Kiss in the Dark

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Oh!” she said, suddenly remembering she’d taken the lollipop out of her mouth when he’d answered the door. “Yeah…but only chocolate Tootsie Pops,” she explained. She quickly put the little white stick with the rounded blob of Tootsie Roll in her mouth, stripping the candy off the stick. She tossed the white cardboard sucker stick into the nearby garbage can.

  “Only chocolate Tootsie Pops?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t seem to like any of the other flavors. Now…I occasionally enjoy a root beer–flavored Dum Dum. But let’s be honest, what’s the point of a Dum Dum? They’re like the size of a dime…and there’s nothing in the center…and they don’t come in chocolate. But sometimes, like at the bank—you know how they give them out at the counter and stuff—sometimes I can eat a Dum Dum…but only the root beer ones.”

  “Got it,” he said, smiling—obviously amused. “Lions, no leopards—just leopard-skin pajamas and underwear. Tootsie Pops, but only chocolate. And no Dum Dums, except maybe at the bank, and even then, only root beer–flavored.”

  “You should know I have a tendency to talk too much,” Boston told him. She could feel the hot crimson of a blush on her cheeks. Actually, she felt too warm all over. She figured even her toes were blushing. For Pete’s sake, he knew what color her underwear was!

  “Not at all,” he said. “This is important stuff to know.”

  “Oh yeah, details of profound value,” Boston giggled.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he said as he turned and sauntered toward the fridge.

  “No, I’m fine.” Boston glanced around the room. She smiled when she saw the TV was on, muted, but tuned to the Animal Planet channel. “Animal Cops, eh?” she asked, delighted with his programming choice. “I guess the real COPS isn’t on yet?”

  “Dude! This is Animal Cops: Detroit,” he explained, retrieving a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and returning to where Boston stood. “It’s my favorite city for Animal Cops.”

  “Is that so?” Boston teased. He was so funny! Just his random choices of TV programming made her feel giggly inside.

  “Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “Though I will say this…I’m watching way too much TV here. Work just wears me out. Then until I’m ready for my evening run, I just feel like sitting on the couch and doing nothing. I’m a pig since I moved in here.”

  Boston bit her lip to keep from laughing as she watched him drain the orange juice carton by drinking straight from it. He wadded the carton up and eyed the garbage can in the kitchen. Boston watched and admired his perfect follow-through as he free-throw-shot the carton into the garbage can.

  “Ooo, swish!” she said, nodding at him with admiration.

  “That’s right,” he said, proud of his basketball—rather, basketcarton—skills. “Danielle’s not home yet,” he announced, taking a seat on the sofa.

  Instantly, Boston was unsettled. Danielle wasn’t home? She was alone with Vance in the apartment?

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” he continued. He must’ve sensed her discomfort because he smiled and added, “But don’t worry…I only hit on girls who wear, like, pink, glittery underwear…so you’re safe.”

  “Oh well…whew…I guess!” Boston teased.

  “Here, sit down,” he said, tossing a throw pillow off the sofa and patting the cushion next to him. “We can watch something else if you want.”

  “No, I wouldn’t want you to miss the animal cops rescuing a litter of neglected kittens…being that you are a cat person,” she said playfully.

  “Big cat person,” he corrected.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “I met your friend Dempsey,” he stated. It was not only a very quick subject change but an odd one.

  “Really?” Boston asked, taking a seat beside him. Again she was struck by his intoxicating allure. Still, she pushed the fact to the back of her mind—willed her body to fight off any goose bumps that might be threatening to appear on her arms. “And what did you think of him?”

  “I think he’s cool,” he answered. He looked at her then, his eyes narrowing a bit as he said, “And you and I both know how important that is…don’t we?”

  “Important how?” Boston asked. What did he mean? Of course it was important that Dempsey was cool. He was their friend—at least hers and Danielle’s. Surely he couldn’t be implying what she thought he was—not when years had passed since…

  “Important for my sister’s sake,” he said. The TV was still muted, but he glanced at it for a moment, as if giving Boston time to consider what he was saying.

