Kissing Frogs

by Kim Deister

  “They have a word for that. Stalking. And it’s illegal.” I pointed at him with my shot glass, sloshing more vodka all over myself. What started as a drunken giggle ended as an embarrassing snort. I reached for the bottle to replace the booze and almost fell off the couch instead. Only Finn’s cat-like reflexes saved me from a humiliating tumble onto the floor.

  Making no comment on my lack of gracefulness, he continued. “True. But what would you have me do? Tell the police that I am being stalked through the centuries by an angry fairy?”

  He had a point. The legal system was not likely to come to his aid. Cops would probably be even less accepting of his story than me.

  “Siofra has a grudge against me, yes. But the curse is about more than that and it took me a long time to figure that out. I wasted years, angry that she ruined my life for petty revenge. But Siofra sees herself as a champion for women, despite the fact that she hates human women. Nonetheless, that is her excuse. Her curse is supposed to teach me a lesson or two.”

  “And what lessons are you supposed to learn?”

  “She wanted me to feel like they did, the hurt and shame. Somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten compassion and empathy. Things came easy to me and finding a woman to bed had never been hard, even before turning pirate. It was easy for me to take that for granted and I did. I stopped even considering the consequences for those I trifled with.”

  That comment made me wince and Finn didn’t miss it. The comment reminded me a little too much of Luke and his cavalier attitude. I’d had enough of man tramps to last me three lifetimes. He stood up and leaned against the railing, facing away from me as he looked out into the dark yard.

  “I think I believed it would always be that way. And therein lies another lesson, that of appreciation. I got what I wanted for too long without having to put forth much effort. And that, I think, was her final lesson. That I had to give more than I took.

  “But I was angry and blind to anything else and I wasted a lot of years because of it. I was just as arrogant as I'd ever been. I never doubted that I'd break the curse easily and quickly. I assumed that I’d find a woman, make her love me, and end the curse. But it didn’t happen that way. Every time I thought I’d found the woman that would release me, something went wrong. Time and time again, it disintegrated into a twisted, broken, dark place and I became a frog again. Some of that was Siofra’s interference, but most of it was my own damn fault.”

  The casual pose against the railing was misleading. I could see his shoulder muscles tensed under his shirt. His knuckles were white where they clenched the railing. He was anything but relaxed and it was even more obvious when he turned to face me. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet my eyes.

  “It took me a long time to realize it wasn’t going to be that easy. It wasn’t enough to have someone fall in love with me. I needed to find someone who would not only love me unconditionally, but who would make me love her, too. I had to find someone who made me want to be a better man. That was the key.” He paused again, looking thoughtful. “But the thing is… it never once occurred to me that it was even possible to have it broken while I was still a frog. I’ve always been human when I met someone. Until now. And that’s why I think it's finally broken. I think I’ve finally found the woman who will love me and let me love them.”

  I thought I was hardened against thoughts of love, but his words sent a thrill through me. My head reeled from everything he told me, but it was becoming harder and harder not to believe every single word. His story was so detailed, but there wasn't a single thing about it that would make sense to any sane person, even if the words flowed from him effortlessly. Either the guy was a talented actor or he truly believed what he said. What does it say about me I want to buy every word?

  As I sat, lost in thought, Finn moved from his seat on the other couch and came towards me, too fast and too aggressively. I surged toward him, but not in a hot, “take me now” kind of way. Instead, I shoved him back against the other couch. He wasn't expecting it and his bright blue eyes went wide with shock. He hit the couch with the backs of his knees hard enough that they buckled and he sat right back down with a thunk.

  I panicked. “No! You can’t tell me a crazy story like this and expect me to drop my panties. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t force yourself on me before I’m ready.”

  Even as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. But it was too late. They hit him like tiny daggers. It was impossible to miss the hurt in his eyes, hurt that quickly turned to anger. He mumbled something, but his words were lost in a string of Irish words that I was sure were a curse of his own. I hadn’t intended to be so aggressive with my words, but he had startled me.

