Never Been Kissed: A Never Been Novel

by C.M. Kars

  It doesn’t necessarily hurt when he does none of these things. It doesn’t hurt when he turns and walks towards the voice. Probably the same girl he was with last week who wants breakfast in bed.

  It doesn’t hurt, but it sure is disappointing. Books have ruined me for life.

  ***

  “Broski!” I yell at Katie as she comes into my spankin’ new apartment. I try to see it like a stranger would, but Katie’s my best friend so that POV doesn’t work so well.My walls are slate gray, but the pictures make the room, not the ornate glass dining room table that I spent a fortune on, or the badass leather couches, or not even the beige zebra-striped carpet in my living room.

  Nope, the pictures tell people who I am. I found a black and white series of super heroes that are simple, elegant and so amazing I just had to have them. Over my leather couch, I’ve got portraits of Batman, Superman and Loki keeping watch over my apartment.

  Katie sets her groceries for the night on my counter, insisting she’ll make me dinner. I love to bake, but dinner? No. It doesn’t happen. I’ve been surviving on peanut butter and banana sandwiches for the past week. Something about using the stove to cook a full-blown meal scares me.I tried to learn from my Mom, a Greek displaced to Montreal, trying to keep track of recipes in a notebook. I hated it when she used to eye-ball spices and proportions. Or how she just knew what spices go with what, and just started adding a bit more vinegar to a salad, some oregano and a splash of oil to a salad. What if it doesn’t come out right the first time? Wouldn’t you just keep adding oil then vinegar then more spices in a vicious never-ending cycle?

  “I’m loving this place, Sera. Really proud of you for buying it.” I get a full Katie-smile, the kind with all white teeth that have been perfected with years and years of dental assistance.She looks around again, taking in all the furniture, the artwork.

  My throat gets thick, and I just end up nodding fast. I stare down at my hands, willing my eyes to stop being so bright.

  “Took some ovaries to get out your house and do what you’re doing. Even with all the shit that went down, you’re making a life here. And for all that...” There’s a plastic ruffling as she searches through her bags. “I brought wine. Please tell me you have a bottle opener. I forgot to bring one from home.”

  “Hell yeah, I have a bottle opener. I’ve been waiting for this night all week.” Turning from her, I move to the drawer that holds my target. Coming back to the counter, I find Katie standing on my side, and not the side of the living room’s. Her right ear gets closer to her shoulder, as she tilts her head at me. Her eyes are warm and just as bright as mine were a second ago.

  Katie moves in and hugs me. Katie gives the best hugs. I think it’s ‘cause she’s not really a touchy-feely kinda person. You have to earn one of her hugs by being important to her. She’s just...good. It’s all I can say about her, but it’s the only word that fits. She brightens up a room by laughing at even the corniest of jokes, and never lets anything really bother her. I wish I was more like her. Enjoying reality instead of escaping to the make-believe that fictional characters provide me. I’m weaker than Katie is, but even if she knows it, she’ll never disrespect me by saying it to my face.

  So I lose it.

  I sob into her shoulder, dropping the bottle-opener, clawing my hands into her shirt and squeezing so hard around her ribcage, I might cause damage to her lungs. I give her the kind of hug a dying person gives a living one, hoping to absorb some life into their decaying body. I’m trying to absorb some of her happiness into myself, her bravery, her strength.

  What’s even better? Katie squeezes her arms around me just as hard. And I sob harder, breaking in front of her and trusting her to help me pick up the pieces later.

  ***

  “How do you do this? It’s like magic.” I’m eating chicken marsala. I don’t know what marsala is, but this brown sauce on my chicken is the shit. Katie even made a potato salad using fingerling potatoes. They’re like really small, and there’s even a purple one! Say what? The dressing is oil, vinegar and green onions. All the flavours cause an orgasm in my mouth.

  “Buddy, you saw everything I did. It’s not hard. You just have to be calm about it is all,” Katie says, taking a delicate sip from her wine glass.

  “I’m Dirty Harry calm, and I know I can’t make a fine meal like this.” I shove potatoes in my mouth and take a slurp of some wine. The fifty-eighth food-induced mouth orgasm of the night. Bloody hell, this is awesome.

