Because He's Perfect

by Anna Edwards

  “It’s so good to meet you, Kace.”

  “Yeah.” I nod, looking around the room. One wall is covered in books. I wonder if he ever read any of them. There are paintings of flowers and landscapes. A dirty coffee mug is on the table, and no matter where I look, I keep coming back to it.

  “So.” He taps his pen on his spiral-bound notebook. “What brings you here?”

  “I don’t know. My brother practically forced me into this. His way or the highway.”

  I lean back in my chair, already annoyed.

  "I see." He looks at me thoughtfully. "Maybe we can start with you telling me a bit about yourself." Really, is this even necessary? I mean, most things are in that form I completed on my way in.

  "I'm twenty-eight years old, a writer-slash-pizza delivery guy. I haven't held onto a job for a long time. I either grow out of it, or I'm thrown out. Anything else?"

  “Can you tell me a bit about your family?”

  “I have a brother.” I don’t feel like elaborating. He notes something in his notebook and then meets my gaze.

  “The same one who referred you?” I nod. “Any specific reason why?”

  "I was drunk. I called him to come to pick me up because I couldn't drive."

  “Oh.” He says it like there’s more to the story than what I’m letting on. There isn’t.

  “Do you find yourself drinking alcohol to that extent often?”

  “No more than anyone else.” I lift a brow and cross my arms across my chest. What is this asshole insinuating? That I’m a drunk?

  "Do you have any other family members? Your parents, perhaps?" He tilts his head to one side while listening.

  “They’re dead. Died when I was just a kid.” I stare at him. If he’s going to look at me sceptically every time I answer a question, he might as well stop asking and complete that himself. I wonder whether it’s the fact that I’m lying that makes me so defensive.

  "I'm sorry to hear that. You're a smart guy. Write for the newspaper." I never volunteered that information, but I figure Tiffany did when she referred me. "What's this about not being able to hold down a job?"

  “The problem is that I hate being dictated to. All those assholes telling me what to do and how to do it. It’s just not my thing. I want to be left to do what I need to. Is that so much to ask? I don’t just want to do one thing, and a nine to five requires that of me.”

  "There are often hierarchies in the workspace. Managers, processes, job descriptions, things like that. It's not often easy to defy authority."

  I heave a breath. "This is shit I know, Doc. Tell me something I don't. By the way, you sound just like them."

  “You’re delivering pizza now? How long have you been doing that?”

  "A few weeks. Before that I was at this bistro, and I walked out of there. The chef just got on my nerves. He had an issue with everything I did."

  “How’s your novel going?”

  "It's okay. I just have so many other things going on. I don't get to focus much on it."

  "I see." He makes a few more notes, and it annoys the shit out of me. Is any of this even useful? How can sitting in a stuffy room with a stranger, telling him things about me that I can say to myself, help me?

  “Look, no offense, Doctor Willis, but I really feel this is a counterproductive use of my time.”

  "Mister Briggs, I know you feel that way now. This is just the information gathering stage, and I promise you it'll start making sense as we go along."

  “What will? You’ll sit there coming up with all sorts of theories about what's wrong with me. I’m pissed off that I’m even here.”

  I get up and start to pace the room, wanting to smash something. I look at the clock above the door and realize I have at least fifteen minutes left.

  “You know what? Fuck this. I can’t.”

  I storm out of the room, and Doctor Willis calls after me. I feel like screaming, like slamming my fist into the wall. I decide to take the stairs instead of waiting for the lift. When I get to my car, I've got a ticket. "Just fucking great."

  I notice the meter maid walking away, and I run after her. "Come on. I haven't even been parked there long enough to get a damn ticket," I growl.

  She places her hand on her hip and glares me down. “Excuse me?”

  The frown on her face tells me that I am treading on thin ice.

  “I said, fuck off.” I wave her off and rip the ticket from my window, throwing it on the ground. I jump into my car and drive off.

  I know why she ordered a pizza again. I wasn't blind. I noticed the way she looked at me. Our dinner had been pleasant enough, but I haven't called her since. The conversation was easy. We spoke about her a lot, and she didn't try to push me about myself, which I liked.

  I never wanted her to stop ordering, but I know I will mess this up like I mess up everything else in my life. I knock on the door and decide to wait this time. To be honest, I want to see her too. Maybe she'll ask me in, and I can grab a beer and forget this whole day happened. She opens the door, a shy smile on her face. I like this look on her.

  “Hey,” I offer.

  “Hi. I’m kind of surprised you’re here.”

  “You asked for me. Your wish is my command,” I tease.

  “Would you?" Her cheeks redden, and it's the cutest thing.

  "I would. To be honest, I'm not even on duty today. I also owe you for not calling you after our dinner."

  Her mouth forms an O, and I shrug. "Oh, come in."

  She steps aside and lets me in. “This one’s on me.”

  “You really don’t have to.”

  "I do," I say, ending that conversation. I hand her the pizza, and she walks into her small kitchen, which is just off the living room. It’s a neat, open-plan area, everything in its place. I could not help but compare it to my own flat, which is in disarray all day, every day.