  “Whatever else I may be, I am not a man who forces himself on an unwilling woman. I never have and I never will.”

  I heard cold anger underneath the hurt and I shrank inside myself. I hadn’t meant my words to be a judgment of the man he once was. But, looking at his face, I knew that that was exactly how he felt. The first person he trusted enough to tell his story and he thought I’d thrown it back at him. Shame and horror at what I’d said flooded through me and instead of trying to explain, I acted like a coward. I ran away, fleeing the deck for the safety of my house.

  As soon as she heard the back door open, Luna came running out of nowhere to investigate the exciting noise. I tripped over her in my haste and managed to face-plant into a wall. Blinding pain shot through my entire face as I felt the bones in my nose crunch. Great. Karma is kicking my ass in the form of a broken nose.

  Colorful language spewed from me and Luna took a few concerned steps away from me. Still swearing, I felt around my nose, but nothing seemed to be out of place. Thank God for small favors. But I could feel the blood gushing from my nose. It was all over my hand, matching a large splash on the once white wall. A mirror hung on the mud room wall and I glanced into it to assess the damage to my face. It was horrifying. The lower half of my face was slick with blood. I held a hand under my nose and went straight to the kitchen sink. Leaning against the counter, I jammed a wad of paper towels to my face and waited for the bleeding to stop. My nose throbbed and I could taste the coppery tang of blood in my throat. Finally, the flow slowed enough that I was able to lower my head again.

  There were no sounds from outside as I grabbed a bag of ice and a towel and made my way into the living room. I flopped down on the couch and leaned back, resting the bag of ice on my face. The cold hurt like hell and made my nose throb even more. But that was the least of my problems at the moment.

  I felt like a complete asshat. The guy might be crazy, but I sure as hell hadn’t meant to be mean. I was confused and more than a little drunk, but that was no excuse to be a bitch. And then there was the man still outside on my deck. The hot guy who spun tales of magic and curses and seemed to believe his own insane story, who made me want to believe them, too. I thought about blaming my chaotic mind on the booze, but I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know that I was starting to waver.

  By the time I heard back door open and the sound of his boots in the hallway, I still had no answers. My aggressive panic attack aside, I realized that I wasn’t actually scared of him. I was more afraid of myself for wanting what he was selling so badly. What did that say about me? That I was so willing to buy a story that most people would dismiss without question? Maybe the pirate had some magic of his own.

  My head hurt and my nose throbbed in rhythm with it when I leaned forward to set down the bag of half-melted ice. I rested my arms on my knees and buried my head in my hands. The sound of his boots on the wood floor came closer and closer until they stopped in the doorway. I felt his eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, not yet.

  I had a hell of a lot more experience with Mr. Wrong than I ever had with Prince Charming. Throwing caution to the wind wasn’t easy for me. I had promised Mac and Taylor to step out of the box I’d put myself in, but this was a far bigger st
ep than just going out on a date or two. This was huge.

  “Cassidy.”

  His voice was quiet, but I heard the desperate plea in it. When I didn't answer, he crossed the room and stopped in front of me. I stared at the scuffed toes of his boots on the floor and felt his hand brush lightly over my hair. I hated that the touch of his hand sent shivers down my spine. But I still didn’t raise my head so he squatted down in front of me, resting his hands on my knees.

  “Cassidy,” he repeated. “Please look at me.”

  But shame flooded through me again and I couldn’t raise my eyes. When I spoke, my voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant it to be a judgment of who you are. You startled me and I spoke without thinking. Please, believe me.”

  “I realize that now, Cassidy, I do. It’s my fault, not yours. I’m sorry I scared you, but I’d never hurt you. You have to know that.”

  Somehow, even in the midst of all the craziness, I did know that.