  “Important because he’s her friend?” she fished. He knew something! She was certain he did.

  Vance looked back to her, any sign of amusement or teasing entirely vanished from his expression. “Important because she’s in love with him.”

  “What?” Boston breathed. “In love with him?”

  “Come on, Boston,” Vance began, “don’t tell me you don’t know it. You have to! You’re her best friend.”

  Boston did know it, not because Danielle had confessed it—at least not in a couple of years—but because she could see it. Every time Dempsey entered a room, Danielle lit up like a Christmas tree. Boston hadn’t questioned Danielle about it, however. For one thing, Danielle had nearly shriveled up and died two years ago for being so thoroughly in love with Dempsey—yet, for some reason, unable to tell him so. Life had meandered on. Danielle had dated other men, and Boston tried to imagine that Danielle had somehow gotten over Dempsey, though she suspected otherwise. Still, how did Vance know?

  “I-I do know,” Boston admitted. “But…but she hasn’t mentioned in years…literally years! Did she talk to you about it?”

  “Are you kidding?” he chuckled. “Danielle? Talk to me about her worries, concerns, or problems? Hell no! I mean, heck no. She doesn’t like to talk to me about anything she thinks will cause me to worry about her.”

  “Then how did you know?” Boston couldn’t help but ask. He was so intriguing—the way he’d read Steph—and Boston. Now, he’d obviously read Danielle.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I can just tell,” he began. “Every time you guys mention his name, she goes pale as a ghost. And it’s in the way she doesn’t talk about him too. Furthermore, I think the feeling is mutual.”

  “You do?” Boston asked. He had her entirely intrigued. How could he possibly know if Dempsey had deeper feelings than mere friendship for Danielle?

  “Yeah,” he confirmed. “He came to the door about fifteen minutes before you did. He dropped off invitations to some party he’s having in a couple of weeks. He shook my hand—looked at me like he was picking up some girl for prom and I was her dad.” He raised a daring, very suspicious eyebrow. “Then he asked me if I wanted to hoop it up with his team Tuesday and Thursday nights.” He paused, waiting for her response.

  “Well…well, Dempsey’s very nice…and way, way friendly. He probably just wants to be your friend,” she said.

  “Guys don’t ask other guys to join their city league basketball teams without seeing what they’ll bring to the court first,” he explained. “Naw…we got us a case of secret love…on both sides of the fence.”

  “Do you have, like, ESP or something? Are you psychic?” Boston asked, and she was serious. In the short time she’d known him, Vance Nathaniel’s ability to read people and situations was uncanny.

  “No,” he answered. “I just pay attention to people—their body language, their eyes, what’s hidden behind the front everybody puts up.” He looked at her and grinned. “Like right now, you’re sitting there wondering if I’m for real…or if Danielle’s just been talking to me a lot since I moved in. You’re also wondering if every time I see you from now on…will I wonder if you’re wearing leopard print underwear.” He looked away from her and to the TV.

  “Will you?” she asked. He’d been spot-on with his guess as to what she was thinking—if it were actually just a good guess and not some weird psychic ability he posse
ssed.

  “Definitely,” he answered.

  Boston blushed and felt the need to change the subject back to Danielle and Dempsey. “Why does she keep talking about the Harrison Ford guy at work then? If she likes Dempsey, why does she still date other people?”

  “My guess is she’s given up,” he answered. “For whatever reason—and you might know more about it than me—she just doesn’t think it could ever be. So she’s into the bow tie guy at work as a second choice.”

  “But then, why doesn’t Dempsey do something? If you’re right about them—”

  “Oh, I’m right about them,” he interrupted.

  “Then why doesn’t Dempsey do something? He’s really, really outgoing, confident, successful.”

