Kiss Me Goodnight

by Michele Zurlo

  Luma snorted. “Owen’s an ass. He uses you because you’re brilliant. You can’t feel bad for him. If he relied on you a little less, maybe he would’ve been actual competition.”

  Needless to say, Luma didn’t have a high opinion of Owen. I saw him as one of those people who desperately wanted to be smarter than he was. He clung to his more intelligent friends, listened, parroted, and hoped for the best. At some point, he’d come to believe he was just as smart as everybody else. But he wasn’t, and time and circumstances eventually catch up with everybody.

  That delusion had led Owen to belittle Jane on more than one occasion. We didn’t understand why she continued to help him study. At this news, I felt a sense of gloating vindication.

  “Jane, you’re a brilliant lawyer. You deserve this. Don’t let Owen Glazer diminish your accomplishment.”

  She studied her drink, probably replaying a confrontation in her head. A frown marred her forehead and chin. “He said I could only jiggle my boobs for so long before they start sagging to my knees, and then the firm would lose interest in me.”

  I wanted to punch him.

  Luma must have felt the same way. She narrowed her eyes to slits, and in the darkened room, she looked positively feral. “Call the son of a bitch. Invite him here. I’ll come on to him in the alley out back, get him naked. Lacey will steal his clothes, and then we’ll leave his ass twisting in the wind.”

  The plan sounded like something I’d lie about. I hoped Luma was kidding.

  Jane giggled, washing away her guilt and the tension. “I love you guys.”

  “We love you too.” Luma and Jane shared a moment of drunken awareness, then they burst with the kind of pure laughter found only in those inebriated connections. As the sober party, I felt a little left out.

  “Hey, you’re Lacey, right?”

  I swung my attention around to see the drummer in Dylan’s band. Now that I was sitting on a high-legged chair, I stood/sat face to face with her. She had the same oval face as her brother, though her jaw wasn’t as square, and she also shared the dark hair and teal eyes.

  I wasn’t used to knowing the family members of men I dated—not that Dylan and I were dating. We’d shared two conversations in two different ladies’ rooms. That wasn’t romantic, and I doubted it was even hygienic. I cleared my throat and answered the woman. “Yeah.”

  She offered me her hand. “Daisy Day. Dylan didn’t introduce us earlier. He told me about how you met.”

  I blushed. I’ve never wished so much to be drunk. Why had I thought it was a good idea to volunteer for DD duty? “It was an accident.” Points to me for not stammering. I wrung my hands together, and I knew I’d be fighting the urge to wash them very soon.

  Daisy laughed. “Audra and Monty thought it was hilarious.”

  Audra. His wife. She knew who I was. Of course she’d remember someone who spilled coffee all over her husband’s lap. All of a sudden, it hit me. I was here tonight to see a married man. After all the promises I’d made to myself—after all the affirmations about how I deserved somebody honest, somebody who loved me and only me—here I was, about to dive into the same tainted pool once more.

  Shame flooded my body. I wanted to cry and wash my hands. Several lies came to mind. I have a brain tumor, and I’m dying. I’m a lesbian. Anything to get me out of this situation.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Oh. I—It was an accident. I’m glad his wife isn’t upset.”

  Daisy’s brows lifted, hiding under her bangs. “Audra is my wife. Monty’s our son.”

  I stared at her for a long time as her statements penetrated my thick skull. Then I thought about the second lie I’d considered, and a slow giggle trickled from me. It went on and on. Jane and Luma emerged from their love-fest to stare. Tears wet my eyelashes. Also in that manic episode was no small measure of relief. Dylan wasn’t married. He’d been out with his nephew and sister-in-law.

  I wasn’t heading off the cliff into Bad Mistake Land. Things in my life were truly on the upswing. New job. Cute single guy with awesome taste in music. Night out with my best friends. My soul soared.

  Chapter Five

  “WHAT’S THE NAME OF THE BAND?” Jane leaned over to ask me.

  “I have no idea.”