  “Are we gonna talk about before?” she asks.

  I swallow the wine-soaked potatoes and cut up some more chicken, drenching the meat in the brown sauce of amazingness. “If you mean to imply that we should talk about my little show of hysteria, then we are most definitely not. I’ve got all the Rookie Blue and Flashpoint episodes of the week PVR’d for you, and Jeopardy is going to be on in fifteen minutes.Hysteria takes a backseat to TV. You know this.”

  “Please tell me. How can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong?” I stare through the glass of my living room table, checking out my Green Lantern socks.

  “There’s nothing really to talk about. It’s been a hard couple of weeks. Hey, I got a promotion! Take a swig of wine to that!” I toss back the last bit in my glass, and bang it on the table, so a glass-on-glass chime fills the room. We both stare at each other and shriek “ANOTHER!” and snort-chuckle-laugh while I try not to choke around the piece of chicken I’m still chewing.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s your position now?”

  I grimace. “I’m the supervisor’s assistant. Paygrade goes up ten percent and the benefits are outstanding. Pretty pleased.” Not really.

  Katie taps her lips with her glass. “So, the tears before were tears of joy?”

  “Exactly! See? Nothing to talk about. I was overwhelmed by my pride and it just so happened it brimmed over into tears.”

  She gives me a glare with the intensity of a laser beam.“It’ll help if you talk it out, I swear.”

  I smirk. “All it does is make me sound like I’m complaining all the time. I hate that. Being whiny. What am I? A snotty rich kid that hasn’t got the latest designer jeans? Bloody hell.”

  “I really wish you’d stop speaking British. And you do it to annoy your parents. You’re Greek.” she says, gathering up her fork, knife and plate. I follow with my own.

  “I only do it so I don’t swear as much. There’s just something about cussing that soothes me. Also, it makes me feel closer to Tom Hiddleston.”

  Katie snorts. “Riiiiiiiiiiight.” She opens my dishwasher and starts putting her plate into it. My dishwasher is so awesome, I don’t have to rinse squat. “Speaking of the demons, what happened now?”

  “I-I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight. Tonight is me and my best bud doing our own thing. I got last night’s fight taped, too, if you wanna watch that first.”

  “Fine. But we will talk about it. I don’t give a fuck what your next excuse is gonna be, but you’re going to answer me. Got it?” Katie says, getting up in my face. Her index finger taps the tip of my nose and I end up rubbing it, taking a step back.

  “You know you’d sure give a lot of dudes shit-your-pants syndrome when you’d use your dominatrix voice. You don’t even need a whip.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Tell me how many guys you bagged this week, and how many you’ve tagged.” I grin at her. She blushes pink, and clears her throat, straightening her cream blouse, and smoothing her palms over her pencil skirt. The bitch got lucky in the body department. How could anyone look at me when I’m standing next to her? When she shines so bright and looks so beautiful? I’m not even a blip on the radar.

  “How many asked you out, K?” I poke her ribs, yelp when she karate chops my wrist. “Three? Four? Five? You’ve got pheromones leaking out of every orifice. What are you doing here with me?”

  “Chill out, sister. Yeah, five guys asked me out. All horndogs. No gentlemen. And no badasse
s, either. So I said no to every single one. There was no tagging. If there were tagging, I would call you afterwards. Pact of the sisterhood, swear to Venus.”

  I snicker until a solid knock echoes through my apartment.

  Katie’s perfect eyebrows high-five her hairline. One stays cocked, a question without really saying anything. “I thought you didn’t know anyone in the building! Who the fuck is that!? Should I get a knife? Check the peephole before moving the lock, dumbass!” She scream-whispers, clutching the back of my shirt as we make our way to the door. I check the peep-hole and feel my tongue get thick.

  “It’s just the dude from next door. Gimme a second.” I dislodge her hands from my shirt. “You ruin this, you’re buying me another one. Swear to God. Katie, back off. Go sit on the couch. He doesn’t have a machete.” That I can see.

  She snorts, but moves back to the couch and sits, all of six feet away from me.

