Passionate Kisses

by Various

  Her smile started deep inside and made its way out to greet the man who had called her his dream girl and held her through the night, the man who had given her purpose.

  He scrambled away from her until he fell off the far edge of his bed, taking the new comforter with him. He bounced up like a jack-in-the box, saying “Shit!” over and over again, until his hands wrapped around a wooden baseball bat propped in the corner. Pulling the bat back, he tangled it in the blinds and cursed some more as he took his gaze off her to detangle it from the buckled aluminum.

  Panting and wild-eyed, he looked back at her. A flush crept up his cheeks. He abandoned his defensive posture, letting the bat slide in his grip until he held it relaxed by his side. “Probably overkill with the bat?”

  She held back her laughter. “I’m betting you could take me without it. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’m not interested in hurting you, only doing nice things to you.”

  He gulped and stared at her, a large, muscle-bound man looking like a horny teenager unable to believe his luck. “I’m still dreaming.”

  “Nope.”

  “Shit.” He wiped a hand down his face, shut his eyes for a beat and reopened them as though expecting her to be gone. Of course she didn’t go anywhere, and she wouldn’t, not for another few minutes if the pattern of the last two mornings held. The alarm had gone off at 4:50, and she’d been yanked away the last two mornings in the minute or two before 5:00. She’d never caught even the barest hint of dawn. Would this morning be the same?

  Please let me stay to see sunrise this morning, she pleaded to whatever power was responsible for this weirdness.

  Derek wiped a hand down his face again. “Shit.”

  She grimaced. “Not quite the reaction I was hoping for.”

  “Sorry. It’s all I got.” His face grew pale. Fear replaced the sleepiness in his eyes.

  Okay, the guy was freaked. Not what she’d intended, but she could deal. She just needed to explain.

  She folded her legs under her so she knelt in the middle of the bed, facing him. “Look, sorry if I scared you, but I’m no threat. Honest. I’ll even disappear if you want me to. All I have to do is get out of bed and poof, you won’t see me anymore. But this is the first time I’ve gotten to really talk to you in three days, and, I don’t have long, only a few more minutes, and, well, maybe I’m a little lonely. I was kind of hoping we could talk—I mean I know you probably have to get ready for work and all—I’m guessing it’s Monday. I don’t want to impose or anything. I just—”

  Just what? Wanted to have breakfast with him? It wasn’t like she could sit at the kitchen table and sip coffee. In fact, she had no right to expect anything of him. Derek had a life, and she was completely interrupting it.

  Not to mention, she was a supernatural phenomenon he probably had one heck of a time trying to wrap his brain around.

  When he continued staring at her, she forced a smile and tried not to let disappointment crush her. “Never mind. You’ve got to get to work.” Why else would he be getting up so early after less than four hours of sleep? “Look, I don’t know why, but I always show up here in your room after dark. And I always stay until five or so. And you can only see or hear me when I’m on the bed. I can’t even open doors or move things or pick up a stupid sock. Crazy, I know. But there it is. So, I’ll go now—” She couldn’t make an exit until the fog claimed her, but she could climb out of his bed and at least become invisible to him, give the guy a chance to reboot. “I’ll be back tonight, though. Probably.” She hoped. “Maybe we can talk then?”

  Good grief, she sounded desperate. She was desperate—for company, for Derek’s affection, to understand what was happening to them and why—but she didn’t want to come across as burdensome.

  “Only if you want,” she added.

  His expression never changed. His eyes were still wide, his eyebrows still drawn together. The firm lips she’d nibbled and kissed earlier made a stony line.

  She’d messed up big time. She was supposed to be his comfort, and here she’d upset him.

  Way to let your own agenda override good sense, DG.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Before she could make things any worse, she slipped off the opposite side of the bed.

  With her heart shrinking into an embarrassed prune, she watched his eyes search the rumpled covers. He wiped his hand down his face again. “Too much fucking bourbon.” He grabbed some clothes out of the dresser, left the room, and pulled the door closed behind him, barring her from following.

