Kiss Me

by Joseph James Hunt

  “I message him.” He took a bite from the toast. “He doesn’t want to meet.”

  “What did you say?”

  Blake pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket and passed it over.

  She scanned her eyes across the two texts. “Give him time.”

  “Time? I said I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard on the toast in his throat.

  “I think you need to text him back.”

  Blake looked over the texts on his phone. “Maybe I should write a romance book.”

  “Maybe. What if it doesn’t end up some happily ever after?”

  He squinted, looking at Dannika’s eyes. He shook his head. “Then I’ll turn it into some revenge book.”

  “Really?”

  He groaned. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Over an hour passed before Chris sent him a text.

  Tomorrow. Let’s go for coffee.

  Where?

  The Italian place. 1 P.M.

  Great! I’ll see you then x

  Alfonso’s café was a twenty-minute walk away from Blake’s apartment. He needed the fresh air, and took every minute possible to rethink what he wanted to say. It plagued him all night, and even until the point where he stood outside the café looking in to see Chris standing at the barista ordering coffee.

  “I got you one,” Chris said, noticing Blake walk in. He gestured to a table against the wall.

  Blake pulled the scarf away from around his neck and undressed from his jacket, placing it over the back of the chair. “I’m sorry.”

  Chris took his seat, folding his jacket over on his lap. “What for?”

  He closed his eyes slightly and nodded. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted.”

  “Is that it?” he glanced around the café, holding a hand up to the barista carrying coffees. “I mean, we kinda both said we’d be cool if the other person got the job.”

  Blake’s lips tensed, pursing in thought. “I am okay, it’s just other things. I’m going to lose out on a lot of my wage.”

  Chris tasted his coffee before adding sugar. “You still have a job, though.”

  “I know, I was acting like a dick, and I’m sorry.” He reached for Chris’ hand across the table.

  “Uh.” Chris pulled away, his eyes darting around the room. “I get it, but you made me feel like a bad person. I tried. I wanted to make us a meal. I wanted to do something to take your mind off it.

  “Maybe, if I thought you liked me enough to hold my hand, maybe I would’ve thought it was sincere.”

  Chris closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “You know I’m not into PDA. It makes me feel claustrophobic.” He tapped his fingers on the table.

  “I know, but—”

  They stared into their coffees for a moment, sat in a silence where neither of them were comfortable, fidgeting around with the wrappers of sugar sachets.

  Blake glanced at Chris and smiled. “I think I’m going to write a book.” He smiled to himself at the thought. “They told me if my segment was popular enough they’d consider publishing a book. I didn’t even have an idea for one.”

  “What about?”

  “A love story?”

  “Love?” Chris grinned. “What do you know about love?”

  Blake scoffed. “I know I give great advice, I could probably write one, maybe about us.”

  “And love?”

  Blake blushed, thinking about what he’d almost said to Chris, the three words that should never come out of anyone’s mouth after only a few weeks of dating. “It’ll be fiction.”

  Chris shrugged. “So, tell me what happens in your book?” He grinned. “I’ll set the scene. You have two characters, they’re drinking coffee, one of them isn’t sure how he feels about the other because of a dispute, the other is the catalyst for the dispute and wants to make things better. What happens next?”

  He gulped hard, staring directly into the dilating pupils of Chris’ eyes. “They spend the evening together, and—but there’s no wine involved.”

  “Well, there’s always wine but maybe they don’t go stupid and drink the whole thing.”

  “And maybe even a crappy film they don’t watch all the way through.”

  “Or—” Chris coughed into a fist. “They watch one of his all-time favourite films, and they both love it.”

  “Or that.”

  “So?” Chris pushed the ceramic white coffee cup to his lips.

  Blake glared back, expectantly, expecting him to continue his train of thought. “So?”

  “So, do you want to come to mine tonight and watch a film, and have one glass of wine?”

  He smiled. “Why one?”

  “Alcohol isn’t great if you’re not feeling good, and I don’t want the night to end in tears, because that’s what it does if you’re drinking to forget or blackout.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  He grinned. “Actually, yeah, but that was years ago.”

  “Maybe just stick to apple juice then.”

  “And if you want to stay over, you should bring clothes for work tomorrow.”

  Blake pushed his hands to his face. “I don’t even know how I’ll show my face. I bet they hate me.”

  “I don’t think they’re happy with how you reacted, but you’ll be fine.” Chris pushed his hand across the table. He squeezed Blake’s hand. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated.

  THIRTEEN

  Shrink wrap

  Blake enjoyed waking up beside someone, wrapping his legs around their legs, pressing his torso against theirs, mimicking a baby koala bear against a tree, clinging on with all their might.

  Christian wasn’t one for being close in public, but for what he lacked outside, he more than made up for in the privacy of his own apartment. He kissed at the tip of Blake’s nose and ruffled his fingers through his hair.

  While together, all their previous dramas seemed to fade away, there was nothing outside of the four walls of a bedroom that could upset their equilibrium, not even the evasion of sleep after being kept away having sex. They stayed in each other’s arms, snoozing their alarm clocks as they rang.

