It's in His Kiss

by Caitie Quinn

  Lisbeth gave them her best pout as the two men asked us to wait outside. Once the doors fell shut behind them, she turned a smirk toward me.

  “He’s a little too sure of himself, don’t you think?” She pulled out the little mirror and reapplied her lipstick.

  I wondered who was the too-sure person as I watched her primp for a man she’d just met. Of course, she’d never been wrong before.

  “What happened to wanting a guy to want you for more than your body?” I asked.

  “Of course he does. I mean, he couldn’t want me dressed like this?” She waved at the dress again.

  “Lis, you haven’t even talked to him. He saw you surrounded by all your admirers and that’s that.”

  Lisbeth tucked her mirror back in her purse. “Just because you don’t have men wanting you from across a crowded room, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen to the rest of us.”

  Ok, so now it wasn’t just her, it was all womenkind I was less attractive than. Lovely.

  The guys came through the automatic doors and Ben’s gaze narrowed. Did he catch the way Lisbeth’s eyes grew round and sultry instead of narrow as they swung from me to him? He shook the bag in his hand and led us away. I couldn’t help the little internal grin I got from his not offering Lisbeth his arm again.

  The music drifting from open club doorways faded as we crossed the street toward the college area. At a dark corner, Ben stopped and faced us.

  Giving the CVS bag in his hand another little shake, he said, “We’re there.”

  Lisbeth’s nose squished up before she caught herself. “We’re where exactly?”

  “Disco Ball Bowling Alley.”

  Pushing open the dark brown door, Ben grinned as the music rushed out over us.

  “This is the something fun?” Lisbeth asked.

  “This is the something more than fun.”

  Lisbeth peeked through the door, her hand wrapping around Ben’s bicep as she leaned past him. After a moment, she pulled back and cocked an over-arched eyebrow at him.

  Seeing that she had zero interest in moving, I took the lead and marched past him through the graffiti covered door. Inside, colors flashed by me off the disco balls scattered about the room, the music rivaling that of a dance club.

  “I’m not going in there,” Lisbeth shouted through the door at us. “If you think I’m sticking my bare feet in used, public shoes, you’re not exactly more than a pretty face.”

  “I’d never expect you to. These made me think of you.” Ben dug around in the CVS bag. With a ridiculously overly showy sweep of his arm, he brought out a little pair of black socks with hearts on them and handed them to her. “And these made me think of you.”

  The next pair pulled out were Peanut M&M yellow.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Why does she get little hearts and I get blind-the-crowd yellow?”

  “What’d you think you were going to get, Sunshine?”

  “A headache.” I snatched the socks and marched to the counter, hoping everyone was following me.

  “Eight,” I said to the teenager at the register before I had a chance to change my mind. Reaching in my bag, I pulled out the money that should have been paying my cab fare away from this mess.

  A large hand covered mine before the bills cleared the leather.

  “There’s four of us. One lane.” Ben handed the kid some cash and scooted my shoes toward me. “Go warm up, Sunshine. I don’t want any excuses about how badly you’re going to lose.”

  Lose! He’d already stolen my notebook and used me to pick up my friend, there was no way I was letting him beat me at bowling.

  I mean, how hard could it be?

  I glanced at the little desks in front of each alley. All you had to do was roll a ball and knock down sticks. I could knock down stuff without trying. Heck, I’d taken out that bar stool like it was a straw hut and I was the Big Bad Wolf.

  Klutziness was finally going to be my friend. Roar.

  SIX

  I stood there, not really sure what to do with my super-Lysoled patchwork shoes as Ben slid another pair toward Lisbeth. I’d never seen anyone accept rented footwear like they were some overpriced designer I wouldn’t own.

  I guess there really was a first time for everything.

  “Lane eleven, ladies.” Ben cocked his head toward the alleys, pointing toward the far lane, and gave me a little shove. As I turned to go, his size twelves swatted my bottom with a dull thud. “That’s the lightest part of the butt kicking I’m going to give you tonight.”

