The Three Kiss CLause

by Harlan, Christopher

  “I certainly cannot let you know. We’re just playing house, you know that—acting for an experiment. I will not be seeing his. . . thing. . . anytime soon.”

  “Can you just say it? C’mon. Real quick before they get back. No one can hear you, I promise.”

  “Nope. Sorry, not happening. I’ll turn bright red.”

  “Stop being dramatic—just say it.”

  “Hey, look,” I say, trying to distract her. “The guys are coming back. Too late.”

  “Say it real fast, right now, or I’m telling Cormac about that time at the dorm.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” The time at the dorm is the most embarrassing thing that happened to me in college. It’s something I’d turn bright red about if the story was ever repeated.

  “You really want to test that theory out?”

  “You’re so petty sometimes, you know that?”

  “Guilty as charged. You’re running out of time, they’re getting closer.”

  I don’t hear the music on the jukebox stop. It must have been louder than I thought. Or maybe they just shut it down to let the band set up. Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I screamed out “COCK, alright, are you happy, COCK COCK COCKETY COCK!” just as the room got quiet.

  I’ve never thought about dying, but if I could do it right then and there I would have. I turn red when I’m embarrassed. A lot of people use that expression, but my cheeks literally resemble a red Crayola crayon when I feel foolish and, before Shoshana motions to my face to tell me, I already feel the hotness.

  “What the hell were you girls talking about?” Maxwell asks.

  “Chickens,” Shoshana says, jumping in. “You know. Hens and and stuff—Tori can never remember which is which.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Cormac says. “Cocks are the males, of course.” He high fives Maxwell like a true bro, and they laugh.

  “Thanks for the clarification.”

  “Anytime you need to know about cocks, just ask me.” Repeat the high five and laugh. I feel like I’m at a fraternity party right now.

  The boys brought us drinks, but I need something a little stronger to get through this. I grab Shosh by the arm. “Excuse us, guys, I think we need to pre-lubricate.” They both laugh, and I realize what I just said. “Don’t say it, you know what I meant.”

  I take her to the bar and order two shots of tequila. “What are we doing?” she asks.

  “Getting brave.”

  “You don’t need to be brave. You’re not meeting the queen of England, we’re just hanging out with some guys. Seriously, don’t drink too much.” The shot’s down my throat and I’m ordering another before Shosh can go motherly on me. “Slow down, girl, seriously.”

  I should. I know she’s right, but for some reason my anxiety is through the roof right now. Everything is coming into sharp focus now that we’re out ‘acting’ our way through this. I speak for a huge audience everyday—I’ve even done huge meet and greets with live audiences—but meeting Cormac’s friend is messing with my head. I figure a little liquid courage isn’t so bad, right?

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” I ask.

  “In getting completely blitzed? Nah, I’m all good.”

  “At least take the shot I ordered.”

  “I’m not really a shot girl. But I have an idea.” Shosh takes her shot and pulls me back to the table where the guys are waiting for us. “Maxwell, could you be so kind as to drink this for me?”

  He looks up at her with doe eyes—that’s how all guys look at her. “You don’t want it?” he asks her.

  “See, I thought I did when Tori got it for me, but now I really don’t, and I don’t want to waste it. Do you want?”

  “Sure, thanks.” He takes it from her and downs it in one gulp. “Woo-hoo, that burns!” She winks at me.

  We sit down and start talking. I’m feeling those shots already, and I can hear my words getting slurred. I try to hide it as best I can, but the room is starting to spin a little. Did I mention that I don’t really drink a lot? Maybe two shots on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea.

  We talk for a few minutes. Mostly I stay quiet because I don’t want to sound like the sloppy drunk girlfriend and give a bad impression to Maxwell. This whole thing was my idea, so acting stupid in front of Cormac’s friend isn’t the best look.

