Kissing a Fool

by Gwen Hayes

  Just like that.

  Panic bubbled in his stomach. “Please,” he said when he found his voice. “Please just tell her it isn’t going to happen. Someone else will come along with the perfect family for her. And they’ll remember to feed her and spend time with her. And they won’t make her mad all the time just by entering a room or sitting at the same table.”

  “Are you all right, Jeeves?”

  His mouth was suddenly very dry. It had been a game, the mild flirtation. He’d known it rankled her, so he’d done it on purpose. The dancing close at the tavern, while pleasant, was all the more fun because she hated that she loved it. The next day, he’d mowed his lawn with a heart shape in the middle of the grass instead of a diamond pattern. He’d been getting his paper every day wearing tight jeans and no shirt, despite the cold, because he knew she rolled her eyes at him—but still watched every morning. She’d even played back the last few days and it was fun. Harmless fun.

  He gulped a little, looking at her now and remembering the way she’d changed out of her clothes in front of the drawn shade last night, knowing he was watching. Her silhouette so shapely, like an hourglass of lush, provocative sin.

  But they both knew it didn’t mean anything. She didn’t even like him. Christ, he wasn’t even sure he liked her.

  “Tell that dog I’m a bad bet.”

  “Have you hit your head recently, Jeeves?”

  “Tell her,” he gasped. This was not happening. He did not move here with the intention of falling for his neighbor. He wanted peace and quiet. He would never have a moment’s peace again if he took up with her.

  Cleaver shot him a wary glance and turned to the dog behind the glass. “Oh sweetheart,” she began. “He’s a terrible bet.”

  She glanced back, and he motioned with his hand for her to keep going.

  “You don’t want a guy like Jeeves Allencaster. He’s…” She looked back at him again. “He’s more than a little crazy for one thing.”

  Yes, that he was.

  Charlie spoke conspiratorially to his dog behind the window. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind.”

  “Hey, I work very hard on my abs.”

  “He thinks that he can charm his way out of any situation.”

  “No, I think I can charm my way into any situation. Big difference.”

  She sighed heavily. Wow. He’d like to hear her make that sound again, only lying down. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “He really isn’t made for small-town life, baby,” she cooed at the dog.

  “I’m very happy here. I’m never moving again.”

  “He’s a player.”

  Jeeves put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. “What the hell kind of nonsense are you trying to fill my dog’s head with?”

  She bit her lip and looked up at him, those dark lashes pulling his gaze, beckoning like a mirage, because that’s what she was. Charlie Jeeves wasn’t real. Nobody could look so beautiful and soft and sweet like some goddamned confection and be so ornery and fire breathing.

  “I’m really concerned that you have a head injury. Do you have any blocks of time unaccounted for recently, any lumps?”

  “I may be a lot of things, but a player has never been one of them. I’ve never promised a woman anything I didn’t want to deliver. I don’t leave a string of broken hearts in my wake and I don’t have any head trauma.” He had both his hands on her shoulders now. “Are you Greek?”

  “What?” Her eyes were bright and a little startled.

  “I don’t know. I can’t control anything right now, least of all what I say. But I’m looking at you and trying to figure it all out. You have this lush skin that’s pale but not white and all that curly hair.”

  “My mother is Greek. What does my heritage have to do with your dog?”

  “Damn it. She is my dog isn’t she?”

  “Can I go do my errands now?”

  She ducked out of his arms. That was okay, for now. He needed to think some more about this anyway. Maybe he could talk himself out of falling for her. Probably not. But he could try.

  ...

  Four hours later, Charlie looked at the Caller ID number and groaned. She pushed Talk. “No, you may not borrow a cup of sugar.”

  Jeeves spoke low into the phone. “She won’t eat.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  He really was the strangest man. She’d decided after three cups of coffee at Myrtle’s that she was done with the flirty games. The crazed look in his eye at the pet shop made her feel distinctly unsafe that he understood they were just kidding. He was becoming unhinged. Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

  “I don’t want her to know I’m talking about her. Can you come over?”

