Deepen The Kiss

by Willow Winters

  “I… It’s not like…” I say. My body stiffens.

  “Of course she would mind!” Karan protests for me. “Have you seen Charlie? Because he’s got amazing biceps, and an ass that won’t quit. Give the girl a chance to get some, Diane!”

  “I’m just asking,” Diane says, putting her hands up. “Speaking of that ass, I’m planning to go to Mac's tonight to see it in action. You in?”

  “Definitely,” Karan says.

  “Sure!” Elaine adds.

  “Umm…” I say, unsure. “You know, I’m just not feeling it tonight, guys.”

  “Are you sure? Your man will be there,” Karan says with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “She said she’s not feeling it,” Diane cuts in. “So let’s let her get back to work.”

  “If you’re sure…” Karan says.

  “Totally,” I say. “You guys have fun.” I don’t think I can handle being around Charlie right now. It’s definitely an uneven relationship in terms of how much we like each other, and I can already see myself getting hurt.

  I smile, and turn to go back the way I came, flexing my hands and trying to get rid of this sick feeling. He’s not into me like that. And the real problem is that I wish he was. At best, I’m an easy lay for him.

  The three of them head out the opposite way, leaving me to walk back through the rows of empty cubicles alone. The wheels scoot back some as I sit down in my chair, but I can’t put my headphones on and go back to work. My head is too full of thoughts right now.

  I grab my purse and jacket, and head home. Luckily the traffic isn’t too bad, so I get home in a relatively short amount of time. I didn’t even realize I was driving without the radio until I was pulling up to my parking spot.

  I need to paint. There’s nothing else for it.

  I put all my stuff down right at the front door of my apartment and change into what I think of as my painting gear — a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms, and a stretchy pink tank top. The bin rattles as I pull out my art supplies from where they’ve been stored in a cabinet. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach it.

  Brushes, palettes, paints. Plus, a canvas stretcher, a frame, and canvas. I spend a while stretching the canvas, preparing it just the way I like it. Then I set the frame up on the easel, and carefully open the window that looks out onto the fire escape.

  I carry the whole thing out onto the rickety metal fire escape, then make another trip for my brushes and other supplies.

  The cool breeze is gentle and refreshing as I think about painting my view again; the Atlanta skyline is so beautiful from here, and ever-changing. But that’s not what my head is full of. My head’s full of sex scenes.

  I can’t stop fantasizing about Charlie, and about what I want him to do to me. A heat burns between my legs. I already know how this is going to play out. It'll end with me in his bed, and then never being able to go back to Mac’s because he’ll be on to the next fling. But I can’t help that I want him, that flirting with him makes me happy. Dreaming up these dirty scenes only makes it all the more difficult.

  So I start to sketch… not myself, exactly, but a woman. I outline her body, slowing when I realize that she's in the midst of receiving oral sex. There’s a man in the lower right corner going down on her, but he’s almost not noticeable.

  What will be noticeable, and the only things you’ll be able to see, will be the woman’s bared breasts, the way she clutches at her lover’s head, and the breathless, joyful expression on her face. In Rapture. I think the words, and they resound in my head. The words are so heavenly and pure, yet they imply pleasure. It’s perfect.

  I think that I’ve just found the name for this piece. I smile devilishly.

  I spend a long time on her face, perfecting the expression of her eyes rolling in complete pleasure. When it comes time to paint her, I’m careful to capture her exactly as I see her in my mind’s eye.

  She — because I like to think of my paintings as the objects they depict — has a face and breasts by the time I look up and realize I should probably stop. The back of the man’s head, and the woman’s arms and lower body are still sketch work, but I got the gist of what I was feeling onto the canvas.

  I feel my lips curl up. It’s been far too long since I’ve painted, but it feels good. Looking at the painting, I feel satisfied… in one way, at least.

  Shaking my head at myself, I start to clean up.

  As soon as my mind is off the painting, that sick feeling comes back. I know how this story ends… with me brokenhearted. The cool wind makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sigh.

  I want Charlie, that’s for damn sure. But I don’t just want to be a one-night thing for him. Or a deal.

  The art supplies bin sits on my hip as I open the window a bit more and climb back into my living room. I want more from Charlie, but that’s something I can’t have.

  CHAPTER 12

  Charlie

  * * *

  EIGHT O’CLOCK PASSES.

  Nine o’clock has come and gone.

  My shift is done. I told them all I was heading out early, but here I am. I was hoping to take her out to dinner. Somewhere other than here to make up for my sister and her antics.

  But Grace still isn’t here. She didn’t come in last night either, even though some of her coworkers did. I have a sick feeling in my gut telling me something’s wrong.

  I finally give in and reach into my pocket to text her.

  “You alright?” Maggie asks me as the denim rubs against my fingers as I pull the phone out of my back pocket.

  “Yeah, fine,” I answer as she sets an order of wings down in front of Mickey. The sound of the plate hitting the table makes me look up at her. She smiles as she scoots the plate closer to him and turns to me.