  “Same reason Danielle sits on her heels,” he said, looking to her again. “Fear and lack of faith. I mean, how long have you all been friends? Since that summer you guys all worked for Santa or whatever, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Would you want to have an affair of the heart with Dempsey, have it go awry, and screw up all those years you guys have had together?” It was a very valid question.

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “But I’m not in love with Dempsey either. If I was in love with him…”

  “You’d be just as afraid as Danielle is,” he finished for her.

  Boston nodded. “Probably more. I am the weenie of the group,” she said.

  “Not the weenie…just the kindest soul.” He paused and smiled at her with inexplicable understanding. “I don’t think you’re an idiot just because your roommate is, you know. And I don’t think you’re weak for dealing with her for so long. It just shows your strength of character where tolerance and kindness are concerned.”

  “Okay, what do you want?” she giggled. “Such flattery. Surely you want something.”

  He smiled. “Nope. Just calling ’em like I seem ’em.”

  Boston’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. He intrigued her thoroughly. She wondered how his mind worked—wished she had the gift of perceptiveness he seemed to possess so that she could better read him at that moment.

  However, she remembered something about herself then—a gift of her own when it came to people. Holding out her hand, she asked, “Can I rummage through your wallet?”

  “What?” he asked, smiling.

  She wiggled her fingers, a gesture he should give her his wallet. “I can turn the tables a little on you if you let me rifle through your wallet,” she explained. “Come on. Or do you keep stuff in there you don’t want someone seeing?”

  His eyes narrowed with amused daring as he reached into the right pocket at the knee of his khakis. Removing his wallet, he handed it to her.

  “You’re a wallet packrat, first of all,” she began.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  She smiled. The tables were turning now. “Because you carry it in the pocket at the side of your shorts instead of in your back pocket.” She bounced the wallet in her hand once or twice and added, “It’s too bulky and crammed with stuff to fit against your butt comfortably.”

  He arched his eyebrows, his entire expression displaying the fact she was correct in her assessment and that he was impressed.

  “A single-fold wallet,” she said as she unfolded the well-worn, black cow leather. “Another sign of a wallet packrat.”

  Vance chuckled, leaned back on the sofa, and tucked his hands behind his head as if waiting to be entertained. The muscles in his biceps bulged ridiculously, but Boston endeavored not to notice.

  “Hmm,” she said, letting her fingers count the cash in the cash pocket of his wallet. “Five, ten, twenty…one, two, three. Thirty-eight dollars in small bills.”

  “Means I don’t make a good income?” he prodded.

  “Means you don’t waste a lot of cash…that you’re not self-indulgent.” One by one, she lifted his cards out of the credit card section. “One debit card, a rewards card from Cinnabon, one American Express, and one Visa credit card.”

  “So?” he urged her.

  “You’re frugal. You keep the debit card in front of all the rest, then the Cinnabon rewards card, then the American Express, and the credit card last. It means you avoid debt, using first your liquid asset, cash…then the card that has to be paid off every month so you stay within your budget. Then the last line of defense, the credit card, is just for emergency.” Boston giggled as she pulled out the Cinnabon rewards card and showed it to him, as if he didn’t know it was there. “And you have a Cinnabon problem…because you only need one more punch to get a free cinnamon roll!”

  “Very good!” Vance chuckled. “I don’t know that I was even aware of the whole order of the cards in there. But now that you point it out…you’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” she teased.

  Boston removed his driver’s license. She studied it for a long time, thinking how great the photo of Vance was on it. Most people looked awful on their driver’s license, but not Vance R. Nathaniel.

  “Middle name begins with R, huh?” She asked. “What does it stand for?”

  Vance grinned. “Romance.”

  “Vance Romance?” Boston asked. She rolled her eyes and breathed, “Oh, brother. What does it really stand for?”

  “Rockwell,” he answered. “It’s a family name.”