  I introduced Daisy to Jane and Luma. My friends were impressed that I knew the drummer in the band, and they probably assumed I was there to support her. I didn’t ask or in any way try to correct assumptions they may or may not have made.

  Dylan’s band opened with original music. He’d changed his clothes from earlier. They all had. Each member was now clad in a black cotton T-shirt and dark blue jeans. The three men looked scrumptious, and even behind the drum set, Daisy stood out in her V-necked baby tee.

  Jane leaned closer. “If you don’t know the name of the band, how did you meet them?”

  I hadn’t met them all. “I spilled coffee on the lead singer.”

  She hit me. Hard.

  I winced, flinching out of her reach and rubbing my arm. “Ow. Damn it, Jane. What was that for?”

  “You spilled coffee on Mr. Too-Hot-for-Words, and you’re just now mentioning it? Luma and I will be torturing you for the details later. And introductions. I concede that you have dibs on the lead singer. We’ll work out who gets the keyboardist and who gets the bassist.”

  Dylan played lead guitar, and I was impressed at his skill. He was effectively doing two complicated things at once, and I had to wonder how that ability translated into other areas of life.

  The band played another original song before launching into their version of “Endlessly, She Said.” Dylan dedicated it to me, or actually to “the lovely woman with the iced latte,” as he didn’t use my name. I’m not sure how I feel about that gesture. I mean, I’m pretty certain the song is about the death of hope. It speaks to my soul, but it whispers dreary sentiments. This did not bode well for my prospects of exchanging my battery-powered lover for a manual one.

  Meanwhile, Dylan’s voice and expression seemed to mesmerize everyone in the room. I don’t think anyone had expected to be swept away, but that’s what he did to them. For me, those are the sweetest of experiences: the unexpectedly good ones. I went willingly, even when I realized he was singing a punked-out version of “You Give Love a Bad Name.” It was almost enough to make me want to listen to Bon Jovi.

  Almost.

  Jane and Luma enjoyed the show tremendously. By the time Dylan introduced their last tune, my friends had sobered up.

  “I’d like to thank all of you for coming out tonight. We are Kiss Me Goodnight, and this is our final song.”

  It started slow, with the melody kicking in after the drum established the beat. It had a catchy chorus:

  I’ll lock all the doors

  And turn out the lights;

  Curl up in my arms, darling,

  And kiss me goodnight.

  There was more, of course. The song told the story of lovers comfortable in the knowledge that they’d always be together. He sang it sweetly, so even though I didn’t catch all the lyrics, the song still managed to penetrate my emotions.

  When the band had abandoned the stage and the DJ took over the sound system again, Jane turned to me, her eyes narrowed.

  “Spill it, sister. I can’t believe you’re holding out on us.”

  Luma lifted an inquiring brow, and they took turns with the interrogation.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dylan.”

  “You met when?”

  “Last Friday.”

  “First date?”

  “No.”

  “He ask you out?”

  “No. He asked me to come see his band.” I looked around. A lot of pretty girls were here. I wondered how many he had invited. Jane opened her mouth to ask the next question, but I held up my hand. “It’s not a big deal. I spilled coffee on him. He asked me to come see his band play. I’m here. End of story.”

  They gave me the look that said they knew I wasn’t te
lling them everything. But they also knew, from experience, that if they kept asking questions, I’d be in the bathroom until the soap dispensers ran dry.

  I didn’t know if Dylan would try to find me, but I wanted him to know I’d been here and I enjoyed the show. They didn’t have roadies, so the band members were disassembling their own equipment. I approached the stage, but half the single women in the place had the same idea, so I stood off to the side.

  Dylan worked steadily. Every time he or another band member came near the front of the stage, some groupie—I couldn’t believe they already had groupies—said something to snag his attention.

  When the girl next to me yelled a suggestive compliment at Dylan, he had the grace to blush as he looked over. But when he did, he spotted me and seemed to forget the woman who’d spoken. The shy smile on his face grew larger and warmer. “Lacey. Daisy told me you were here. I was hoping you’d stick around.”