  “You don’t look fine. Go home.”

  I stare at Maggie, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m going, just making sure a friend’s not on her way.”

  “A friend?” Maggie’s eyes light up. “Your little Grace?”

  I don’t like how she says it. As if she knows something I don’t.

  “Yeah, her name’s Grace.” I hold her gaze, but Maggie’s not affected in the least.

  “You go on and message her then,” she says, then leaves a bit slower and a bit happier than she came. I take a look around and notice Mickey looking up at me with a smile. It occurs to me that word is probably getting around about the two of us.

  I shift my weight and look down at the phone. This wasn’t meant to be anything. I almost put the phone back in my pocket. If Grace wanted to see me, she’d be here.

  But fuck that, I want to see her.

  I took the first night off that I’ve had in a long damn time to see her. Maybe I didn’t text her, since I assumed she’d come in like she usually does, but I have the balls to ask her.

  My body heats as I type in the message.

  * * *

  MISSING YA, sweetheart. I’m getting off work and wondering where you are.

  * * *

  I REGRET SENDING it pretty much as soon as it goes on the screen. It’s not like she’s obligated to be here. I let out a heavy sigh, hating that all of this feels so suffocating. It’s been five years since I… I don’t even know what I’m doing. Asking her on a date, I guess. A real one, not just to be my fake date for a wedding.

  * * *

  SORRY CHARLIE, went home tonight.

  * * *

  A FROWN TIPS my lips down, and that sick feeling comes back to me. I clear my throat and type back without thinking.

  * * *

  I WAS HOPING I’d see you. Now I don’t have a dinner date. :(

  * * *

  A DINNER DATE? Or a fake dinner date?

  * * *

  I THOUGHT the food would be real… I’m playful in my text back, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted.

  * * *

  LOL YOU MAKE ME SMILE.

  * * *

  GOOD, you should be smiling. You’re too
sweet not to be smiling.

  * * *

  IT FEELS easy flirting with Grace. It always has. My chest feels light as I wait for her response.

  * * *

  I’M SORRY. Not tonight.

  * * *

  ANOTHER DATE? I ask her. I don’t think she’d be one to do that. But I ask her without thinking.

  * * *

  NOPE. Just a lot of work to catch up on.

  * * *

  I THINK about asking her if she’s seeing anyone, and making this thing between us official. But then I remember all the stories she’s told me about her dates and looking for a man to settle down with. Clingy. I’m not ready for all that. I could at least ask her out to dinner though. Just to tell her thank you for putting up with my sister.

  * * *

  ANOTHER NIGHT? I ask her.

  * * *

  SHE TAKES A MINUTE TO RESPOND, and all the while I’m getting more and more anxious. Maybe I should take the hint, but I don’t want to. I at least want to feed her.

  * * *

  SURE. I’d like that.

  * * *

  I’M SMILING and thinking about going home when her next text catches me off guard.

  * * *

  WHAT ARE WE DOING, Charlie?

  * * *

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I text her back almost instantly.

  * * *

  FUCK, even before she answers I know what’s coming. I grab the closest chair and scoot it closer to me as I stare into the phone, willing her to respond. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees and wait, rereading her question. What are we doing?

  I knew my sister got to her. Why the hell did she have to come in here and mess up what I had going with Grace? Everything was easy, just going with the flow and taking it slow.

  * * *

  WE’RE JUST HAVING FUN.

  * * *

  I TEXT her back before she can answer, my heart pounding in my chest. I lean back in my seat, the legs screeching as they slide across the floor and run my hand through my hair.

  * * *

  I FEEL like I’m in a little over my head. I stare at her response for a moment. That sick feeling was right. I knew it. She’s not happy anymore just playing around. I don’t blame her. She knows what she wants, and me fucking around with her is just causing problems for her.

  * * *

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I ask her, as my stomach sinks. I rub my eyes, feeling exhausted and hating myself. What did I really expect from her anyway? I huff out a breath and shake my head as my phone beeps and her reply comes through.

  * * *

  I’M NOT REALLY sure what it means to just have fun with someone. It seems like I’m going to end up getting hurt and I’m not sure it’s a smart thing for me to do. I’m sorry.

  * * *

  I FEEL LIKE SHIT, looking fixedly at the phone in my hand. I look up, brushing my hand over my head and see James at the bar, staring at me as he fills a glass with ice. I nearly snap at him, feeling stressed out and pissed off, but he breaks my gaze and looks away as soon as he sees me glaring back.

  I suck it up and text Grace back. I knew this was a bad idea. We’re looking for different things in life.

  * * *

  ARE you still able to come to the wedding or do I have to tell my sister we broke up?

  * * *

  SHE’S QUICK TO ANSWER. I’ll still go with you.

