I shrug my shoulders.
He puts out his hand. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.”
“But I don’t want to go home.”
“I think you look great,” says the man sitting next to me and we all spin our heads.
It’s the guy who I was talking with the last time I was here. He’s kinda cute in a classic nerd sort of way, although his cigarette is a clue there might be less-nerd underneath.
“She most certainly does look great,” says another and another. Taylor’s friends have all come to gather around and they’re all guys—gay guys—except for the one.
Diamond.
“I think she looks wicked hot,” Diamond laughs. “Especially in those... what is that? A boot and flip flop?”
“Oooh, honey,” sings a man of mixed descent. “Why you wearin’ two different pairs of shoes? Ain’t your mama taught you how to match your clothes?” He laughs.
“Leave her alone,” says Diamond. “The poor bird is broke. See?” She lifts my skirt to show everyone the fact that I’m disabled.
They quickly take a glance and look away, except for one shorter fella who studies intently.
I hate that Diamond is so beautiful. Beautiful people can pretty much get away with anything. She’s coming across as angelic when she’s really poking fun at me. And I hate that she’s even more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her before, making me jealous. But I’m not feeling this way because of the tiny black dress her breasts are popping out of or the black boots like the ones I had on earlier that go over her knees to show off her toned thighs. It’s because Taylor can’t seem to resist looking at her boots either.
“Broke? What’s wrong?” asks the short guy and I’m beginning to feel isolated despite all the people standing around.
I lean over to Taylor. “I’d like to go home now.”
“But you just said you wanted to stay.” He looks flustered.
“I change my mind. I want to go.”
“No. You guys can’t leave! Taylor has to stay,” cheers someone else. “The dance contest is about to start. A thousand bucks goes to the winning couple.”
“And that’s going to be us.” Diamond steps up to Taylor, tugging on his collar.
“Nope,” he pulls her hands away.
“Awh, c’mon,” steps in Dirkland. I’ve never met him before but he’s as beautiful as Taylor and I know he’s Taylor’s best friend. “A few dancers from the Patrizia Ballet are here tonight,” he says. “We need to show them who’s boss. I say you surprise ‘em with a little flamenco.”
“I don’t give a shit about them.” Taylor rolls his head back with a glance in my direction. “And I’m not going to leave my date.”
“I’m sure she’s not going to mind. You don’t mind, do you?” Dirk eyes me up suspiciously.
“I mind,” says Ben. “He shouldn’t leave her here.”
“Listen, bartender,” Dirk chortles, “this is the life of a dancer. Why don’t we let Taylor’s date decide what she thinks he should do.”
All eyes land on me.
An announcer talks through the speakers overhead announcing the contest is about to start and Diamond reaches for Taylor’s hand excitedly.
“C’mon!” she blares. “We’re going to win this. It’ll be all over Instagram and YouTube by morning. You’ll see to that won’t you, Broken Bird?” Diamond’s smile is gleaming as if she’s already won the trophy.
Which she has.
Everyone is pushing Taylor, encouraging him to head out to the dance floor with the better dance partner and he’s smiling, biting his lower lip. This is what he wants. This is his passion. This is what he trains so hard to do and I feel a little guilty for wanting to hold him back. I think he can sense my feelings, so I’m sure to speak clearly, blurting, “I hope you win.”
“Hope?” smirks Dirk. “Have you seen this guy in action?” Dirk pushes Taylor onward. As Taylor walks hand in hand with Diamond, which makes me nauseous, Dirk slips up against my shoulder, which is odd. “Do you want me to help you out there to watch?” Dirk puts out his hand, which is surprising, but sweet.
“No, thank you.” I shake my head.
“Suit yourself.” Dirk takes off with the rest to watch.
I turn to Ben. “I’m going to take a breather outside.”
“Now?”
“Mhm,” I slip off the stool.
Ben shakes his head. “I don’t want you going out there by yourself.”
“I’ll go with her,” says the guy next to me, which is worrisome and I think it shows on my face.
“That’ll be great, Mark,” replies Ben, who then turns to me. “It’s cool, Ree. I’ve known Mark a long time.”
Mark grabs my cane, hands it to me, and then stands to put his elbow out with a sweet smile.
I feel a little weird. I came here with Taylor and I don’t want to be rude to Mark but when I see Diamond through the crowd caressing Taylor’s ass and wrapping her leg around his waist so he can lift then dip her, I figure a little friendly assistance isn’t so bad.
Mark is very nice. He lets me lead and doesn’t push or nudge me the way I feel Taylor does roughly sometimes, like Taylor’s always in a rush, so eager to let people know he’s a force not to be reckoned with.
Once outside, we make it into an alleyway and Mark lights up a cigarette also handing one to me, but I refuse. “You don’t smoke?” he asks.
“No,” I lean my back against the club’s exterior brick wall.
Mark leans back next to me. “You don’t smoke. You don’t drink. You don’t dance,” he says. “I’ve noticed these things about you the few times I’ve seen you here.” He sheds a sly side smile.
“Oh, have you?”
“Mmm. Makes a guy wonder what a girl like you does do.” He squints. “Tell me, what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m an artist. A graphic designer mostly and I work with online media, but I love to draw and take photos as well.”