  Besides me being painfully self-aware of how cloudy I’m getting, I’m also aware of something else—just how fine Cormac is looking. I don’t think it’s just the booze, either. I think the alcohol is just shutting down the mental block I’ve had towards Cormac ever since that pitch meeting. But once the tequila starts to break down my defenses, I can really see how attracted to him I could be. He’s literally tall, dark and handsome, and when he held me outside I could feel the ripples of his chest beneath his clothes.

  He looks over at me and takes my hand. “Everything alright?” he whispers in my ear. My whole body feels it.

  “Yeah,” I tell him, feeling the warmth between my legs. “Everything is just fine.”

  Hmm. This is starting to get interesting.

  Cormac

  She never had her drink.

  “Here,” I say, sliding the glass over to her. She smelled amazing when I leaned into her just now, and the smell of her is still in my nose. “Before the ice melts and makes it gross.”

  “Thanks.” She takes it from me hesitantly and just looks at it for a few seconds, like she’s not sure if she should have it.

  “You don’t have to,” I tell her.

  “No. It’s totally fine.” About five seconds later that glass is half empty. She went from not looking like she wanted it to doing a Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas impersonation. “Go easy,” I caution, leaning in. “I’m not that bad to be around that you need to get so messed up.”

  “I’m fine,” she tells me. “But thanks for looking out for me.”

  I do my best Daniel Day Lewis impersonation and fully commit to my role of loving boyfriend. Maxwell is a Chatty, so he jumps in with about a million questions that I know she’s not ready for. Not only didn’t we rehearse any sort of origin story for our ‘relationship’, but she’s looking, sounding, and yes—smelling—a little north of tipsy right now. I’m worried she won’t know what to say. That doesn’t stop Max from asking the question we’ve both been dreading.

  “So, Tori, how did you and my boy here meet? Cormac was telling me how amazing you are on the car ride over here, but he didn’t tell me much about how you two got together.”

  “That’s my Cormac,” she says. “Always forgetting the little details.”

  “He’s always been like that. So you tell me instead.”

  We did not prepare for this at all, and now that it’s actually happening I feel really stupid for not discussing it. Part of me wants to jump in and make up a story for Maxwell, but the other part of me—the part that’s going to win out—wants to see how Tori navigates the bullshit river she currently has us paddling down with both hands. She wanted this, so it’s on her to make it as realistic as possible. I’ll jump in if she needs me, but I really want to see how she handles this.

  She looks at me with glassy eyes for a second before turning away and smiling. Even though I’ve got no skin in this game, I get nervous when I see she’s about to open her mouth and make up a story. Here we go.

  “We met at a conference.”

  Her lie doesn’t miss a beat. It flows right off of her. . . damn, have her lips always been that red? I know she’s had a few, but she’s looking really beautiful right now. I don’t know if it’s that she’s finally relaxing or what, but I can’t stop staring at her mouth.

  “A conference?” Maxwell asks.

  I see where Tori’s going with this, and I jump in to help her but she keeps going before I can. “Like a publishing conference. Cormac goes to them all the time—they have them all over the country. They’re opportunities for readers to get their books out in front of publishers.”


  “Oh, so you’re an author?” he asks.

  “Our girl Tori here isn’t just an author, she’s a social media mogul.” It’s Shoshana jumping in this time. “And I’m her. . . what would you call me, Tor?”

  “My best friend,” she says before cackling at her own joke a little too loudly. “Oh, you mean professionally?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Shoshana is my manager. She’s the producer of my podcast, she helps edit my vlogs, and she helps with book appearances and professional conference stuff. Basically, she’s my eyes, ears, brain, and everything else. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “Awww,” she says back. “Well I love every minute of it.”

  “Wait,” Max says. “Are you one of those. . . what do they call them? Online personalities? Cormac you didn’t tell me that part.”

  “Sorry, man, I didn’t want to overwhelm you all at once. But yeah, Tori here runs her own empire. She’s on YouTube and has a hit podcast.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible,” Max says. “I feel like I just met a famous person.”

