Forfeiting Decency

by Rachel Schneider

  “Kaley, I’m not kissing you.”

  “I’m asking if you’ve ever thought about it.”

  He opens his eyes again. “Where is this coming from?”

  I shrug, pretending nonchalance. “Curiosity.”

  He narrows his eyes. “You’re a bad liar.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “If that was true—which it’s not—how have I gotten away with so much shit for all my life?”

  “You’re pretty,” he says, matter-of-fact. “People believe you because they want to believe you, not because it’s logical.”

  I lick my lips, drawing his attention to where I want it. “So you think I’m pretty?”

  He rolls his eyes and leans on one elbow. “If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

  I somehow manage to hold back my smile. “Kiss me and find out.”

  “Kaley,” he says, voice deep in admonishment.

  “Fine,” I agree. “I’ll zip it.”

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, he releases a breath. His eyes jump from my eyes to my mouth, and mine follow the same path, trying to keep up with his thoughts running rampant across his features. Normally, I’d make the first move. I don’t like hesitation. It only breeds insecurity. But I have a feeling Kip needs to feel like he has control of this situation.

  With one last shake of his head, he leans forward, barely grazing his lips against mine. They touch, separating for a split second before making full contact as he breathes into me. My lungs fill as his empty. He’s breathing when it feels like I can’t. It takes a moment, but slowly, he moves his lips over mine, and we’re actually kissing.

  My lungs burn as I force air in and out of them.

  Finally gaining a sense of self-awareness, I open my mouth wider, driving our kiss to deepen. He follows me without hesitation, teasing with a slip of his tongue against mine, before taking it away. I push, wanting it again, this time my tongue searching for his.

  The moderation of our movements disappears. Gripping the back of my neck, he holds me still as he presses his mouth harder against mine. It’s rough, but followed with gentleness. His tongue delves in to feel, only to retreat. Lips cover mine fiercely, only to pull back a moment later. I’m no longer leading, only following…accepting.

  When he finally pulls away, we’re both breathing hard, eyes bleary as we make eye contact.

  That was...

  He licks his lips.

  …the furthest thing from outré.

  Releasing his hold on the back of my neck, he looks almost weary. Afraid, even. It's kind of awkward, but equally mesmerizing at the same time.

  “You—”

  “Nope,” he says, cutting my words off. “No talking.”

  I laugh and he resumes his position, eyes closed. Lying back, I bask in his kiss. My body is warm and light, everything the sun supplies, but in the form of a kiss. He doesn’t know it, but that is most definitely, absolutely fucking happening again. I turn my head to the side and catch him staring at me. If my smile wasn’t obvious enough, it reaches ostentatious proportions when my eyes meet his. His face morphs from minor confusion, to maybe interest, a slight smile appearing before it disappears.

  It’s progress. Progress I intend to exploit.

  He has no idea.

  We eventually get sick of the sun and venture into the shade to try my luck at bike riding once more, and it goes much like the last time. My shins are blotted with dark shades of blues and yellows from the pedals nailing them every time my feet slip. It reminds me of my childhood, and it brings on a weird sense of sadness.

  Kip catches on to my mood, because he pushes the sweaty hairs stuck to my forehead back as we take a water break. “You’ll get it eventually.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Once you do, you’ll never know what it’s like not to ride again. There’s nothing more universal than knowing how to ride a bike. You can’t forget it.”

  I recap the bottle, squinting up at him. “When was the last time you’ve ridden one?”

  He clicks his tongue. “Close to ten years, I suppose.”

  “How do you know you can still ride one if you haven’t done it in so long?”

  He smiles but doesn’t look away when he says, “Because it’s like kissing. You just know what to do.”

  And I’m reminded that I’m probably, most definitely, the first girl he’s kissed since being released from prison. This shouldn’t make me this happy. Merely an hour ago we were kissing, and it’s as if I’ve gotten to glimpse into a part of Kip that’s hidden. Almost like he’s given it to me.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  I refocus my attention. “Uh, yeah.”

  “What did I just say?”

  “That I have no balance and should give up.”

  He breathes out through his nose. “Try to kick off by yourself.”

  Beyond motivated and too distracted, it’s not surprising when I miss the pedal. I cuss, checking for blood.

  “I know what’s wrong,” Kip says.

  “Oh, really? Please enlighten me.”

  “You’re pushing off with your toes. Don’t do that.” He bends down, pressing my foot flat against the pedal. “Plant your foot, don’t toe it.”

  “That feels weird.”

  “I promise it won’t feel as weird when you do it.”

  “Kip—”

  “One last time,” he says. “I’ll let you give up if you want to quit.”

  I place one foot flat on the pedal, finding one last ounce of effort, letting my weight push the bike forward. My body rises and falls with the rotation, and I lift my other foot to find the opposite pedal before I stall. I’m prepared to feel the familiar blow of the pedal when I bring my weight down again, but am shocked when my foot meets resistance. Taking a chance, I glance down and confirm my foot is correctly positioned on the opposite pedal.