  “What? No. Jeeves, I don’t know anything about dogs with eating disorders.”

  “Please?”

  “Maybe she’s just not hungry.”

  And yet somehow, fifteen minutes later, Charlie was trudging across the lawn, in the dark, muttering about crazy neighbors. When Jeeves answered the door, he looked down in surprise at the bottle of Jack she thrust at him.

  “You need a drink,” she said, and pushed past him.

  Medusa was snoring happily on a dog bed near the fireplace. She looked like a small horse with an afro. She didn’t even vaguely resemble a poodle. In front of her were six soup bowls, each filled with a different color of kibble.

  “What exactly is going on here?” She followed Jeeves to the kitchen, and he poured them both a drink. She looked around, peeking around the corner to the living room again. He was really quite neat. And he’d unpacked everything. Charlie was pretty sure she still had unpacked boxes in her guestroom, and she’d lived in the house for ten years.

  “I bought her six different kinds of kibble and she won’t touch any of them.” He handed her a glass. “Is neat okay? I might have some Coke or club soda. Or ice even.”

  “This is fine. I brought it for you anyway. Medicinal.” She sipped the whiskey. “What is going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jeeves, you’re acting crazy. Okay, crazier.” She pulled him into the living room and sat them both down on his leather couch. The room was masculine, all browns and golds. Masculine, but comfortable.

  “Getting the dog is a big step for me.” He looked into her eyes very deeply. Maybe he was trying to figure out what nationality her father was if her mother was Greek. Because he was so weird.

  “Yes, the dog is a lot more responsibility.” Charlie glanced over at the creature. “She seems pretty well-adjusted, though. I think she’s drooling.”

  “Thank you for coming by. You’re being very nice to me tonight. I’m a little worried that the four horsemen are riding down the street you’re being so pleasant.”

  She sat back. The fire was warm, and the whiskey was warmer. They listened to the snaps and crackles and deep snorts for a few minutes. “Jeeves, can I ask you something?”

  “Welsh and German. No Greek that I know of.”

  She laughed. “Why did you move to Silver Pines?”

  “If I tell you, will you tell me why you didn’t want me to move to Silver Pines?”

  The hair on her arms rose. It was a fair trade, so she nodded, but she didn’t like it.

  “I hate Los Angeles. I mean hate it. As soon as we got word my last series was cancelled, I started looking for a town that was the exact opposite of Hollywood. No more traffic, no more plastic smiles and plastic money.”

  “Plastic breasts,” Charlie offered.

  “I’ve seen one plastic pair in this town.”

  “Really? Who?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not telling. You have to have a practiced eye to spot them. Anyway I stumbled on Silver Pines.”

  “Because you hate L.A.?” She heard the doubt threaded in her own voice. He didn’t look as if he’d hated it in the pictures she’d seen on TMZ. Not that she was seeking him out on the internet. Not very often.
>
  Jeeves exhaled sharply. “I hate who I am in L.A.,” he conceded. “I felt like I never got out of high school, like I was always going along with what everyone else did so I could be cool. I’m forty-two years old. I came here to grow the hell up.”

  “Are you through acting?”

  He examined the amber liquid in his glass. “I don’t know. I’m done with television and movies. I might do some theater. I’d like to write a screenplay. Your turn. Why the big hate on me?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to bring Hollywood here.”

  “I’m not.” His voice soothed her.

  “I don’t like change, Jeeves. I’ve carved out a really good existence here. I don’t want it to change.”

  It occurred to her, belatedly, how close their faces were. His eyes looked mossy in the firelight, so deep a green that she thought of rainforests. He had tiny wrinkles in the skin around his lids, and she wanted to brush a feather-light kiss on them, and the thought jolted her back into herself. Maybe it wasn’t Jeeves who was losing his grip on reality. It was her.