  “That went well,” she said to the empty room.

  * * * *

  The sun wasn’t up yet, but morning twilight lit the sky with a mellow blue. Humidity rested heavy against Derek’s skin as he walked to Brick and Mortar to retrieve his truck. Today would be a scorcher.

  He gripped his Thermos in one hand and the insulated lunch bag Haley had given him for Father’s Day in the other. Amazingly, his head was clear despite the glasses of bourbon he’d sipped one after another last night, and despite a craptastic night of bad dreams and too little sleep.

  Okay, the night hadn’t been all craptastic. He’d gotten to see his dream girl again. He’d gotten to hold and kiss her and come in her hands like an overeager kid. None of it had been real, of course—except the coming; he’d noticed the tissues on the floor in the morning and marveled that he’d been able to clean himself up in his sleep. But even if his dream girl hadn’t been real, dreaming about her had saved the night for him.

  I don’t think you’re a bad person, she’d said. She believed in him. It was the only thing keeping him from beating himself up over upsetting Haley. And drinking too much.

  Which was crazy. Literally crazy.

  She’s not even real.

  His subconscious was obviously trying to deal with the car crash nightmares by overreacting with too much fantasy. Getting off in a dream about his dream woman was one thing, but imagining her in his bed even after his alarm had gone off, frigging talking with her—that was padded-room shit.

  Unless she wasn’t imaginary.

  Haley had seen something in his room. No, not something. Someone.

  Someone with red hair, darker than Rebecca’s. Someone she thought had been watching over him.

  A few years ago, he might have believed his little girl had made it up. But now? She was eleven going on socially-responsible seventeen. When they got serious, they talked about things like recycling and overpopulation in India and baking muffins with Deidre to take to the nursing home. She was a caring girl with a big heart and an outlook on life a few years ahead of her age group. Haley had better things to talk about than imaginary stuff.

  Maybe he had more to apologize to Haley for than yelling at Deidre.

  Shit. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this.

  He rounded the corner of Graham. Eight dark, quiet blocks to go before he reached the pub. Two sets of traffic lights glowed green in the distance. Apartment buildings and unlit signs for closed businesses crowded the sidewalk. Electricity hummed in the wires overhead. A lone car drove by, headlights on. It had to be near eighty degrees, but he had goose bumps.

  I’m dreaming, he’d said earlier.

  Nope, she’d said. She’d smiled, and that one expression had held so much emotion, he knew he couldn’t have invented it all. Joy, excitement, insecurity, passion.

  She’d insisted he was awake one other time. His skin went from clammy to overheated as he thought about it. His room had been utterly dark. He hadn’t been able to see a thing, but his other senses had snapped to attention to make up for the deficit. The scent of honeydew melon filled his nostrils and made him lightheaded. The sound of her palm rasping the hairs of his chest and the soft wind of her breath in his ear blended in a sensual symphony.

  And the fire of her touch… She’d handled him with an irresistible blend of tentativeness and confidence. She’d been asking permission and insisting on his pleasure all at once. No one
had ever touched and kissed him like that before, like their entire purpose was to show him love. The tenderness of it had undone him.

  Could it have all been real? The possibility thrilled him and terrified him.

  He reached Brick and Mortar’s lot at 6:02. Closer to a main artery now, he saw more traffic. Early birds like him getting to work before the rest of Redding got out of bed. His truck hunkered all alone in the lot, white as a ghost in the darkness. His boots crunched on loose pebbles as he strode to it.

  When he climbed in, his stomach did an uncomfortable flop at the memory of the woman’s expression when he’d refused to believe she was real. She’d looked hurt, embarrassed. Disappointment had snuffed the joy in her eyes.

  “Shit,” he muttered as he turned the key in the ignition. Before reversing out of the lot, he wiggled his cell phone out of his pocket and texted Deidre. Pls call me when u get this.