“Ah, the creative type. Those are the ones you have to be careful of.”
Curious, I ask, “What makes you say that?”
“You never really know what’s going on in an artist’s mind. I bet you have all kinds of crazy ideas up there.” Mark points to his noggin, takes a drag of his cigarette, and blows. “That fella inside. He your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“He called you ‘his girl.’”
“Taylor has a lot of girls.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Really hot ones. And boys too, apparently, are at his disposal.”
“Everyone loves Taylor Rose.”
“Not me.”
“Oh, c’mon.” I roll my eyes. “Even for a guy, you have to admit Taylor is intriguing. Maybe even attractive.”
“He’s talented and pretty. He’s very pretty for a man. If I had eyes and lips like that...” Mark chuckles to himself.
“He’s beautiful and the best. It’s okay to be jealous. He’s a great man.”
“Mmm, more like a well-made machine. I’ve seen him dance. He’s good. He’s quite exact in his movements. Perhaps too perfect, but I can hardly find someone who leaves his date to dance with someone else intriguing or attractive.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Then how come he’s in there and you’re out here?”
I inhale deeply, hoping the stretch of my lungs expanding will ease the constriction in my chest.
“Hey, you know what, Robert?” Mark asks.
I gasp! “How’d you know my name?”
“The bartender,” he smiles, taking another drag. “I asked him weeks ago. I just regret I didn’t ask him for your number as well.”
“Damn, Ben!” Seriously. I’m genuinely upset. My name, unlike my foot, is the one unusual thing about me I can hide. “How’d you get him to spill my real name?”
“I’m a big tipper,” Mark chortles.
“Of course.” I facepalm myself.
>
“Listen, do you want to get outta here?”
“Hmm.” I pull down, straightening my dress.
“Or we can just hang out. I like this. Are you sure you don’t want to try taking a drag?” He puts the cigarette close to my lips.
“Why are you trying so hard to get me to take a puff?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, shuffling his feet. “You look like a girl that needs to live on the edge a little.”
“Hmph, and you think you can help me with that?”
“Yep,” he nods. “I’m holding a gateway drug not more than an inch from your mouth and I’m fairly certain you’re going to try it.”
My eyes cross, straining to look down my nose, trying to get a good look at the ciggy Mark has planted directly in front of my face.
“C’mon,” Mark groans. “It’s not going to kill you.”
“Have you not read what the Surgeon General of the United States says about tobacco use?”
“It’s one little drag. You’re not going to die from one puff. Seriously, live a little. Take a walk on the wild side.” His eyes twinkle as they widen.
Wild. I can only imagine what wild moves Taylor is performing with Diamond right now.
I take the cigarette from Mark’s hand, acknowledging the fact there’s a spark as our fingers touch.
I wrap my lips around the butt and speak through my teeth. “Now what?”
“Inhale. Keep your lips pressed and breathe in through your mouth,” he says, which I do.
“Ree!” shouts Taylor and my entire body chokes as I cough.
“Shit,” says Mark. “Your pretty boy looks upset. This is going to be more fun than I thought.”
“What are you doing?” Taylor flails his arm, stomping towards me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I just needed to get some...” I cough again. “Air.”
“Fuck that. That’s bullshit. You had me worried.” He takes the cigarette from my hand to stomp on it.
My throat feels constricted. I still can’t stop coughing.
“Hey, buddy,” steps in Mark. “Don’t talk to her like that. I think you need to go back inside and leave her be.”
“Dude, don’t call me your buddy and fuck you,” Taylor curses. “Move along. Rerun came here with me.”
“Sorry, bud.” Mark puts his arm up between Taylor and me. “She’s not leaving with you.”
I. Still. Can’t. Stop. Coughing.
“Gu-uh-guys,” I croak.
“Move your hand away.” Taylor’s voice sounds threatening. “She’s with me.”
“You already have a partner.” Mark steps up. “Why don’t you go join up with her instead? You seemed more eager to hold her hand than this one’s.”
“Guyssss,” I hiss, bent over at the waist. I feel green. I think I’m going to be sick.
I loop my fingers through the closest hand I can see to keep my balance, which is Mark’s. Taylor tries to pull my hand away and the two men end up arm wrestling. I scream when Taylor punches Mark in the face.
Not once.
But twice.
Mark goes down and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There’s blood everywhere! I’m so afraid another fist is about to hit Mark in the face again so I spring upright, swinging my cane.
Taylor shrieks with a grunt, grabbing his cheek, and I think I’m truly about to die now.
I’ve hit him—my idol, my client, the guy I’ve been making out with for the last two weeks, in the face!
He touches his cheek to where I’ve made a gash, right under his eye, and he looks into the palm of his hand at smeared blood.
I panic, reaching for him. “Taylor, I’m so sorry.”
He snatches my cane from me and raises it above a bent knee. I think he’s going to break it!
But he doesn’t. He looks at me sternly and throws my cane aside before he stomps away back into the club.
“Ah, fuck,” mutters Mark.
I reach down, landing hard on my knees to try to help him but, of course, my balance is off and I fall to my ass.