  Tori waves her hands. “Nah, not famous. I don’t get recognized or anything.”

  “Actually,” I say, jumping in. “We were out at breakfast recently and our waitress nearly dropped our food on the ground when she found out she was serving the one and only Tori Klein.”

  “That’s nuts!” Max says. “What’s your podcast? I’ll download right now.”

  “It’s called. . .”

  “Women on dicks,” Shoshana interrupts. “Obviously it’s not all spelled out or iTunes wouldn’t let us on, but if you start to type it your phone should auto fill.”

  “You know, last time I typed those words into my phone it was for a whole different kind of search. Oh, this one?” Max turns his screen around.

  “Yup,” Tori says. “That’s me.”

  “Perfect. Well, you just got one more download.”

  “Thanks Max, you’re a Tormentor now.”

  “Huh?” he asks.

  “That’s what we call Tori’s fans and subscribers. You know, like her name, only it sounds like they torture us.”

  “Ah, I get it now. So, Tori, you were saying? You were at a conference?”

  “Oh yeah, right. So I decided to write a book a while ago—on the same topics I discuss on my podcast—so I started going to those conferences where authors can hook up with publishers and get some feedback on their work. That’s when we met. I thought this man was so sexy that I didn’t even bother pitching him my book, I just asked what he was doing after the event. He told me nothing, so I decided to make the first move and ask him to get a drink. The rest is history.”

  “Wow,” Max says. “That’s a great story. You’ll have to tell your grandkids one day.”

  “Yeah,” Tori says, looking at me. “Our grandkids.”

  The next hour passes quickly. Shoshana and Max hit it off, but more than that, they’re both great at keeping the conversation going and the mood positive. It’s not that I don’t like to talk, but the more they talk the less lying Tori and I have to do, at least verbally. Physically, we’re still lying our asses off. Tori’s getting a little. . . friendlier than I ever thought she would with me. At first, I’m excited about it, until I realize that it’s happening after a couple of drinks. I wasn’t really paying attention, but I notice Shoshana tapping her on the leg and telling her to stop.

  “Hey,” I say leaning into her. “I saw you get up again but how many is this?”

  “I think it’s my third. Or my fifth. I don’t know, who can count?”

  “You need to go easy, okay. You should cut yourself off.”

  “Are you telling me what to do, just like a typical man?”

  “No, I’m telling you what to do like a responsible human being.”

  I need to get her out of here before she says something that we’ll both regret. I lean over to Max and explain the situation. “Go ahead, man, I got you.”

  “Shoshana?” I ask. “I think we have to cut the night a little short so that I can take our girl home. Think she’s celebrating a little too hard.”

  Shoshana nods like she was waiting for me to say that. I get up, Tori on my arm and we go to my car. “Where are you taking me?” she says, all slurry.

  “Home,” I answer. “I’m taking you home. And I know you don’t like me very much, but please try not to throw up in my car.”

  I don’t think she’ll be throwing up because she’s asleep practically as soon as the passenger door shuts. A million questions are running through my mind. Is this normal? Is she secretly an alcoholic? Did something happen? I have no answers, but I don’t need them right now. All I need to do is get her home, safe and sound.

  Back at the house I carry her—literally—out of the car and up to the front door. Once I get her inside, I head straight to the bedroom and lay her down on the king-sized bed. I take off her shoes, put the covers over her, and grab my iPad so I can write a little while I watch out for her. I made sure to put her on her stomach just in case she vomits in her sleep. She reeks of booze.

  Just as I start to walk out of the room, she wakes up—sort of. Her eyes are open a little and she’s talking to me, but she’s clearly still out of it. “You alright?” I ask. I’m waiting for her to jump up and run into the bathroom, holding her mouth to keep all the throw-up inside, but that’s not what happens. She starts talking to me.

  “Cormac?”