  Monday mornings at Vague were an additional weekend day, a prep day for the week ahead, especially for the writers; it was a day of contacting sources, opening letters, catching up on emails, and having meetings with editors, but Monday mornings were not for bad news, even if the previous Monday pushed Blake to the verge of a mental breakdown.

  “Blake, Nicole needs to speak with you.” Ava’s soft voice announced.

  Blake looked from his computer screen, he was reading through emails, but in his mind, he was replaying scenes from his weekend with Chris, replaying the butterflies in his stomach.

  Nicole sat in her office with her fingers crossed together and palm flat on her desk. She looked at him, staring with her puppy dog eyes in silence.

  “What’s up?” he asked, patting the arms of the leather chair.

  “As you know, the company has been juggling a few things around, and they’ve come to some decisions.”

  “I know.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Well, there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “So, when we assigned office space, we gave them based on availability, and you had a larger following. Now, we’re moving around all our writers.”

  “I’m moving from my office?”

  “Hmm. Yeah.”

  He scratched at his chin, occupied in the rough stubble. “Where to?”

  “A few more details I need to iron out.”

  “Okay?”

  “You’ll have a smaller space. You’ll be closer to Ed and Noah.”

  He choked on her words. “You’re putting me near the music guys.”

  “I say, closer, I mean, you’re moving into the shared office space.”

  He threw himself from his seat and stood. “You’re shitting me, right? The freelance space?”

  Nicole’s face winced as she chewed on her teeth. “Not t
echnically freelance space, but there are six desks, and it will be you, Ed, and Noah, so you may have freelance journalists there from time-to-time.”

  “Nicole.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Nicole.” He sat in the seat. “Nicole, why don’t you just fire me?”

  “Blake.” She grumbled. “You know I can’t, it would do more harm than good to fire you.”

  “Great, so you’re backing me into a corner to quit?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. But, with the way the magazine is going.”

  “Which is?”

  She tilted her head and glanced at the open door.

  “You can’t tell me?” he asked.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard rumours, well, most of them are true.”

  Blake hadn’t heard many rumours about the company, he tried not to listen to gossip where he could, he found out the hard way that it can do more harm than good to harbour secrets. “First, I lose my page, then I get a pay cut, and now I’m being forced into some communal office.”

  “You’ll have no trouble finding another magazine.”

  He huffed. “But I like it here, well, I liked it.”

  “I’m really sorry, really. I wish I could’ve put up a better fight.”

  “And when will I have to move?”

  “End of the day.”

  “Great.” He clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists. “I’ll get packing.”

  Ava sat in Blake’s with an armful of flat cardboard boxes. She let out a deep sigh, looking at Blake’s face of deflation. “Sorry.”

  He took the boxes from beneath Ava’s arms. “Why?”

  “For not telling you when I came in.”

  He forced a smile. “She told me anyway. You’re just doing your job.”

  She sighed and sat, wiping at her brow. “Did she tell you about them knocking the walls through to make larger offices?”

  He dropped the cardboard on his desk. “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ava, tell me.”

  “You can’t say you heard from me. Okay?”

  He adjusted his shirt; pulling at his sleeve. “Sure.”

  “Well, all the writers who’ve kept their pages are getting a pay rise, and—”

  “What?” He jumped to his door and looked around outside. “So, I get a cut and they get a raise?”

  She shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, and I think they’re going to be firing one of the assistants as well, hopefully it’s Zach, he doesn’t do anything.”

  “Who?” Blake scrunched his face up. He recalled the name, but each assistant worked for a set of people, and losing one meant each assistant would be picking up the slack, if there was any.

  “He worked with the music guys.”

  He groaned at the mention of them. “The ones I’ll be sharing a new office with.” He tipped his head back and stared at the tiles on the ceiling. “You think you’ll still be my assistant?”

  “Haven’t heard anything yet.”

  Blake spotted Chris walking passed his office with his head buried in an open file of papers. “I’ll be back in a minute, can you start boxing everything?” he asked, holding his thumb up to her.

  She slapped her hands on the cardboard. “Sure, that’s what I’m here for.”

  He smiled. “Great. I’ll be back in five.”

  Blake chased Chris down to his office. He nipped at his bum slightly, causing him to jump and slap his file shut. He turned, ready to whack it around Blake’s head.

  “Oh.” Chris chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

  Blake closed the door behind him. “Well, I’m moving office.”

  “Ah. Me too!”

  Blake pushed forward on Chris, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yeah. I’m moving into the freelance room.” He patted his hand on him. “But you’ll be moving to a bigger office.”

  He sucked through his teeth. “It’s the company’s decision. I can’t refuse because the guy I like doesn’t want me to have a promotion.”

  The corner of Blake’s eye twitched. “So, it’s a promotion.”

  Chris tssked his teeth. “Yeah.”

  “You weren’t going to mention the raise then?”

  “It’s only like pouring salt in the wound, I didn’t want to tell you. Then let you get angry again.”