  Mac’s words came back to me as the silence loomed between us. That life was short and sometimes you just had to throw caution to the wind and take a chance. What was this moment, if not an opportunity to do just that? What did I really have to lose if I just believed him? I couldn’t deny what was right in front of me. He knew things about me that he couldn’t possibly know unless he was a stalker or he really was exactly who he said he was. But no matter how bizarre his story was, the idea of Finn as a stalker just didn’t ring true. And it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was my own fault that I was in this position at all. After all, I kissed the damn frog. Maybe I just needed to get out of my own head, which is exactly what everyone told me all the time.

  I needed, once again, to put on my big girl panties and deal with this. But this guy, whoever the hell he was, was too damned gorgeous to look at and still expect to stay strong. Everything about him made me want to leap off the couch and throw myself at him like a wanton hussy and I wasn’t generally the “wanton hussy” kind of girl. I wasn't a prude, but it took more than a hot set of abs and hard biceps to make me drop my panties, even biceps covered in ink. It took a hell of a lot more than that to make think the things I was thinking. This guy… He made me want things I had long since closed the door on.

  I wasn’t a fairy tale, mushy-gushy kind of girl. I never had been. Instead, I was the girl that chose action movies with lots of explosions and hot cars over chick flicks. I read fantasy and thrillers over those sappy romance novels that made Taylor swoon and made me crazy. Any lingering thoughts of my own Prince Charming pretty much died a tragic death long ago. Now I yelled insults like a crazy person at the TV when gushy movie trailers came on or sickeningly sweet ads. Mac told me I was a hopeless cynic who would die alone in my house surrounded by thirty cats and Luna. To me, romance was nothing more than a marketing tool to sell chocolate and cards or a ploy for douche nozzles to get a little something-something after a lukewarm date. I was over it.

  Until I met Finn, who in less than a day had made me question pretty much everything. I took a deep breath and steeled myself before finally lifting my eyes to his. When I looked into his face, it was possible to believe that I didn’t need to be quite so cynical. It was even possible to believe, against all odds and after too many slimy human frogs, that maybe I had finally found my own Prince Charming in Finn. Or, as the case may be, my own pirate. Maybe he really did have magic in his blood.

  He still hadn’t said anything more when he suddenly stood up and walked away, disappearing into my kitchen. I heard the sound of drawers and cabinets opening and shutting, the sound of running water. If he came out with a glass of water, I was going to send his perfectly formed ass back for the vodka. But when he came back, there was no vodka. There was no water, either, at least, not to drink. Instead, he carried a metal bowl in his hands, a couple of towels tossed over his shoulder. He set the bowl on the coffee table and dropped back to his knees in front of me, dipping one of the towels into it before cupping my chin in one hand. His hands were gentle on my face as he cleaned the blood off my skin. The clear water in the bowl quickly turned pink. He patted my face dry with the clean towel and moved in to check the damage. His face was so close to mine that I could smell a hint of vodka on his breath.

  When the urge hit, it hit hard. I bit my own lip, risking more blood to keep myself from kissing him. My skin was on fire where his warm fingers touched it, turning my thoughts into a freaked-out mess once again. What the hell is wrong with you? You know how this can end. You’ve seen those documentaries on Netflix about cults and indoctrination. How they get you to believe the unbelievable. What the hell are you thinking? The voice inside my brain made a valiant effort to protect me. Of course, it could be argued that it was also doing a good job of allowing me to get in my own way again.

  But I wasn’t listening to my brain. I didn’t know what I was listening to, but it sure as hell wasn’t my common sense. His gentleness made my insides melt. My own body betrayed me. It refused to consider the fact that Finn might be a psycho killer with an identity crisis.

  The past twenty-four hours had been unlike any other. When I escaped to the serenity of my bathtub last night, it had been to wash away the insanity, not run straight into it. Yet that was exactly what I had done. Now I was sitting here in my living room, bloodied, my own brain warring against itself.