  “Yeah, Tori? Are you alright?” I go to the side of the bed. Her body is down and her face is turned to the side. Her eyes are glassy and her speech is still a little hard to understand.

  “I think so,” she says.

  “Good. Get some rest.” As I get up she reaches up and grabs my arm. “What’s the matter? Do you need me to get you something?”

  “I think I might,” she says. “Come here.” She motions like she wants me to lean in. I can barely hear her, so I dip my head, and before I know it she reaches around the back of my head and plants one right on my lips. She smells eighty proof. I think we just had kiss number one. I pull back after about a second.

  “Woah, what are you doing?”

  “Kissing you, silly. I just wanted to say that it was really sweet of you to give me the bed and all.”

  “I appreciate that, but we won’t be kissing anymore right now. You’re not in your right mind.”

  “I think I might need you to get undressed and crawl under these covers with me.”

  She’s beyond drunk, and the last thing I’d ever do is get into bed with a woman as blitzed as her, no matter how hot she is, or how much she claims to want me. That’s just not going to happen for a whole host of reasons. I pull the covers up around her and dislodge her very weak grip on my arm. “Ask me that again when you’ll remember asking me.”

  Before she can even answer I hear the snores. I get changed, grab my iPad, and crawl up in the oversized lounge chair that’s sitting in the corner. I cover myself with a large blanket that I found in the linen closet and open my screen.

  What a weird night this turned into.

  Sunday, July 16th

  The morning comes quickly.

  I must have passed out around midnight or so. I clear my eyes and the first thing I feel is the soreness from having slept for hours in a sitting position in this lounge chair. I push myself up out of the chair and walk over to Tori, who’s still lying in her clothes from last night. I reach down and gently shake her shoulders.

  “Wake up, sleepy head.”

  Her eyes open slowly, and when she finally focuses on me she jumps like she’s startled. Sitting up, she clears her eyes and looks at me with a disoriented stare. “Where? Oh, right. Cynthia’s house.”

  “It’s our house for the next few weeks, remember? How are you feeling?”

  “My head,” she says, rubbing her temple. “It’s killing me, holy shit. What happened?”

  “You’re a lightweight, and you drank way too much. That’s the simple answer. Ther
e’s probably a longer, more satisfying one, but the explanation I just gave is the shortest route to the truth.”

  “The bar, right? Your friend. What happened?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” I ask.

  “Telling the fake story about how we met. Then this.”

  “Wow,” I say. “There are a few things in between.”

  “Like what? Did I say something or do anything weird?”

  “Besides kissing me in a drunken stupor? Nope, just that. Oh, and now that I think about it, your car is still at the bar. I’ll take you to get it later.”

  “Wait, what!!!”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t speaking loud enough, was I? I said, your car. . .”

  “Not the fucking car! The other part.”

  “The kiss?” I ask, playing coy. “It was sweet. Our first. Not quite how I imagined—in my fantasy it was a little less. . . boozy.”

  “You kissed me when I was drunk?”

  “No.” I tell her, getting serious for a minute. “I’d never, ever do that. You, however, kissed me while you were drunk. ‘Ambushed’ might be a better way to put it.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Pulled away as soon as I realized what was happening. I swear.”

  I hope she knows that I’m telling the truth. She may not think the world of me—or of men in general—but I’d like to believe she doesn’t think I’d be even remotely sexual with her without her consent. “I feel stupid now,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “I really can’t believe I did that.”

  “Don’t feel stupid,” I tell her. “I’ve done much dumber and more embarrassing things after I’ve had a few, trust me. And, hey, you just checked one off the box, right? That makes two more to go.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Wait, you put me into bed?”

  “I just took off your shoes—figured you didn’t want to sleep in those heels. Then I pulled the covers up so you wouldn’t be cold.”

  “And where did you sleep?” she asks.

  I point at the chair that’s responsible for my next ten chiropractic appointments. “Over there in that thing.”