach me discipline. Have you ever ridden an elephant?”

  “No.”

  “Horses?”

  “Nope.”

  He tilts his head to examine my legs again.

  Jeez! Does he not have any shame?

  “What about a bicycle? Have you ever been on a bike before?”

  “I’m sorry to say, no.” I answer.

  “Well, that sucks. You don’t get around much, do you?”

  “Not really and I’ve never been on a motorcycle either, so you don’t have to ask about that.”

  “How about dick? You ever ride one of those before?”

  “Gah!” I gasp. What did he just ask me?

  “Holy fuck. You’re a virgin?” A smile bigger than the continent of Asia and as devious as hell formulates on his face. “How old are you?”

  Planting my face in my palm, I regret ever wanting to meet Taylor. “You know, you’re nothing like the person I thought you were going to be.”

  The elevator doors open. “If it makes you feel any better, for a year, I thought my marketing manager was a man.”

  “Why would you think that?” I smirk, knowing well why he would think that. My name is at the bottom of my emails.

  He tugs on my elbow, encouraging me out with him. “I don’t know. I guess I never really cared to read the full text of everything that lands in my inbox. What’s your real name anyway? It’s not Ree.”

  “It’s Rerun.”

  “Whatha?” He pauses and we are stalled in the elevator doorway. “Rerun?” He’s laughing to himself as we make our way down the hall. “What kind of name is that? It’s a little ironic, don’t you think? Considering you can’t...”

  I stop to turn around to head back to the elevator, but I’m slow to turn. Of course, I’m slow. I can’t turn or run easily. My flippin’ foot is so achy, but I’m tired of being teased.

  “Wait a second. What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’ve had enough of being the butt of your jokes. Would you mind taking me back to your car to get my things, so I can take the bus home?”

  He cups his hand around the back of my neck and massages.

  Jeez, does he not know boundaries? Can he not see that I’m pissed?

  I slap his hand away.

  “Ow!” he cries. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I think you’re just overly sensitive.”

  “I think you’re just an asshole.”

  He rubs the area where I’ve smacked him. “So, I’m not allowed to use the word ass, but you are?”

  “I want to go home.”

  He exhales, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I know I’m coming off a bit like a jerk.”

  I grip my cane tighter. I want to whack him with it. “Really? You think?”

  “I just...” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to behave.”

  “Because I’m ‘special needs,’” I scoff.

  “No,” he groans. “Because...” He exhales. “Because you’re different.”

  “You mean I’m not normal.”

  I want to sob. I know I’m different and I don’t want it to get rubbed in my face any more than is already done.

  “If it makes you feel any better, you should know I’m not normal either,” he says, moving my hair behind my ear, which makes me melt, turning me into putty.

  “Well, yeah, because you’re better than normal. You’re amazing. And perfect. And famous,” I remind him.

  He shoves his hands adorably into his jean’s pockets, rocking back and forth on his toes. “So, you think I’m special, too, then, huh? Am I special enough to be worthy of a second chance?”

  “Errr.” I blush. He’s not just special or amazing, but sexy, cocky, and rude—worst of all, clever.

  “Taylor, if you’re just teasing, trying to get with me because you just found out I’m a virgin—”

  “Pfft. I’m not trying get with you because of that.” He shrugs. “That only added to my motivation. I was trying to get with you loooong before that. Since yesterday. On the bus.”

  I shake my head. “You’re terrible.”

  “No, I’m special.” He points a finger in my face. “And you need to remember that. Are you going to let me cook for you? I promise you’re going to think I’m even more special when I make you one of my favorite specialties.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Ginger salmon.”

  I grit my teeth. “I knew it!
I knew you loved seafood.”

  “Mmm,” he groans. “It’s not fair that you know me so well, so it’s only fair I get to know you, too. Whaddya say?”

  He steps up to me, closing the space between us, where I can smell his cologne and I regret that I would pretty much eat anything he put in my mouth right now.

  I say, “Okay, but no more teasing.”

  “Pfft. No, of course not.” He loops his hand behind my waist to nudge me to turn back around. “Rosie, baby,” he chuckles darkly. “We are waaay past teasing. In fact, we should probably eat and then skip straight to foreplay.”

  8

  Taylor

  I’m surprised this woman has never had sex before. It’s possible she’s never gotten intimately close with anyone. Not even a little. Not. At. All.

  It makes me nervous, really.

  It’s obvious she’s extremely self-conscious of her foot, but I don’t think she has any idea how pretty she is. The guy sitting next to her was not the only one looking at her at the club. Plenty of guys were checking her out. Hell, even the little kid on the bus is infatuated with her.

  I recall seeing her kiss her best friend. The act replays in my mind over and over.

  Slipping my fingers over and then under my neck collar, I tug to let out some steam. I don’t understand why I’m so hot about it. That peck between friends was hardly worth getting jealous over.

  Jealous? Was I jealous?

  There’s no way I could be jealous, I just met this girl. Although, it is intriguing how she says she loves me but she’s having a hard time showing it.

  Escorting her to my apartment, I keep my arm around her waist. “This one,” I say with a point to my door, pulling her in closer.

  “You know you don’t have to help me,” she says. “I can walk on my own just fine.”

  “I wasn’t helping you.” I shrug, pulling out my keys, knowing well that I was trying to keep her supported, so she won’t fall. “I just want to make sure you don’t turn around and try to escape again.”

  I open the door for her and put out my palm, showing her in. But instead of going forward she stiffens, clutching her cane so tightly that I can see through the transparency of her skin over her knuckles.