“Mark, I’m so sorry. Jeez, your nose is bleeding really bad.” His nose is leaking like a faucet.
Pinching the end, he gurgles, “I gotta get inside. Sorry, I don’t mean to leave you, but I gotta stop this bleeding.”
“I understand,” I say, watching him struggle to get up and march away.
As he makes his way in, someone else pops out.
A pair of six-inch stiletto knee-high boots finds their way through onlookers still staring at me as I try to get up from the ground.
Those killer boots strut straight to my side. “You need this?” asks Diamond, picking up and twirling my cane.
Reluctantly, I reach for it, but she keeps it from me.
“You’d be happy to know we won,” she says. “A thousand bucks. Aren’t you proud?” Diamond swings my cane in a bigger circle. She twirls the thing as if she knows how to handle it better than I do. “You know, neither Taylor nor I need any of that money. I was thinking of donating it. You must be affiliated with a charity of some sort. Am I right?” She pokes the bottom end of my cane in my face. “Let me know, which it is. Tomorrow, I’ll be happy to donate my winnings to the less fortunate.”
14
Rerun
Pick. Yourself. Up.
My foot pulses, but interestingly, I’m not feeling any pain. Stupidity is the only thing I can feel right now.
I reach in the pocket of my dress and feel for my keys and phone. Slowly but surely, I stand and flip to the Uber app to call for a ride.
Of course, I can’t get any service in this spot between buildings.
As music blares, booming through brick from inside the club, I find I’m leaning a little more heavily on my cane each time I take a step as I make my way to the corner of the street.
I think I am in pain, but I don’t think it’s registering.
Pulling out my phone again, I check my cell to see if I have any service, but again, I can’t seem to get the app to work.
I’m so frustrated. I don’t understand why I can’t get any service! And worst yet, I can’t understand why I didn’t bring any money.
Because Taylor told you not to. He said he was going to take care of you.
I decide to keep moving. I’m sure Ben is going to be pissed and I don’t want to hear an I-told-you-so from him right now. The bus stop isn’t far from here and I can always hop on. In fact, there’s a stop right in front of the Vander Rose Conservatory, which isn’t more than...
I sigh. A few long blocks.
Keep. Yourself. Moving.
It was just a few weeks ago that I was so excited—actually, I couldn’t wait—to meet Taylor. I wonder why I never pushed harder to meet him, my client, sooner.
A whole year, I think to myself.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I was afraid to meet him because once I knew the real him, he’d no longer be up on that pedestal where I love to admire him.
And now that I know who he really is, I figure I can stop worshipping the man because... he’s a jerk.
He’s Diamond’s equivalent. They’re both jerks—spoiled, egotistical, narcissistic overgrown brats who deserve each other.
I get near the end of the block and pause. I cannot deny that I’m really in pain now.
Move. Your. Feet.
I really want to go home. As soon as I do, I’m going to burn that stupid red dress and my sheets and anything and everything Taylor came in contact with. I figure I’m also going to need to schedule a meeting with my boss first thing in the morning. Hopefully, before Taylor can get to him so I can explain myself, perhaps exchange clients with a coworker, and still keep my job.
Oh, the job. Handling Taylor’s social media is going to be the hardest thing to leave. In truth, I miss the old Taylor—the one I didn’t really know. The one I used to fantasize about—massaging my toes and covering me in kisses. And the one that wouldn’t just dance for me but the one I could actu
ally dance with. Because in my dreams, both my feet worked just as good as his.
I make my way to the curb and let my toes hang over as I reach to place my cane down when I hear a roar. An engine revs before brakes screech as a familiar vehicle stops in front of me. Through the tinted windows, I make out the driver’s shadow. He reaches towards me, over the passenger seat, to push open the door, which swings wide open.
Taylor says nothing. He just retracts, revs his engine again, and looks ahead, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and the clutch in the other.
What does he expect me to do? Get in?
I spin my head. The streets are mostly empty. It’s got to be after midnight now. Ahead, I see the path I need to take to get to the bus stop and I’m sure the last one runs at 1 a.m. I’ll be slow, but I’m confident I can make it to the bus stop in time, except...
Taylor’s car is in my way.
He revs his engine once more. The rumble vibrates through my bones. Why won’t he say anything? I understand this is an invitation, but...
He gets out. He doesn’t even look at me, stomping around the back of the car like a bull seeking to mull over its next victim. He grabs the passenger door, opening it even further, and tugs on his collar, fanning himself before he circles his hand exaggeratedly to show me into the car.
I recall the spark I felt between me and Mark when our fingers touched. But what I feel with Taylor now, despite his clenched jaw, his eyes ablaze (not even on me), and his pissy demeanor, I don’t have to touch him to feel the scorch of his flames.
I know I’m so going to burn but I nudge my foot forward anyway and nearly trip! My boot has slid off the curb.
“Whoa, Ree” Taylor has me by under the arm.
We make eye contact and I catch sight of the cut on his cheek that I created, which hurts. It hurts more than my foot.
“I got you,” he repeats with a half grin and softening shoulders. His demeanor becoming less fiery as he tells me to, “Get in,” which I do.
The Kisser Page 13