  He needed to see Haley after work today, not to admit he might have a ghost—he still wasn’t sure he believed it himself—but to apologize for last night. And the only way he’d be likely to get any face time with her would be to make nice with the ex. God give him strength.

  * * * *

  By the time Derek arrived at the job site, the crew was already in full swing. He slapped on his hard hat and made the rounds before heading for the trailer to slog through his inbox. Sometimes he missed being out there with the crew, getting his hands dirty and using his muscles. He sure could have used a physical outlet for anger at himself today.

  He was such a shithead. Destined to disappoint every woman in his life, even his Haley-girl, whom he’d hoped to protect from his anger. Even the dream girl he may or may not have made up.

  Thoughts of tears in Haley’s eyes and the hurt on his dream girl’s face kept pulling his focus away from what he needed to get done. To top it all off, he felt bad about going off on Deidre last night when she’d only been trying to help.

  His cell phone rang at 9:15. He glanced at the display. Deidre.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “I’m a dick.”

  “Yup.” The p popped.

  He sighed and leaned back in his squeaky chair. He stared at the acoustic ceiling tiles while he tried to figure out the magic combination of words that would get her to let him see Haley tonight. Thinking he’d come up with something pretty good, he said, “I should have kept my temper in check with Haley in the house.” He waited for her to say something. “You still there?”

  A bitter laugh. “Would it kill you to say the words?”

  He knew the words she meant. How many fights had gone on for days when he could have ended them within minutes by simply saying those two little words? He hated when people said them and didn’t mean them, or said them so often they lost their meaning. He’d determined long ago to save those words for times he knew he’d done wrong and intended not to do it again.

  This wasn’t one of those times.

  He couldn’t promise never to lose his cool with Deidre again, and since Haley was their kid, she’d most likely see them clash from time to time even though he’d do his damnedest to spare her that. But he did owe Deidre an apology. So that’s what he gave her.

  “I apologize, okay? I shouldn’t have yelled at you with Haley in the house.”

  She sighed long and loud. “It would be nice if you didn’t yell at me at all. What’s with you, anyway? Ever since Friday, it’s like I can’t say two words to you without you taking offense.”

  “Friday?”

  “Yeah. At Haley’s game. You were distracted the whole time. Then you practically bit my head off when I said hello. I hope you weren’t hard on Haley over the weekend. I tried to ask, but she’s being sullen.”

  Friday. The accident.

  Had he really been acting more irritable since then? Come to think of it, why was he still having nightmares about the wreck? One nightmare he could excuse, since he’d witnessed something pretty hairy, but having it every night? Having it morph into another accident, one on a rainy roadside that left him feeling shaken and raw? And his dream-ghost girl… No, don’t think about her. Just get through this conversation without making things worse.

  He didn’t justify the comment about his treatment of Haley with a response. Deidre knew better than to imply he’d taken out his anger on her. “About the sullen,” he said. “What’s she got going on today? I’d like to see her after work, maybe have dinner with her. I need to apologize for last night.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He rolled his eyes, but half-heartedly. For once, he didn’t mind her judging him. Today, she was right.

  “She’s at softball camp until three, but I—”

  “I’ll pick her up.” He could get off early if he skipped his lunch break.

  “No. I don’t want to spring you on her.”

  Like a surprise visit to the pediatrician complete with immunizations. “Deidre.” He was trying to be good. Really, really trying. But if she thought she could pull this gatekeeper shit, he was going to let her have it. Nothing would stop him from making things better with Haley.

  “I’m not saying no to seeing her. In fact, I think it’s a good idea. Just let me talk to her first. Prepare her.”

  “Jesus.” He pulled at his hair with the hand not holding the phone. “I’m not a monster.”

  “Of course you’re not. But you do have a problem controlling your temper.”

  He wished he could deny it, but he just sat there mute.