  The girl gave me a dirty look, which I ignored. Jane and Luma had my back, and they’re experts. They have older sisters. As an only child and someone who spent my childhood focused on my OCD, I was out of my depth when it came to petty dealings with women.

  “Do you need help?” I asked Dylan.

  He quirked a brow. “Sure. How are you at holding open doors?”

  “I have a degree in that shoved in a drawer somewhere.”

  Jane pinched me, a warning. My statement was a joke, but I have a history of taking things to extremes.

  I didn’t react to the zap of pain, but I did sweep my hand up and point over my shoulder. “These are my friends, Jane and Luma. They’re also great with doors.”

  Dylan helped us all onto the stage, which isn’t as easy as it looks. But he’s strong, and we all made it up there without losing our dignity.

  The band worked quickly and efficiently to load the equipment into their van, which was parked in a short alley behind the bar. Dylan introduced us to the keyboardist, Levi, and the bassist, Gavin. This time they shook my hand instead of glaring.

  Gavin even apologized. “Sorry if we came off as overly hostile earlier.”

  “That’s all right. I know I overstepped my bounds. It won’t happen again.”

  “You meant well. And you were right.” He grinned, his brown eyes lit with warmth.

  One thing I’ll say about the band: they’re hot. Every single one of them is physically attractive—tall, built, and handsome. Daisy is shorter than the guys, but still tall for a woman. And she’s pretty. They looked and sounded great.

  I introduced Jane and Luma to Dylan’s band. Thank goodness neither of them looked at the men like they were a buffet. I liked Dylan, and now that I knew he was single, I was actually experiencing hope.

  Gavin looked at Dylan and clapped Levi on the back. “We should clear out.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” Heads swung and everybody looked at me. It was a little disorienting. I won’t be going on a stage anytime soon. I swallowed. “I mean, this was your first performance. There have to be a hundred women and more than a few men hanging out in there who enjoyed your show and wouldn’t mind meeting you. Mingling will help build your fan base.”

  I needed to shut up before somebody asked me if I was a publicist. Knowing me, I would probably answer in the affirmative. I have a major in finance with a minor in business administration. Nothing there speaks to this situation.

  “Sorry. Just throwing out ideas.”

  Jane and Luma chuckled nervously. Jane moved closer, probably ready to drag me away if I kept going.

  Levi nodded thoughtfully. “Good ideas, though. They make sense. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re heading back inside.”

  Daisy linked her arms through Jane’s and Luma’s, and the three of them went first. Levi and Gavin followed.

  Dylan held the door for me, which led to a hallway behind the stage. He grabbed my hand, holding me back when I would have followed everyone else through the door into the main room.

  I cocked my head and gazed up at him.

  “You liked the show?”

  “Very much. I’d even see it again.” I still think they need some backing vocals. “I especially liked the last song. That’s where you took the name for your band?”

  He nodded. “I wrote the song a few years ago.” His eyes clouded over the tiniest bit, a combination of nostalgia and melancholy.

  I was about to ask him if he was okay when he tilted his head down. The right moment had finally come. He was going to kiss me. My lips tingled with anticipation. My senses came alive, attuned to every molecule of this moment.

  He pulled me against him, holding me so I could feel the hard length of his thighs (yes, thighs, you perv) against mine. But that wasn’t enough. Taking one step forward, he moved my back against the wall. Throwing caution to the wind, I gave in to my urge to run my hands over his chest. I broke my gaze from his, putting off a moment I knew would blow away every kiss I’ve ever had.

  You don’t think I’ve set my hopes too high, do you?

  He was hot and damp from exerting himself on stage and packing up the equipment. It’s been far too long since I’ve reveled in having a sweaty man in my hands.

  A hard, lump under his shirt caught my finger. I went to move it aside, but the clumsy part of my brain was operating at maximum capacity, and I couldn’t.

  As I felt it again, discerning the shape, I realized it was a ring. He was wearing a ring on a necklace. I pulled it from under his shirt and held it to the side where I could see it better.

  Dylan snatched the ring from my hand and tucked it back under his shirt, regarding me with a displeased frown.