  Blake straightened his shirt out. “I’m not angry.”

  Chris dipped his head and kissed Blake. “Good. Tonight, are you staying over at mine?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve missed Dannika.”

  “Another night then.”

  “If I’m feeling up for it.”

  He smiled and kissed him again. “I hope you are.”

  He kissed him back before leaving Chris to settle into his office chair and look around the bare walls of his room. It was bittersweet, like a heartbreak, knowing you were leaving one place, but you were going somewhere much better, even if it affected someone else.

  “All ready to move?” Danny asked, giving a slight knock before entering Chris’ office.

  He nodded. “Need some advice first.”

  He grinned. “Doesn’t your boyfriend give advice?”

  Chris pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Not technically together, but.”

  “Oh, it’s about him.”

  Chris flicked through the papers in his hands. “Yeah.”

  Danny opened his arms widely. “Hit me with it.”

  “Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “Every time I see him, I feel like I shouldn’t be happy about winning, I mean, I feel for him, he lost part of his job, but how can I speak to him if he’s passively avoiding me.”

  “Take control of the situation, if he can’t be happy for you, maybe you’re not gonna work out. Just speak to him, if you like him, if you even want to figure things out, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  “You’re right. The worst that can happen is we break it off.”

  “But, I hope you don’t. It’s the happiest I’ve seen you in a while.”

  Chris jabbed Danny in the arm. “I’m always happy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

  The thought ate away at Chris, it was the first time in a while where he found himself daydreaming and smiling at nothing. He’d never miss the gym for anyone, not that he felt the compulsion to go lately, the urge to pound fists into a punching bag seemed to dissolve after spending time with Blake.

  From: Christian Mendoza, Film Columnist

  To: Blake Harris, Writer

  Subject: lunch?

  Wanna grab something to eat?

  Blake looked at his computer screen as the email came through. He’d packed almost everything away, the computer was the last thing to go before he was being transferred out into the hallway of hell; the freelancers work room.

  He typed, and re-typed his reply, deleting it, over and over again.

  From: Blake Harris, Writer

  To: Christian Mendoza, Film Columnist

  Subject: RE: lunch?

  I can’t. I’m busy. I’m moving all my things and IT are here.

  Chris’ jaw clenched at the reply. He looked out to see Danny approach his office with flat boxes tucked under his arms. He pointed to them and smiled. Chris stuck a thumb up as Danny walked inside.

  “Want me to start packing?” Danny asked.

  “Yeah.” Chris tapped out a reply on his keyboard, stopping midway.

  From: Christian Mendoza, Film Columnist

  To: Blake Harris, Writer

  Subject: RE: RE: lunch?

  Text me or send me an email when you’re free.

  Lunch is on me.

  Blake saw the message appear briefly before signalling to the IT technician he could power down the computer. He did, while Blake sat in silence at the black screen. He had time to kill, they’d take everything through for him and get him all set up, he could’ve gone for lunch, his stomach knew he wanted to, but a headache at the back of his mind told him not to.

 
; In his mind, there was a larger change happening, and he couldn’t shake the feeling like he was being slowly fired.

  FOURTEEN

  Knock, knock

  It had been two days since Chris tried to get Blake to go out for Lunch with him, and in those two days, Blake stayed home in his bed, calling in to his editor and claiming to take mental health days. She complied, advising him they had material to run the final page, the only thing they didn’t have was a continuous supply of posts for the website.

  Chris didn’t wait until after work to visit Blake, he went during his lunch break, going off an address in the company employee file. Chris had never been to Blake’s apartment, he always insisted on his place, mainly because he lived alone, but also because it was full of his belongings.

  In his arms, Chris carried a box of chocolates. He brushed his hair with a hand and straightened out his striped jumper before knocking on the door.

  Blake lived on the fifth floor, apartment number 5. He hadn’t wanted Chris to visit his apartment because it would’ve revealed how messy he was compared to the neat OCD precision of Chris’ place.

  He knocked again, louder. Relaxing his shoulders in his jacket, he exhaled slowly.

  A shuffling sound, muffled behind the door broke out; chafing against the wooden floor. Blake opened the front door, wearing his duvet over his head and around his body. He pulled it in close to his chest and squinted through his reading glasses as he looked at Chris.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  Chris smiled and presented the box of chocolates. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

  He grumbled, accepting the box. They were Belgian chocolates, the expensive kind he remembered going through after breaking up with Stefan. “I’ve been—busy.” He turned slightly, looking at the food wrappers covering most surfaces.

  “Can I come in?”

  Blake opened the door wider for Chris to see inside, even though he saw over the top of Blake’s head. “Excuse the mess, I’m eating my feelings.”

  “And you wear glasses? Is this your Clark Kent disguise?”

  He grumbled again. “Huh?”

  “I’ve not seen you like this.”

  Blake gestured to the sofa where he’d been watching TV. “I’ve basically lost my job, so I’ve not even seen myself like this. I even put towels over the mirrors.”