  She turned her head back to the fire, but he cupped her chin and brought her face back to him. “What just happened there?”

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  He nodded, not letting go of her chin. “Okay.”

  She gulped on her own breath, greedy for oxygen because there didn’t seem to be enough of it.

  “Thanks for coming by,” he whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” she responded and then pulled him to her, whimpering when his lips touched hers.

  Even though she technically started it, she opened her eyes in surprise at the contact. She held her mouth in a rigid line, but his lips were soft as they brushed over hers in a slow, sinuous glide. Charlie closed her eyes and let herself relax. Just for a minute, she chided herself.

  The hand under her chin flexed, and then he tunneled his fingers into her hair. He stretched the rest of his body away for a moment, still kissing her, and she heard his glass thunk on the coffee table. She still clutched hers in both hands when he reached his other hand into her hair.

  Part of Charlie tried to rationalize with herself, but she shut that bitch up pretty quickly. Jeeves smelled too good, and his hands held her firmly while he fed her kiss after intoxicating kiss. He pulled her hair gently, and the zing bounced to her toes and back. She squeezed the glass so hard, she wondered why it hadn’t cracked in her hands yet.

  Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t figure it out when Jeeves sucked her lower lip gently. Then his mouth kept roving…her jaw, her cheek, her temple, and then, oh God, her ear. He did things to her earlobe that made her crazy, but that was when they noticed the noise from the other side of the room. That was what had been nagging her. What the hell was that noise? It sounded like a propeller-powered vacuum cleaner.

  They sat up and looked at the source of the racket and found Medusa snorkeling in one of her kibble bowls. As soon as she noticed they had stopped kissing, she stopped eating and stared back at them. This went on for a long minute until Jeeves experimentally kissed Charlie again while surreptitiously watching Medusa. As soon as his lips were busy, the dog began eating again.

  “Well, I guess this means there will be lots of kissing,” Jeeves said into her cheek. “Or my dog will starve.”

  “I am not going to make out with you every time your dog needs to eat. You might need to advertise for extra help.”

  She tried to draw away from him, but he pulled her back. “Medusa is very discerning. I’m not sure she’d accept a substitute.”

  Charlie pulled away again. “She will if she gets hungry enough. I really have to go.”

  Jeeves walked her to the door. “You’re a chicken. We just made out on my couch, and you’re going to pretend it’s no big deal.”

  The phrase “made out on my couch” sort of made stars swirl in her eyes. She had to get out of here. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making it one, but it doesn’t have to be. We’re neighbors. We might even be friends. We’re not going to be more than that. Why are you following me?”

  “I’m walking you home.”

  “No, you’re not. I live right there.” It wasn’t worth arguing about, she could tell by the look in his eye. “Fine.”

  She didn’t wait for him or talk to him. She knew he was behind her, and she stormed across the grass, up the stairs of her porch, and slammed the door behind her. That damned dog would learn to eat on her own or she was going to lose a lot of weight.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning at ten, Jeeves knocked on Charlie’s back door.

  “Twice a day,” he said when she opened it, looking first at him and then the dog bowl in his hands and dog on the leash. “Ten and six. We can try hugging. She might go for that.”

  He pushed past her and set the bowl on the floor, dropped the leash, and pulled Charlie into his arms. “You’re wearing pajamas.” They were flannel with daisies and her hair was in a lopsided pony tail thing.

  “It’s one of the perks of working at home.” She rested her chin on his shoulder in a resigned huff. “I can’t believe I’m going along with this. This is ridiculous.”

  “Mmmm. Yeah.” Ridiculously nice. She was soft and warm and smelled like apples. “Why do you smell like apples?” he asked.

  “It’s my lotion. Look, she’s eating.”

  Jeeves was holding a woman dressed in daisies who smelled like apples, and his dog was eating. He did, in fact, want to start every day the same way. There must be some way to slow this down. He reminded himself that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with this woman as he smoothed a palm down her back.