  "Nice place," I comment, standing with my hands in my pockets.

  “Thanks.” She smiles, returning with plates. “So, you wanna watch a movie or something while we eat?”

  “It’s up to you. I’m your guest.”

  She bites her bottom lip, and I wonder what her lips would taste like, all plump and pink. "Beer?"

  “Thought you’d never ask. That’d be great.”

  She brings two bottles of beer, and I opened them both, handing her one. I press the bottle to my lips and don't stop until I drain the last drop.

  "Thirsty?" she asks, wide-eyed.

  “Tough day.” I have no idea why I feel comfortable enough to tell her that.

  “I’ll get you another one.” She stands, and I watch as she swings her pert ass all the way to the kitchen. She comes back with a small cooler box and four beers inside. “Help yourself.”

  And that's how I know she's different. She doesn't judge me. Instead, she gets that sometimes people have messed up days.

  “Would you mind too much if I showed up wet from head to toe on a date after being caught in a storm?”

  She nearly spits her beer out. She laughs so loudly it makes me smile. “If that was the icebreaker, you’ve succeeded.”

  I lean my head back against the couch and close my eyes as she channel-surfs and settles on some chick flick I’ve never seen. And for once, I don’t want to move. I want to stay here, drinking beer, and watching her blush every time the couple kisses, forever.

  Chapter Eight

  Kenzie

  “We talked, that’s it.”

  “Not even a kiss goodnight?” Mac sulks. “It is your second date.”

  “No, Mac, not even that. We just had a great time getting to know each other. He’s writing a book, you know.”

  She gasps. "I'll be his number-one fan. I love his articles, and he chooses the cute sister. Talk about superficial."

  “He’s so sweet, Mac. He didn’t even get the joke of our names. He thought it was pretty cool.”

  "He could be the one," she says, chewing on something. Argh, I hate when she does that
when I call her. "You seeing him again?"

  “I am.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Tonight. He wants to show me something. Says I’ll lose my mind when I do.”

  “It better be nice and hard.”

  “Mac! That is just—”

  “Don't you tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

  She wouldn't be wrong. I have thought more about sex since that first day I saw him than ever before.

  “Anyway, I have to run along. My business won’t run itself.”

  My sister moans, and I hear the chatter of her third graders in the background.

  "Love you, Mac."

  “Love you, Boo.”

  I ring off and look at the time. I have a nail appointment booked in an hour. I better get my ass in the shower.

  He was supposed to have picked me up at six. It is now seven, and he hasn't so much as called to let me know he's running late. I am a planner. I do things by the book, and Kace, well . . . This was one hell of a start to our evening.

  The doorbell rings just after seven, just when I was about to cut my losses and forget about the date.

  I open the door to a bunch of pink roses with red tips on legs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  A smile dangles on the corner of my lips. Why did he have to be nice about it? “Don’t do it again.”

  He gives me a slow and sexy smile before placing a kiss on my cheeks. The small contact is electric, and I feel the hair on my skin rising, an unfamiliar chill running through me.

  He backs away, and our eyes lock. "I won't."

  I tell him to give me a second as I put my bunch in a vase with some water. I'll arrange it later. I throw on my leather jacket and step out into the chilly evening. It took me a whole two hours to decide what to wear, and I eventually called Mac, who helped me pick out an azure blue dress, stockings, and ankle-length boots. It’s very bohemian chic and looks fabulous. She has such great taste.

  He whistles. “You look incredible.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him. I blush, and suddenly the night isn’t as chilly as it was a few minutes ago.

  "What's this place?" I ask as we exit his Toyota and walk up a cobbled pathway to a restaurant. It's a quaint place; the yellow lanterns lighting up the path give the area a warm feel. The warmth of the lighting carries on inside. There are a few tables at the windows occupied and people chatting and laughing. Kace holds out his hand to me, and I take it as we cross the threshold.

  Walking into the space, I cannot resist a jaw drop. It's spectacular. There are beautiful paintings everywhere, covering each wall. There's no specific theme. It's just canvas upon canvas of color and texture.

  “This is perfect.”

  "And she hasn't even eaten. That's a win, Kace." He fist-pumps the air, and I playfully nudge him.

  A waitress leads us to a long table in the middle of the restaurant, and I frown. It's a bit too big for the two of us, but maybe the more intimate tables were booked out.

  “Terry will be with you in about half an hour. We’re just waiting for a few more guests. Shall I start you two off with some wine?”

  I look over at Kace suspiciously, but his poker face is on.

  “Any preference?”

  "I'm not really a wine person, but I am happy to try anything you recommend. The last time I had wine, it was at a stiff wine tasting at a country club. Long story." I laugh nervously.

  “Could we have a white Muscadel for the lady and a Shiraz for me?”

  “By the glass?” the waitress asks.

  "Yeah, for now," he smirks, looking back at me. When he regards me, his focus never leaves my face. It's as if he's trying to memorize it all. Like I'll disappear if he doesn't.

  “So, do you come here often.?”