  I really didn’t like him. I mean, good-looking and cocky go together so frequently it’s basically a cliché, but he brought it to a whole new level.

  At lane eleven – which just happened to be my lucky number so I was feeling hopeful – I dropped onto the bench-seat thing next to Lisbeth. She was already pulling the little metal clasp thing off her new heart covered socks.

  “He isn’t subtle, is he?” Lisbeth purred…yeah, she purred. “Little hearts. Very cute in a junior-high-check-yes-or-no kind of way, don’t you think?”

  I would have answered her, I probably would have even told her what she wanted to hear, but my socks weren’t as easily parted. They were fastened together with one of those plastic things that looks like a question mark. Ripping them apart didn’t work, so I’d resorted to gnawing through the plastic stem.

  “But,” she continued, smirking at the fuzzy yellow material hanging from my lips, the ankle pompoms bouncing about my chin. “What’s up with the bright yellow? Is he colorblind or something?”

  The stem snapped and my teeth slammed together with an inner-ear shattering clank. He had literally driven me to gnashing my teeth. What did this say about him? Nothing good. He’d probably be the perfect match for Lisbeth.

  I glanced over my shoulder, wondering what had happened to Ben and Dane. They were still at the counter talking to a guy in a white t-shirt with greased back hair. I had a little John Travolta flash, but then the music hit me. Okay, actually the hem of the poodle skirt of the girl who was roller skating by hit me. Either way, I glanced around suddenly afraid that we had been sucked into a fate even worse than Disco Bowling.

  60’s Themed Disco Bowling.

  Which, let’s stop and just consider the oddity of anything that has “60’s” and “Disco” in the same phrase…

  Not needing any more mocking than strictly necessary, I covered my new yellow socks with those foot-slut shoes.

  As the guys joined us, the music ended with a staticky click and the gates at the end of all the lanes dropped. Before I could look for the red emergency exit lights, Elvis’s I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You filled the silence, and a spotlight lit the end of our alley. The greased-back hair guy stood there, multi-color mod-skirt girls surrounding him with a swish of over starched crinoline.

  Bowling Theater. Who would have guessed.

  As I sat back to enjoy the show, Greaser Guy raised the mic and belted out the first bars of the song, little 60’s girls swooning about him until he strolled down the alley in our direction. There was no way this could go well for me. With a spotlight and a mic heading my way, I figured I’d probably accidentally maim someone or bring the building down around us.

  When the group got to the end of the lane, Greaser Guy gave each girl a good looking over before brushing them off one-by-one. Then, with frightening precision, he turned our way, his grin widening as he studied our group.

  Lisbeth perked up, doing that shoulder roll thing again to drop her dress down one arm before flipping her hair back in a move I swear she was considering patenting. I tried to slide my feet under the bench, praying I wouldn’t trip him as he threw himself at Lisbeth’s feet.

  Greaser Guy slid around the little score-keeping desk and moved our way, the song still flowing as every eye in the house followed him into our safely-out-of-the-spotlight area.

  And then, everything happened in slow motion.

  Greaser Guy passed the mic to his other hand and
reached our way. Lisbeth, her glossy lips slipping into a pouty smile, lifted her own to allow him to take it…or kiss it…or something. Only, he reached right past her. To me.

  He swept my hand from my lap and, with a gentle tug, pulled me to my feet and toward the spotlight. With an over-dramatized sigh, he collapsed to his knees, singing for my eternal love, if not my eternal mortification. And then, as he crooned the last promise of love, the lights went dead.

  SEVEN

  As the music ended and the light dimmed, I turned to escape back to our group. Before I made it more than two steps, the singer’s hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back into the lane and the center of attention.

  “Not so fast, miss.” He raised the mic and spoke to the crowd. “I may look like a flashback to a kinder, gentler time, but I believe women should be as giving with their gifts as men. And so, I’m going to hand the microphone over to my lovely partner for the next song.”