  I ride a few more feet before stopping, staring down at the handle. For some reason, I find myself choking back an emotion I can’t find. This should be joyous. I should be jumping up and down in excitement. At the age of twenty-six, I’ve finally learned how to ride a bike.

  But that’s not what I feel like doing.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Kip says, somehow finding words for me.

  My voice is shallow when I speak. “I never said it was.”

  He tilts his head, his lips thinning in the process. “You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”

  I clear my throat, pushing past the ache lodged there, meeting his stare. “Thank you.”

  Pushing my ponytail over my shoulder, he allows his fingers to linger on the soft spot where my shoulder and neck meets. “This was all you.”

  My heart swells along with my lungs, and it’s like they’re fighting for space in my chest. I’m not sure which will win. I let out a shaky smile, past the point of pretending I’m not holding back tears. “I am pretty damn awesome.”

  He laughs. “Let’s go again.”

  And just like Kip said, from that point on it’s like I didn’t ever know how not to ride a bike. I’m still wobbly at times, and stopping still proves to be challenging, but Kip lets me ride around the park to my heart’s content. I even give one of the little shits a high-five in passing—that’s how great of a mood I’m in when we leave.

  Kip lifts my bike into the bed of his truck and I get in. There’s a manila folder wedged behind the bench seat I hadn’t noticed before and I pull it free, flipping through the copies of his resume. Kip catches me holding it and he takes it from my hands, shoving the folder into the glove compartment.

  “Still no luck?”

  He shakes his head. “If worse comes to worst, I have a friend who owns a shop on the east bank. It’s nice, but he doesn’t have any managerial positions open, and I’m too experienced to be a service technician.”

  “Like changing oil and tire rotations?”

  “Yeah. I don’t mind working on the floor,
but I know I’m worth more.”

  “How many places have you applied?”

  “A few,” he answers vaguely.

  Kip helped run Tobey’s with his best friend, Taylor, after Taylor’s dad passed away. And I think Kip was the one to legitimately keep the place afloat.

  “Why don’t you just open your own shop?”

  He tilts his head in thought. “I’ve considered it.”

  When he doesn’t continue, I say, “And?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s so much time and money involved, not to mention the years it takes to build a good clientele. The first few years are always touch and go. I don’t need another failure under my belt.”

  “But you know how to do it. You’ve done this since you were a teenager. If anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”

  His smile tips up to one side. “You think?” he says with just a touch of insecurity.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  He tilts his head in thought.

  “Just think about it, okay?”

  His chest rises and falls. He’s a man of few words, but I’m finding that Kip talks a lot with his body. He’ll tell you almost everything if you pay attention.

  “And you’re not, you know?”

  “What?” he asks, finally looking at me.

  “A failure.”

  “THIS IS SOME SHODDY wine,” Lilly says, taking another sip.

  “Hey, it’s free. Enjoy it for what it is.”

  We’ve finished prepping dinner and have thirty minutes to kill while we wait for it in the oven. From the minute Lilly stepped through my door, she’s asked all the questions most people would deem inappropriate, insulted my job, and insisted on helping me organize my ridiculous amount of clutter.

  God, I’ve missed her.

  Lilly and my relationship always came easy to us. We never set unreasonable expectations for our friendship, or try to validate one another, and I’ve never felt like I had to walk on eggshells around her. It’s nice to know that didn’t disappear.

  “So,” I say, twirling the wine glass in my hand. “Have you gotten any replies on your applications?”

  She nods, wincing through a sip of wine. “I’ve gotten a few, but not from the one I’ve had my eye on.”

  “Family law, right? That’s what you want to specialize in?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Kip told me.”

  She raises her chin, assessing the source of information before nodding. “Yeah, that’s the plan,” she says. “Either way, we’ll have to move to the city.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  She shrugs. “Too many memories, maybe? I don’t know. I like being away from it all.”

  “Isn’t Justin from the middle of nowhere? Like Backwoods, Virginia or something?”

  She snorts. “Sort of, but he’s fine with living wherever.”

  “He’ll go where you go.”

  She doesn’t object, just smiles and takes another sip.

  “What’s he doing now? You know, since he was let go from the agency?” For spoiling the DEA’s investigation against my father to save your life.

  “He’s been working as a security manager at a hotel in the city.”

  “Catching more bad guys,” I say, not at all surprised.

  “Pretty much,” she says, pausing a moment before continuing. “If I tell you something, promise to keep it a secret?”

  “Who would I tell anyway?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “My brother?”

  Befuddled, I scrunch up my nose. “Why would I tell your brother?”

  “We’re going to act like you two didn’t stay out all night after my graduation? Or went on a date yesterday?”

  “Whoa, hold up. It was not a date.”

  “So you aren’t screwing my brother?”

  I laugh, half amused and half horrified. “No way. Why would you think that?”

  “Kaley,” she says. “Name a guy that you’ve been friends with and didn’t sleep with.”

  I stall and take a drink of wine, glancing at the timer on the oven. Damn it. Ten more minutes. “I might have loads of new guy friends you don’t know about who are completely platonic.”

  She gives me a look.