  “Hmm.” Boston replaced the license and returned her attention to something she’d seen in the cash pocket—several store receipts folded together. Carefully, she unfolded them. “A receipt for two pair of khaki cargo pants, two three-piece business suits, and two men’s fashion ties.” She looked at him and smiled. “You’re getting ready to start your new job, but you want to make sure you’re ready to look the part of business professional or Steve Irwin…in case you need to wrestle a croc.”

  Vance’s smile faded a little, and he shook his head. “I loved that dude,” he said.

  Boston remembered how saddened she was by the sudden death of the charismatic crocodile hunter several years before. She thought someone with animal and zoo connections and interests probably felt the loss even more.

  “Next receipt,” she said, going to the next receipt. “Ooo! Sofa, loveseat, and reclining chair. Brown leather too. Delivered to 104 Gem Lane, Oklahoma City.”

  “And?”

  “You have good taste in furniture,” she giggled. “Samuel’s is a good store, with well-made furniture at a good price. You’re getting ready to move into your new house and figured you’d need some furniture. Still, it wasn’t delivered here. Storage unit?”

  Vance shook his head. “Nope. The people I bought the house from said I could store everything in the garage. That’s where all my stuff is…including that furniture.”

  “That was nice,” Boston said. “And you kept the receipt until you’re sure it fits and looks nice and things.” She went to the next receipt. “Hmm. Wal-Mart! Now this will be telling,” she giggled.

  Vance chuckled and continued to watch her.

  “Milk, orange juice, ice cream, gum. I’ll guess that would be Juicy Fruit gum and that it’s in your pocket too.”

  He nodded, and his smile broadened.

  “Tomatoes, bacon, bread, lettuce—dated last week—at which point you had yourself a BLT for dinner.”

  “Okay, now you’re creeping me out,” he laughed.

  “Well, join the club, Vance Romance,” she teased. “Now for photos.” There were very few photos in Vance wallet. “You’re not public with your wallet,” she began.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s yours, and you don’t expect a lot of people to be looking through it. Therefore, the photos in here are for you only…important to only you.” She pointed to a picture of a little girl about five or six. “This is Samantha…yours and Danielle’s niece. Danielle has one too. I’m guessing little Samantha gave it to you herself.”

  Vance nodded.

  Boston flipped to the next photo—a picture of Danielle and Vance no doubt a
t a football game. “You and Danielle, probably in high school…since I haven’t heard of her cheerleading or you playing football of recent.”

  Again Vance nodded.

  The next photo was of Danielle at perhaps fourteen or fifteen, a school photo Boston had seen before. “Danielle as a freshman or sophomore.” She went to the next photo. “Danielle again, sophomore or freshman…though I’ve never seen this one. Hmmm.” She went on. “And this is your mom and dad. Is this recent?” she asked. She looked to Vance to find he was no longer looking at her but had returned his attention to the TV. His smile had faded.

  “Yep,” was all he said. He’d lost interest in her tell-all game—or, more likely, just lost interest in her.

  “Well,” Boston said, closing the wallet.

  “What? That’s it?” he said, looking at her again. She noted he grinned at her, but the sparkle of mischief that had been in his eyes only moments before had dulled.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He shook his head, clicking his tongue as if scolding her.

  “You see,” he began. “Your attention span is too short. You didn’t finish your evaluation.”

  “You mean I missed something?” she asked.

  “Exactly,” he said, taking the wallet from her.

  “But what?” she said, reaching for it again. She’d only stopped looking through his wallet because she thought he’d grown bored with her.

  “Too late,” he said, shoving the wallet into the side pocket of his cargo khakis again. “You can’t let your focus wander, Boston. That’s the trick to reading people.”

  “Hey, you guys!” Danielle asked as she pushed open the door and walked into the apartment.

  “Hi, Danielle,” Boston greeted.

  “What are you guys up to?” Danielle asked, tossing her purse into the little chair near the front door.