  With a thud, the mic ended up in my hand, the cord twisting between my feet as he gave me a gentle shove toward the center of the spotlight. My gaze rose, shooting though the light and into the darkness beyond to lock onto Ben, the forever Mocking Guy. His lips curled in a slight grin, a challenge issued with the mere cocking of his eyebrow.

  Beside him, Lisbeth laid a hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper who-knew-what in his ear. His light grin grew, his brow dropping as he turned toward her and said nothing. Probably stunned anew by her shabby-chic beauty. Without replying, he settled back on his plastic chair-bench seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

  He was really looking forward to watching me fail.

  My gaze slid toward Lis, looking for support, looking for my friend. Only I looked too soon. Well, too soon for what I wanted to see.

  You know those moments in life when you walk down the street and you glance up and see someone you haven’t run into for ages and their expression before their polite-person mask falls into place is not so welcoming? Well, that’s what I got. I got that moment. And I saw the ugly side of friendship.

  I saw dislike and a hope that I’d fail.

  There I was, dragged out of my nice little apartment to pretend to hit on men I had no interest in for her sad version of “research,” and now stuck at this warehouse of a bowling alley in a horrible neighborhood that smelled of over boiled hot dogs and stale beer. Trapped in this place because of yet another guy who wanted her and would do stupid things to have her. Not only would she let him, but she’d love every minute of it. And there was no way she’d share the spotlight in a good way… no way unless it was to watch me fail.

  I didn’t think so.

  We all have a past, things we’ve put away. And not all of those things are bad. Some are wonderful, wonderful things that just aren’t the core that moves our heart as strongly as something else.

  But that doesn’t mean they aren’t part of you any more.

  College had robbed me of something. It had robbed me of part of myself. Okay, that wasn’t fair. I had given part of myself away to be the girl my high-school-slash-college sweetheart wanted me to be.

  As he pledged his fraternity and became one of the Big-Man-On-Campus-In-Trainings, the idea of me being the nerdy girl I’d been in high school was unacceptable. He never said I was unacceptable, but I was more acceptable not being in choir. Or drama club. Or Latin debate. Yeah, I debated in Latin, you have a problem with that?

  And so, those things got put away for the boy who eventually threw me away. But that didn’t mean my heart didn’t remember them, didn’t long for them, didn’t long to sing.

  My gaze slid back to Ben, looking to see that smirk of his so I could watch it fall from his face when the words slid from my lips in a clear, perfectly pitched melody. The music started – a perky oldies tune – and that’s when my confidence slid away instead. Ok, it landslided away, but who was really counting? All I could think was, It figured.

  I totally blanked on the song.

  I knew I should have known it. It was vaguely familiar in the way that kid who moved away in kindergarten was when you saw him again as an adult. But, tune? Not really. Words? Not at all.

  I must have shown the panic on my face, because Lisbeth’s hand came up to hide what I could only presume was a smirk and Ben leaned forward for what I could only presume was a better view of my humiliation.

  The singer must have also seen my panic, because he stepped back into the sphere of shame – I mean the spotlight – and gently turned me toward the place where the scores were typically projected. The words were there in all their glorious 60s-ness. Throwing an arm around me, he whispered in my ear.

  “Almost there. 3…2…1…”

  And then it all came together. It was like getting halfway through a book and realizing I’d read it before.

  The words and the tune were so simple, so easy to grasp, that I was belting it out before I knew what I was saying. What the words were saying. There was no way Ben could have done this to me on purpose, but the coincidence was too great to discount him being in league with Lucifer. I didn’t even see it coming until the moment before the chorus flashed on the screen. By then, my memory had caught up with the words. The very ironic words.

  “If you want to know

  If he loves you so

  It’s in his kiss.”

  At this rate, I was going to have a justifiable reason to kill him. Even his mother wouldn’t be able to blame me for retaliating against this very public mocking.