  “Haley’s not used to seeing you get so upset. Can you blame her for being a little freaked?”

  She could have brought up his past, his high-strung, quick-to-anger father and the effect that kind of upbringing had had on him. But she didn’t.

  “Fine. Call me when I can see her.”

  “I’ll get in touch by four.”

  He had just made it home from work by the time Deidre called. “She doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry.”

  He was in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags. Two steaks to marinate, two potatoes to wrap in foil and stick in the oven. He’d gotten Haley’s favorite baked potato fixings, sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese, scallions and her favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s—strawberry cheesecake—for dessert.

  “What do you mean, she doesn’t want to see me?”

  “She’s hurt, Derek.”

  “I know. I want to apologize to her. Did you tell her that?”

  “I told her you felt bad about hurting her feelings and you wanted to see her tonight. That’s all. She said you can email her if you want. Maybe that’s a good place to start. I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want to hear.”

  His face flushed with anger. At himself, for a change. He had hurt his little girl bad enough that she didn’t want to talk to him. He was a douche bag.

  He got off the phone with Deidre and stared at his laptop screen until it became apparent he had no idea what to say to Haley to get her to talk to him again. Frustrated with himself, he went through the motions of eating dinner. He opted for canned soup and some pre-cut veggies, hoping to save the steak for Haley. After washing up, he retreated to his basement to the heavy bag he’d bolted to the rafters. He gloved up and punished the bag until his muscles burned and his mind was clear.

  When he came upstairs, the setting sun was casting long shadows across the hardwoods in his living room. On the kitchen table, his laptop taunted him with happy screensaver photos of Haley. He still didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t let her go to bed thinking he hadn’t even tried.

  Love you, kiddo, he typed. Dinner tomorrow?

  He cracked open a beer and stared at the screen like a hopeful puppy for several minutes.

  Finally, shaking his head in disgust, he scraped his chair back and headed to the bedroom for some clean underwear before he hit the shower. His house was getting dark, so he flipped on the living room and hall lights on the way. The action reminded him of his dream girl’s words
to him that morning. I always show up here in your room after dark. And I always stay until five or so.

  He froze with his hand on the knob of his bedroom door. A chill iced his spine. He released the knob and backed away, finding clean underwear and sweats in the laundry room, instead.

  After finishing his beer in the shower, he checked the laptop one last time. Haley hadn’t responded. He cursed himself.

  Why did he have to let his temper get the better of his judgment? Why did his mouth always spit out whatever thought went through his head when he was angry? He’d grown up with a father who behaved exactly the same way and had promised himself he wouldn’t end up like that, bitter and old with everyone around him running for cover every time he entered a room.

  Hands on his hips, he stood in the living room, staring down the hall at his bedroom door.

  Full dark had fallen. Part of him wanted to open the door and see if his dream girl was waiting for him on the bed. Part of him wanted her to hold him again and tell him he wasn’t a bad guy.

  Another part of him felt sick to his stomach at the thought of a ghost on the other side of that door.

  He dropped to his hands and toes and did his bedtime workout routine right there in the living room. Then, embracing his cowardice, he went to bed on the couch. Haley had picked out a snuggly-soft, navy blue and gold throw that looked great on his leather couch. He wrapped himself in the blanket and rested his head on a fancy pillow with matching colors.

  Before he turned off the lamp on the end table, his gaze fell on the curtains Haley had chosen for his front window. The heavy fabric, gold-colored with rust and navy stripes, looked decadent but still masculine. He didn’t have the imagination to have picked them out for himself, but the colors complemented his latte-colored walls perfectly. He hoped when Haley saw them, she’d like them as much as he did.

  Chapter 8

  When DG arrived in her usual corner of Derek’s bedroom, it was darker than it had ever been before. The new blinds were closed, and so was the door. All the times she had been here, the door had never been shut. Except this morning when he’d fled from something so disconcerting he couldn’t stand to face it: her.