  “Okay, I don’t, but I don’t even classify Kip and me as friends. He’s your brother.” It’s a reminder for me as much as it is for her.

  After a second, she sighs. “I’m probably projecting. I didn’t realize how much he isolated himself until after he went to prison. I was literally the only person connected to him from the outside world. I don’t…” Her face morphs into a look of disgust as she spits out the next words. “I don’t even know how long it’s been since he’s been with someone.”

  I laugh at her discomfort. “I doubt he’d tell you if he had.”

  “And now I have Justin…” She takes a moment and stares at the ring on her finger.

  “You want him to have what you have, relationship wise.”

  “Yeah,” she breathes out, a small smile in place. “That’s not so wrong, is it?”

  “There’s no way Kip would blame you for that.”

  “I have a friend I could try to set him up with.”

  “Eh, he might blame you for that.”

  She twirls her ring, lost in thought. “I get the feeling he kind of resents Justin.”

  “For the whole undercover cop thing?”

  “No,” she says. “For taking his place.”

  We both let that sink in, quiet in our own thoughts. Kip has spent his entire life taking care of Lilly, and now she doesn’t need him anymore. His drunken words float back to me. Do you ever feel worthless? A new level of emotion settles in my stomach, and I don’t like it.

  “Back to your secret,” I say. “Are you pregnant?”

  “Shut your mouth, right the fuck now.” She points at me and I pretend to zip my lips. “I convinced Justin to elope with me in Vegas instead of having a traditional wedding.”

  “You can’t not have a wedding.”

  “I don’t want a wedding and Justin doesn’t care as long as I don’t back out.”

  “But…” I say, mildly outraged by her proposal. “What about the dress and walking down the aisle and the flowers and the—” I look up at her incredulous face and suddenly remember who I’m talking to. “Okay, so no big wedding,” I say, deflating.

  “Whoever wants to come is more than welcome, but we don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Kip’s okay with it?”

  “He doesn’t know yet.” She’s a little less affirmative when she says, “I want him to get settled before we do anything.”

  I think about mentioning Kip’s struggle trying to find a job, but stop myself. Kip is protective of Lilly, and there’s a good chance he doesn’t want to burden her. He’s always been like that—doing whatever needs to be done to make sure life was easy for her. Maybe it’s time for someone to look out for him instead.

  “You’re home super late,” Kip says, scaring the hell out of me as he leans against my apartment door. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

  It is early—seven in the morning early—and I’m arriving home after spending the night with Peter. While finding Kip outside my door is intriguing, there’s absolutely no way to successfully lie about coming home this early and looking like an expensive hooker.

  “And you’re here because…”

  “I have a couple of interviews later today. I figured we could swing by the park early.”

  I unlock my door and Kip follows me in. “You could have texted and checked if I was busy.”

  “I assumed you’d be home sleeping.” He uses the heel of his shoe to kick the door shut. “And I don’t have your number.”

  Last night was agonizingly long, and I’m surviving on only a few hours of sleep, but the idea of spending the day with Kip wakes me up more than the cup of coffee I drank back at the hotel. “Is it okay if I take a shower first?�
� I say, already unzipping the side of my dress. I look over my shoulder and find him following the movement with his eyes.

  He closes his eyes a moment before looking away. “That’s fine. I haven’t had breakfast yet. Is it okay if I make something to eat?”

  “Only if you make something for me while you’re at it.”

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Cooked.”

  Kip catching me mid Walk of Shame might be the first time I’ve ever actually felt shame for it. It’s not that I think Kip is really disappointed—he has a pretty good grasp of who I am—but maybe that I’m disappointed in myself. Or at least in the face of Kip, I am. It irks me.

  I take a quick shower, throwing my hair in a bun after I do my best to towel-dry it. There’s a plate of scrambled eggs and toast waiting for me when I walk into the kitchen and Kip is already elbow-deep in washing the dishes.

  “Yum, this looks amazing.” I grab a bottle of grape jelly from the fridge and squirt it over my entire plate. Kip looks over at me in disgust and I smile around a large bite. “You didn’t have to do the dishes.”

  He rinses the mug out and places it in the drying rack. “Gave me something to do while I waited.”

  I look around my apartment and nearly choke on my food as I begin to notice things out of place. The duvet is folded and lying across the back of the couch, the dishes on the coffee table are absent, the rug isn’t skewed like it usually is, and…is the shelf above my TV dusted?

  My eyes fixate on the laundry basket beside the couch. “You folded my clothes?”

  His back is to me, but I see him squeeze out the sponge and place it next to the sink. “Is that okay?”

  “You can’t just fold my clothes, Kip.”

  “Why not,” he says, turning around. He dries his hands on a dishtowel.

  “It’s like an invasion of privacy.” A thought dawns on me, and my voice drops as I say, “Did you touch my underwear?”

  He smiles. “You mean the black lacy underwear with the little pink bows?”

  I say his name in warning.

  “No, I didn’t touch them. I left them in the bottom of the basket where I found them.”

  I set down my fork as calmly as I can and level him with a stare. “We need to set up some boundaries since you obviously don’t have any idea what they are.”