  There was no way after making me sing about kisses that he was going to keep me from writing about them. As soon as the crowd stopped clapping – ok, they were cheering, so I hammed it up a bit – I was going to demand my notebook back and storm out of this bowling alley like a modern day Scarlett O’Hara. Never to be mocked again.

  Handing the mic back to the guy, I stepped off the brightly lacquered wood. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Lisbeth had put her happy face back on, clapping along with the rest of the group. Smiling as if there hadn’t been that moment where she wanted me to fail. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been more than a moment.

  Ben stepped forward, his grin a little wider than before, but he was brushed aside as Lisbeth rushed toward me.

  “That was awesome,” she gushed. “I didn’t know you could sing. Why didn’t you ever tell me. You… you… hidden talents girl. I never know what you’re going to come out with next, JJ.”

  The last word, the initials, were spoken in that sly way someone might say something when they want people to ask about it. When they know the answer and can’t wait to share it. When they have bad news or gossip.

  “Nice job.” Dane reached past Ben to high five me. “What’s the JJ stand for?”

  I knew it was coming, knew I couldn’t escape it, so I figured I might as well just get it over with. The smaller the production made of something, the smaller the deal people thought it was. Usually. I kept my gaze on Dane, not wanting to see the mocking attack coming when I spit it out.

  “Jenna Jameson.”

  Dane’s eyes rounded, but he had the good grace not to say anything. My gaze slid toward Lisbeth and there it was again. That pre-mask look of triumph.

  But it was Ben who couldn’t keep his mouth shout.

  “You’re named after a porn star?”

  EIGHT

  “I am not named after a porn star.”

  Honestly, you’d think people would get tired of asking that. Ok, so the same people didn’t keep asking it, but everyone did.

  “Not that I’m a porn expert or anything,” Ben said. “But I believe Jenna Jameson is not only a porn star, but the most famous one ever. I mean, even my mom’s probably heard of her.”

  I must have given him a look, because he rushed on before I could point out just how weird that was.

  “You know what I mean. You know who Heidi Fleiss is too, but that doesn’t make you a prostitute.”

  And I’d thought the conversation couldn’t get weirder. Next to me, Dane
cleared his throat, his brows raised over the hand covering his mouth. Apparently I wasn’t the only one wondering what was going on with Mocking Guy – who was quickly becoming Weirdo Guy. Before things could veer more, I jumped in.

  “And, anyway, it’s Jenna Drake. Jameson is my middle name,” I rushed on when Ben started to turn to Lisbeth for verification. “It was my mom’s maiden name.”

  Ben nodded. Dane nodded. Ben looked at Lisbeth, who began nodding. Yeah, this was an exciting night out alrighty.

  “So, are we going to bowl, or what?” I almost added that the sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could have my notebook back and escape. But that seemed rude even for someone as desperate to leave and socially manipulated into staying as I was.

  “Of course.” Lisbeth stepped into the center of our small circle. “Why else would we be here?”

  She slid a sly grin toward Ben. Yeah, we all knew why we were really here: So she could add another guy to her Ken Doll Collection. Did anyone remember my notebook?

  I glanced at my watch. How could it possibly only be 11:09?

  “So,” Lisbeth continued, stepping up on the edge of the alley. “I’m not much of a bowler. I take it there’s some type of form you need to do things right?”

  She ran her hand over the ultra-pink ball she’d chosen before hefting it. Turning sideways, she glanced toward us, that grin teasing more than just her lips.

  “Are they all this heavy?” she asked as she set it back down and checked her manicure. “That seems a little unfair for the girls.”

  Dane spun the balls, looking at the numbers carved into them. “Try this one. It should be a little lighter. Sorry it’s not pink.”

  Good Lord he was gorgeous. When he was being his normal charming self he was lovely, but when he focused that smile on a girl he was absolutely stunning. My heart stopped from collateral shivers. No wonder Lisbeth was working so hard to keep both guys in the game.