  I open my door, and freeze. Without my glasses, earlier this afternoon, I knew he was hot, but the blurriness added a protection factor and let me deal with him as a normal person would. Now with my enhanced vision, he’s just... shit. Hotter than fire. He’s...volcanic.

  “Yo,” I say, showing off my gansta roots. High cheekbones covered with blond-brown stubble, piercing blue eyes that remind me of Loki’s and a sinful mouth with kissable lips. The eyes are a little eerie, the kind of eyes that look through you instead of seeing you. I’m supremely hot and bothered and uncomfortable at the same time.

  Hunter SexGod smirks at me, arms crossed around his chest. “Yo, yourself.”

  I can’t help but ogle the muscles that pull his hoodie taught along his biceps and chest. I practically salivate over his wide shoulders, his flat abs and lean hips.

  “What’s up?” I’m Rocky ghost-jabbing my fists in my head.

  The hot bastard can cock an eyebrow like Katie. Maybe they should date? Owww, why does that hurt so much? My hand tightens around the doorknob, and I hope Katie doesn’t get a look at this guy. I just want him to myself for a few seconds so I can pretend.

  “Didn’t we just do the whole hello thing?”

  I shake my head, trying to focus. “Yeah. But I meant, ‘what’s up?’ as in, what do you need? Understand the slight difference?” Now I’m talking to him as if he doesn’t speak my language. Not many people do.

  He nods stiffly, just a shallow dip of his chin. I have a feeling that he doesn’t move unless he needs to; I file it away for later. “I need to ask you for a favour.”

  Oh, not good. I want to do whatever he wants. That’s not good. His words make me want to volunteer for something dumb, or curtsy. Or jump on top of his big body and maul him.

  “Uh... Look, I don’t-”

  “Do you have the Disney version of Peter Pan?”

  My eyebrows punch low on my face in a scowl so severe, Voldemort would run. “Seriously?” I squeeze the doorknob tighter, letting the coolness seep into my palm. Reality. This is reality.

  “Would I be here otherwise?” Ouch. In my dreams, you so, so would.

  “I’ve got a problem with this,” I say. Here comes logic, to save the day. Keeping me sane. Keeping me smart. “You want a kid’s movie? For yourself? Look, bro, I don’t really care what you do with your free time, but if it’s to one of my movies then we got some serious problems.”

  Hunter rears back his head. He looks like he’s swallowed down rotten food only because someone’s pointed a gun at his head. “What the fuck? It’s for my nephew.” The way he squints at me like I’m crazy makes me think I’m in the wrong.

  But good-looking doesn’t mean good. “Prove it,” I say, notching up my chin.

  “Prove it?” Two words shouldn’t sound so dangerous.

  “Yeah!” I don’t know why I’m showing this guy my meagre backbone. I should be doing this to my parents, not some stranger who asked to borrow a movie. But I’m too far gone now, and back-pedalling our whole conversation would be embarrassing. “Bring the kid over. Make sure he’s real and not made out of plastic and air.”

  Hunter grimaces, rubs a hand over his mouth in agitation like I caught him in a lie. Tough shit and fifty points to Gryffindor! “Are we done here?” I ask, swinging the door to close. “Definitely done.”

  I may have made an enemy of my next-door neighbour, and I’m probably going to have to move, or sleep with my own machete under my pillow, but I just showed off a little bit of a backbone I didn’t know I had, and it was worth it.

  “What just happened?” Katie asks, now two feet behind me. I jump and punch her in the arm for scaring me.

  When she whines that I really did hurt her, I snap, “Like you don’t know what happens when I get scared. Shit. The guy next door, wants one of my Disney’s. Said it’s for his neeeephewww. Liar. I knew there’d be something wrong with him, even though he’s a sex god.”

  “Sex god? You’ve been holding out on me, Delos! Let me see!” Katie scrambles for the door, using Charlie Conway’s triple-deke on me to get to the doorknob.

  Just in time for another knock and for her to open the door.

  This. This is how real life is. Gorgeous guy meets gorgeous girl in the most oddest of places and times. It’s been written over and over in books and screenplays. The truth had to come from somewhere. Hunter’s gonna look at Katie and he’s going to want her. She’s going to want him back. And I’m not okay with that. But I’ll have to be.