  Thinking about it all made me edgy. I jumped up, dislodging his hands from my face, and paced back and forth, trying to calm the thoughts racing though my head. As I paced, Finn dodged me and carried the bloody towel and water into the kitchen. When he came back, he took my seat on the couch and watched me in silence. When I finally stopped in front of the fireplace, he stood and took a single step towards me before stopping. For a second, I couldn’t puzzle out why he just stood there. Then it clicked. He was waiting to see if he had spooked me again before moving closer. When I didn’t shift, an expression of relief crossed his face and he came the rest of the way, stopping in front of me.

  Finn looked down at me and I searched his eyes and his face for answers, even though I had no idea what the questions even were. He stood as still as a statue, as if he were afraid to move. Without thinking, I touched the side of his face with my palm, feeling the stubble on his cheeks prickling my skin. His skin was so warm against mine. The butterflies danced in my stomach and my heart beat faster than it ever had before. I wanted so much to believe him, but it meant giving up everything I thought I knew about the world.

  Being so close to him made it hard for me to think straight. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to. There was a part of me, a part that I hadn’t even known existed, that wanted to star in my own chick flick. I just never imagined it including magic, a vindictive fairy, curses, and a hot pirate. I thought that sappy girl was long gone, but she wasn’t. Because here I was, wanting to jump all over the pirate starring in my own twisted movie.

  Mac always told me I was my own worst enemy. So did Grandma Fi. I always scoffed at the idea, dismissing it as fluffy psychobabble, but maybe they were right. The insidious little voice in the back of my head told me to run away, the part of me that laughed at the idea of romance. And it was the same part that didn't believe in curses and magic, much less pirates from three hundred years in the past. The voice of reason kept me too grounded and too damn cynical to buy into any of it. It was also the voice that kept me alone.

  But it was hard to dismiss certain things as potentially problematic. If I threw caution to the wind, what did that mean for me? Did that mean I was accepting the whole “destined to fall in love” thing? That was little too much too soon. And maybe it was vanity, but if this was real and Finn stayed human, would he age like a normal person now? Because I didn’t think my ego could handle being a senior citizen with a twenty-nine-year old boy toy.

  It didn’t escape me that the entire situation forced me to learn something about myself. Stress seemed to push me to focus on all the wrong things. I had bigger problems than romance and aging. How the
hell was I going to explain him to my family and friends and, most importantly, to Kyra?

  “I get it, you know,” Finn interrupted my thoughts. “I know you think I don’t, but I do. Before I met Siofra, I didn’t believe in any of this either. And, unlike you, I grew up in Ireland, a place steeped in magic. Everyone in my village lived by the legends. No one questioned it. And then there was me, the one who scoffed at it all. I had heard rumors about Siofra, even before I met her, but I dismissed them. At worst, they were the drunken ramblings of rejected suitors in the pub. At best, they were silly, fanciful tales.”

  That made me feel a little bit better. Misery loves company, after all. “You’ve got to understand that this is overwhelming. True, I grew up heavily influenced by Grandma Fiona, who firmly believes that she is the witch to end all witches. But most of Grandma Fi’s ‘spells’ end in embarrassment or trips to the ER. It’s not exactly like I grew up believing in magic and myths.” I paused to sit down on a nearby chair. “And yesterday, I had a frog in a terrarium, my niece’s beloved pet frog. Today, I have a human man standing in front of me, telling me that he is a cursed frog. A pirate from some three hundred years ago who was cursed by a vengeful fairy witch because you were a player. Did I leave anything out?”

  “A player? But I rarely played any games, other than cards and games of chance with my crew.”

  “That. That right there, the language gap. Between that and the fact that you know things you shouldn’t otherwise know, it makes it hard to deny your story.”

  My rambling was confusing him. I saw it all over his face and wrinkled brow. “Language gap? We both speak English, lass.”

  I sighed and explained. “A modern-day Irishman would know what a player is. A cad, a womanizer.” He winced at my words, but he didn’t deny them. “Look, it’s obvious you believe what you’re saying. It would be a hell of a lot easier for me to believe you were either nuts or a liar, that the language thing was a clever ploy and this was all a joke or some overly complicated line. But I don't get that vibe from you and that makes me wonder."