  "It's my first time. I looked up the place after our conversation, and I knew you'd love it. I hear the food is amazing. Very authentic Italian but delicious."

  “I love Italian,” I pipe up.

  “I figured. With your pizza obsession.”

  “Hey, that was a once off thing.” I scrunch my nose.

  “It better be. I wouldn't like to think any other pizza guy could pick you up.”

  "Cross my heart." I cross my eyes, and he throws his head back laughing.

  The thing about Kace is there are no awkward moments. Whether we are playfully bantering or silent, there's a companionship I have never quite felt before.

  Half an hour later, the table is full, and Terry joins us, handing out canvases. I gape at Kace. "This is . . . Wow! I don't actually have the words."

  “A wine and paint night,” he finishes.

  “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  We are guided through basic landscape painting, and I am in my element. I'd only just mentioned the fact that I want to paint in passing. But with each stroke of the brush, I realize I've been a fool not to pursue something I love so much. Kace made me see that, and I have no idea where this thing between us will go, but I'll always be grateful to him for this.

  He looks at me every now and then as he attempts to paint something that will never pass as anything more than a few lines across a white canvas.

  We walk along the pier, which is surprisingly behind the restaurant. I've never seen this place before, although I've been to the peer several times.

  “I haven't had this much fun in a long time.”

  “Then how about we take it up a notch.” He laughs as he grabs me by the waist and effortlessly lifts me onto a pillar. I’m out of breath, reeling from the feel of his hands on my middle and the way he’s looking at me, with desire evident in his gaze.

  He settles himself between my thighs, and it may be the wine or the stars hanging above us, but I place my hands on both his cheeks and bring my lips to his. I caress the soft stubble on his face as my lips mould to his. He places his hands behind my head and pulls me closer as I wrap my arms around his neck, his tongue exploring my mouth most intimately. I break away breathless.

  "We should do that more often," he teases. He carries me down, and I rest my head on his arm as we walk. The kiss at the forefront of my mind.

  “So, what is it that your parents do?”

  "My mother passed away when I was young, and my father is as good as dead, to me at least." His jaw ticks, and I don't want to push him. I know how there are some things you don't want to open up about.

  "I'm sorry about your mom," I offer. My mom is a handful at times, but I couldn't imagine a life without her.

  “It’s all good. It was a long time ago.”

  “So, tell me more about your book.”

  “It’s a work in progress.” He shrugs. Creative sorts are always like this.

  "Come on, give me something. What's it about? I gotta give my sister something." I laugh, and he looks down at me seriously. His carefree attitude seems to have evaporated, and I can tell by his eyes his guard is up.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Look, it’s getting late. I should get you home,” he says shortly.

  “Did I say something to offend you?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. It’s obvious he is upset, and I am not the kind of person who’ll just let things brew.

  “Nothing I have not heard before,” he says, pivoting on his heels and heading off in the direction of the car park.

  "Kace! Kace!” I shout, but he doesn't stop. He just continues walking. I have to run to catch up with him. I grip his jacket. "What's going on?"

  He runs his hands through his hair. “Nothing, ok. Just nothing.”

  “It can’t be nothing if you’re this angry.”

  "Well, it is. Just drop it Kenzie." And so I do, because his voice pleads for me to.

  We drive home in silence, and I can't believe how easily a perfect evening can turn into a misunderstanding. Maybe he didn't like talking about himself. If that was the case, how would I get to know him? And I want nothing more than to know everything, from the scars on his hands to the sadness behind his brown eye
s. I want it all.

  Chapter Nine

  Kace

  I watch her enter her apartment building, and I sit outside for a while after she's gone in. I know I overreacted. It's a reasonable thing to ask, but whenever someone does ask me, I feel under pressure. Like they're going to judge me. The truth is, I don't like to say it out loud and end up being accountable. It starts with “What's it about?”, but it slowly moves to “How far are you? Do you need any help?” I want to work at my own pace. It is, after all, my own story. Still, I messed up.

  When I get home, I'm ready to smash something against the wall. I realize I need to apologize, but I need to do that in person. It's a Friday night, and hopefully, she has no plans tomorrow. I'll surprise her with breakfast. I think back to that kiss. I've dated women over the years, and some were incredible kissers, but there was something about the way Kenzie kissed me. It was raw, like she gave everything she had in that moment. She was vulnerable, and it mirrored my own feelings.

  “Argh,” I growl. “The one woman who doesn’t give a shit about the car you drive, or that you’re pretty much a loser, and you blow it.” I have to sort this out.

  I shower, falling into bed, staring up at the ceiling. I know it will be one of those nights where I’ll remain awake until the sun comes up.

  It’s always the same. I fuck up and then my mind won't stop reminding me what a loser I am.

  I stood at the door for the last half an hour, my forehead placed lightly to it. I can do this. Why did I feel so anxious? My breath caught in my throat and my chest tight. I just have to touch the doorbell. It's been a week since our fight, a week of me refusing to take this step. She never asks for me at the pizza shop anymore, and I found myself asking them if she called. I earned myself a couple of glares for my pushiness.