  I know I should say something to put her at ease. I should tell her something to make her feel safe and comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to her. I’m not ready to get married and have kids or any of that shit. And that’s what she’s looking for. Especially knowing she may not be able to. I don’t need a baby-crazy woman trying to lock me down. …but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. At least for as long as I can have her.

  Soon as this wedding is over, she’ll probably stop coming here altogether.

  * * *

  NIGHT, Charlie.

  * * *

  I SWALLOW THICKLY as I look at the screen.

  I type in a few responses, but delete them all. I’m not going to lead her on. I won’t do that to her; she deserves better. I finally settle on something simple.

  * * *

  SEE YOU LATER, sweetheart.

  CHAPTER 13

  Grace

  * * *

  WHEN I FINALLY PULL MY headphones off at work, Diane calls my name. I turn to see that she’s ready to go for the day, her jacket already on and purse over her shoulder.

  “Hey,” she says, coming into my cubicle and leaning against the desk. “I don’t want to ruin your productivity or anything, but it’s almost seven. Our meeting went really long.”

  She gestures to the salespeople who I can see filtering out of the conference room. I rub my face and stand up, stretching. I don’t know the last time I got up. I’ve buried myself in work all day.

  “You’re not interrupting,” I say. “I just came to a stopping point, creatively.”

  “Well, we’re going to the Local. You should come, assuming you’re not too busy,” she says, teasing.

  I look around at the gaggle of women gathering near Diane’s cubicle and then glance at my desk. If I start on another project, I’ll be here until midnight at least.

  “Okay,” I say with a shrug. “Why not?”

  “Cool,” she says with a peppy tone that’s infectious. “We’ll see you there. It’s karaoke night!”

  She shoots finger guns at me, and I can’t help but smile. “See you there.”

  I snag my purse and head out. The traffic is heavy, and I end up with less time than I’d planned to refresh my makeup and take off my leggings, leaving me in a very short pale peach dress.

  I let my hair down on the way to the Local, so by the time I pull into the parking lot I look — well, at least respectable. The car door shuts with a loud click and I spot Diane instantly, who’s waiting outside the bar.

  I glance at the bar patio, unsure. There are six tables outside, every single one packed with twenty-somethings ready to party. They’re loud, and a few are smoking cigarettes. I rub my forearm as I walk toward Diane, feeling like this was a mistake.

  “There you are!” she says, putting her arm around my shoulders. “I need my drinking buddy. Claire’s driving us home.”

  “What?” I ask, but she pushes inside the bar.

  I frown as the loud noise of the bar hits me and I nearly stumble from being pulled in. Inside it’s madness, lots of little booths packed with people. I have to immediately flatten myself against the wall to avoid a waitress with a tray of drinks. Diane grabs me and pulls me toward the back, where some of our coworkers have managed to secure a table. Thank God we have a table.

  “Look who’s here!” she announces, shoving me into a seat. I can’t help but to glare up at her. I’m not a doll, and I don’t like being pushed around.

  A rousing cheer goes up, but I assume it has more to do with alcohol than my arrival. I recognize all the girls at the table, but the only one I’m friends with is Karan, and she’s at the other end.

  I should tell Diane that I don’t plan on being here long. I just want to blow off some steam before I head home. The conversation with Charlie last night still has me feeling like an idiot. I don’t want to stay past the point of being able to drive myself home.

  “Listen, Diane,” I say. I’m interrupted by the arrival of two pitchers of beer and a stack of plastic cups. Another cheer goes up from our table.

  “Shhh,” Diane says, taking it upon herself to pour me a plastic cup full of foamy beer. “Here, drink up.”

  “Actually—” I try again, but Diane is preoccupied.

  “Shots! How many of us are there? Seven?” she says absently, turning around and searching for the girl who just brought us the pitchers. “Where’s the waitress?”

  I settle back in my seat and sip my beer. My phone buzzes.

  I check it, and see that I have a text from my friend Amy.

  Don’t forget about the art show this Sat
urday! she says. All eyes are going to be on your work, mark my words.

  I chew my bottom lip. I’m a featured artist in a showcase of local talent this year. My college friend, Amy, had a couple spots open in her showcase, and she thought of me when she was making calls to fill the spots. I couldn’t say no, because I’ve been avoiding her for ages for no reason.

  Well, except the fact that Amy paints professionally. I just tool around with the paints when I have free time, but she still likes my style.

  When she called to invite me, I mentioned that I have some newer works, and she got all excited.

  So I’m featured in Amy’s showcase. I feel like people will be looking at me, judging, even though they won't know that I painted anything.

  “Hey!” Diane says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. I wrinkle my nose at her, and she smiles. “Quit moping and drink already!”

  Soon, not one, but two shots are put in front of me.

  “What are these?” I ask, eyeing them. The shots are purplish and sticky-looking.

  “Don’t worry about it!” Diane says. “Just shoot it!”

  Everyone throws the shots back, one and then the other. I do the same, willing the alcohol to drown out all the overthinking I’m doing. To my surprise, it actually tastes good, like a piece of grape-flavored candy.