  “Where’s Sera?”Hunter’s deep voice rings out in my apartment. I stand still, rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open. Did that just happen? I want to punch myself. Wake UP. Reminding myself that I have Wonder Woman boy shorts on, and therefore need to channel her badassness, I stomp to the door, moving out from behind Katie.

  “What now?” Except the last bit doesn’t come out so well, since a little kid is standing at Hunter’s feet, waving at me. My hand comes up on its own and waves back. He looks so much like Hunter. Same nose, same eye shape, same build, even. How old is he? Four, five? I point at him. “You want Peter Pan?”

  The little kid nods and gives me a sweet smile. Nephew. Hunter said the movie’s for his nephew. God, I’m sick.Who cares if it’s Hunter’s son or nephew or whatever. He’s not for you.

  I turn and move to my DVD bookcase, grab the movie and hand it to the little guy. When I place it in his hands, he holds it almost reverently, like the movie’s a precious treasure of some faraway land. In a way, it kinda is.

  “Thanks. He’ll have it back tomorrow, I swear,” Hunter says, nodding at me. He doesn’t touch the kid as he moves to his place next door.

  “Fine,” I say, waving to the kid. Why would Hunter lie? If the little guy’s his son, but Hunter won’t acknowledge him, then it’s a dick move, and I don’t hang out with assholes. Katie moves to close the door, twisting my lock and adding the chain. My hand comes up, keeping her quiet.

  “No talking. He might have Extendable Ears,” I whisper, finger over my mouth.

  “God, was that another Harry Potter reference?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks to my ceiling, praying for patience.

  “Hell yes. I won’t stop ‘til you’ve read them all.”

  “What series has seven books, huh? What is that?”

  “It’ll be the greatest adventure of your life. I promise. Did you watch the fight?”

  Katie nods. “I won’t ask who won.”

  “As if you’d even know what I’m talking about.”

  “WWE’s got nothing on Harry Potter.”

  “Sera, I hate to break this to you, but you’re going to die alone.” The words are said with a smile, and an arm-squeeze around my shoulders as my best friend guides us back to my badass couch.

  I wonder if she heard the truth in the words as much as I did.

  A week passes, and I don’t see Hunter or his kid. I say his kid, because I’m not stupid, and when a kid is your clone, well, means he’s yours. Nephew.Pffffft. Right.

  Katie’s called me every single day since seeing Hunter
and his hotness, wondering when I’m gonna get on that. Like he’s a mountain I’m supposed to climb or something.

  Shouldering my way through the lobby doors while attempting to keep all my grocery bags looped around hands, fingers and wrists, I’m now waiting for the elevator doors to close. I’m thinking about what I’m going to make for supper, mentally tallying what I bought in my head and deducting from my paycheck I’ll get next week. Anything to distract myself from the biting pain the plastic is causing, cutting into palms and fingers. I refuse to put them down at my feet. That’s admitting weakness.

  I finally get to my door, totally screaming in my head to hurry up and get the door unlocked, when movement out of the corner of my eye makes me freeze and turn my head.

  Hunter’s on his ass, back to the strip of wall separating our apartments, breathing hard like he sprinted up several flights of stairs. Something’s definitely not right. He doesn’t look good at all. I’m more than scared. The ostrich part of my brain just wants me to run away, lock my door and pretend he’s fine. The rest of me is wondering if this is a trick, and he’s going to stab me with a syringe loaded with a cocktail of drugs able to knock out Free Willy.

  What decides me is the way he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even look like he’s aware that I exist. I don’t know what trip he’s on, but it’s not hard to figure out it’s a bad one. His hands are holding onto each other like they’re the only thing he believes is real. His chest pumps up and down as he drags in air. As I get closer, I see little streams of sweat cascade down the sides of his face. The look in his eyes has me dropping my groceries and stuffing my hand in my purse to find my phone. I kneel down in between his spread legs, wondering what I should do, ignoring how much I now want to throw up. Call 9-1-1? Or get him back to his apartment? There’s a kid to think about, too, not just Hunter.