  “I mean it. You need to hire someone else to come over and kiss you twice a day. I’m not doing this forever,” she said.

  “I know, sweetheart.” She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Medusa finished her breakfast, so Charlie extricated herself from his arms and got the dog a bowl of water. She’d been right, last month at the tavern. She wasn’t like the women he dated in L.A. He couldn’t imagine any of them wearing flannel pajamas. If he saw them in the morning, it was all lace scraps or sheer robes. Of course, they maybe wore more comfortable clothes when he wasn’t around, but they never let people see them like that.

  She was curvier, too. She rode that bicycle everywhere, but she was a round woman. Did that bother him? No, he didn’t think it did. Remembering the silhouette of her behind the shade, he amended that to no, it definitely did not. He’d never dated a woman who wasn’t a size six, or maybe two, before. It wasn’t as if he knew what size they wore anyway—but Charlie was heavier. That was likely going to be a problem. For her.

  He didn’t care.

  The media had painted him so cavalier about women and life because that was the image he projected on purpose. After a while, he’d begun to believe it himself. So, after years of fake boobs and women with no hips, he was attracted to a woman who was all real and had…a lot of hip. This was good news. He wasn’t a total ass. Who knew? Maybe he even had layers.

  Jeeves realized he had a long road ahead in convincing Cleaver he was as deep as space, but he wasn’t concerned. Not overly. She’d come around.

  He decided to peruse the rest of the house while she was cooing at Medusa. It was a mirror image of his own. The kitchen had been painted a cheery yellow, and the main living room was the color of lilacs in May. Her furniture wasn’t antique, but it wasn’t new either. Unless the 50s and 60s were considered antique now. He guessed the retro look went better with her dresses.

  Medusa clopped in looking for attention, her nails hopefully not scratching the polished pine floors. There were so many things not right about the dog that it was hard to know where to start. Once you got past the hair and the odd horse face, a person still had to wrap their mind around that under bite. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, stroking her ears.

  Cleaver snorted at the endearment from the kitchen doorway.
“So, I guess I’ll see you at six then?”

  There was an Olympic sized pool of water between them. They both circled around it, trying to work up the nerve to dive in. She kept dipping her toes, but wouldn’t commit to getting wet. He kept waiting for her to jump in first.

  “Can I see where you work?”

  She directed him to the door behind him. Inside, the walls were shocking red. She had a drafting table in the middle of the room and on the walls hung oversized corkboards full of sketches.

  “I Googled you the other day,” he said, inspecting the works-in-progress. “I wasn’t sure what a graphic novelist was to tell you the truth.”

  Charlie exhaled loudly. “Okay, honestly, I only call myself that when I’m being pretentious. I’m a comic book writer. My books just get a better binding.”

  “You do good work. You’re very popular.”

  She shrugged and leaned on the doorjamb. “I love my work. Blaze, my main character, gets all the credit. She’s the real star.”

  Blaze was the redheaded teen character Charlie had created who traveled space in her own rocket ship, solving crimes and saving the world.

  Nice work if you could get it.

  “Your Wikipedia page says you are a recluse.”

  Charlie stiffened and then tried to make with the casual. “I’m not a recluse. You’ve seen me out. I just don’t like to do appearances for work.”

  There was a story there, but Jeeves knew better than to push it right now. “Tell me how this works. You do both the writing and the illustrating?”

  She nodded. “I write a script first, usually. Unless I’m stuck, then I’ll draw the picture and try and ferret out the words from that. I block the whole thing out on a storyboard and then I pencil sketch.” She showed him a draft. She called it rough, but he thought it was pretty intricate. “I transfer it to this cardstock, I usually add more details, and then ink it. Then I scan it into my computer.” She jiggled the mouse to wake up her screen. “I use a software program to color the image. Mine are mostly black and white though. Except for a few touches of color. Blaze’s hair mostly.”