  That ring was an ice bath on my libido. I was a little stunned, and a lot pissed. My instincts were dead on. “Is that a wedding ring?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Son of a bitch. Don’t worry about the fact that he’s hiding a freaking ring? I shoved him away. “I won’t.”

  Now he looked stunned. I had no plans to stick around and hear how his wife didn’t understand him or whatever manure he was planning to spread. My hands itched with invisible soil. I tried to leave, but he grabbed my shoulders.

  “Lacey, it’s not what you think.”

  Oh, yes. I’ve heard this one before. I responded, turning my derision on high. “I think it’s a wedding ring, and I’m perfectly aware of what that means.”

  He was silent, most likely wavering between guilt and uncertainty.

  I wasn’t going to wait until he could gather his favorite lies. “What? You’re not going to tell me how your wife doesn’t understand you? She doesn’t support your dreams? She’s cheating on you? The magic is gone? She’s not into sleeping with you anymore?”

  He opened and closed his mouth, but all that did was set his jaw a little more stubbornly.

  So, that’s how it’s going to be; he’s going to get defensive over his indiscretion. Well, if he’s going to be a loser-jerk, I’m going to stick up for a stranger with the same bad taste in men.

  “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. Vows and fidelity mean something. If you’re not into being faithful, you have no business getting married in the first place.”

  Crud. I think I just handed him the perfect excuse. But he actually appeared to be thinking about what I said.

  “You’re right, Lacey. Vows mean something, and if I was still married, I wouldn’t be here with you. I’d be celebrating with her.” He swallowed a lump that looked pretty painful. “Nadia died last November.”

  It took a minute, but my ire turned to sympathy. He’d lost his wife less than six months ago. The ring kept her close to his heart. Was this worse than if he’d still been married? I’m not sure. I don’t know how to reconcile my sympathy with my relief and disappointment. I hope he’s telling the truth, not because I want her to be dead, but because I desperately don’t want to be the other woman again.

  I stopped trying to leave. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He stuck his hands in his pocke
ts and rocked back on his heels. “We went skiing in Utah last Thanksgiving. She was the better skier, so we separated for the afternoon. She went on a harder slope with a group of people and a guide. Apparently, she fell. Broke her neck. They said she felt no pain.”

  This was an entirely new situation for me. I’ve only rehearsed speeches, diatribes, and comebacks for situations involving still-living spouses. I didn’t quite know what to say. Showing sympathy was fine, but I didn’t want to overdo it. I hadn’t known Nadia, and I barely knew Dylan. I waited in a way that I hoped came off as patient because I had no idea what else to do.

  “Anyway, I moped around for a few months, then I decided to stop.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, an unconscious, soothing gesture. “She was the kind of person who took chances. I’d always wanted to be in a band, so I formed one. It seemed appropriate that she be here with me, if only in spirit.”

  He might not be moping, but he was still grieving; that much was apparent.

  I put my hand on his arm, holding it lightly on his warm skin. “I’m sure she is here with you, so we probably shouldn’t do any kissing.”

  He smiled and chuckled briefly, then he parked his hand on my lower back and steered me into the main room. He didn’t kiss me until we parted ways, and that was only a short peck on the cheek.

  My luck, it seemed, had only marginally improved.

  Chapter Six

  BEGINNING THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, I found out that my job at Hanover is indeed a sales position. My responsibilities include convincing businesses to stock liquors that Hanover distributes and maintaining a good relationship with them. My department is called Client Acquisition and Services.

  Basically, I sell booze to bars. Over the next two months, I traveled a lot, and I found that I have a latent gift for charming people. I channeled the skills I normally use to lie into strategies for approaching prospective clients, and I walked away from the majority of my meetings with positive results.

  Mr. Hanover was so impressed that he increased my commission rate. At first I wasn’t sure about the whole idea of working on commission. What if I have a bad month or get really sick? I have to work for ninety days before I’m eligible for health care. So far my job helps with rent, but not with doctor’s fees. I worry about these things, so I’ve been extra careful to wash my hands frequently.