A Kiss For You

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Jude laughed at that. “You told her?”

  “Yeah, I fucking told her. You think I’d let her go without me? I mean, at least if I’m there, he can’t get to her. Plus, there’s too much unsaid that needs to be said once and for all.”

  “And you think Rod’s concert is the right time? With him up on a stage, licking the microphone in a leather jacket?” Jude asked, shaking his head. “Bro.”

  I groaned and paced the room again, hand in my hair. “Fuck. Fuck! What the fuck am I gonna do?”

  Phil sighed. “Cross your fingers and pray.”

  “Go to Lucky’s and deck Roddy as a show of manhood and territorial superiority,” Jude said helpfully.

  I shook my head. “I’ve just got to survive. Show up. And hope to God I don’t lose her for good.”

  You Can't Actually Be Serious

  My emotions were jumbled up like Scrabble tiles as I worked through my day, trying to keep busy, which wasn’t too hard. From the second I’d hung up the phone with Bodie, I’d had somebody in my chair, affording me plenty of time alone with my thoughts.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go to the concert, and somehow I’d gotten roped into it. And Bodie had sounded hard and a little angry on the phone, and when he’d insisted we go to the show, I couldn’t find a way to say no. I needed to see him as much as he’d said he needed to see me, and the prospect of seeing him, talking to him, was too much to argue. That on top of not wanting to make him any angrier.

  The conversation had taken a hard left, and I’d found myself agreeing to go to my ex-boyfriend’s rock concert with my current boyfriend-slash-slam-piece who I hadn’t spoken to in days.

  Basically, the whole thing was a fucking hot-ass mess.

  The sound of Bodie’s voice had made my insides squishy and warm. The thought of seeing him made it hard to breathe. I’d missed him so much that in hindsight, staying away seemed ridiculous and futile. I wanted to be with him; that hadn’t changed. I was still scared; that hadn’t changed either. All that had changed was my resolve to go after what I wanted instead of running away.

  The problem was that I didn’t know what to expect, and I dreaded meeting him at Lucky’s.

  I should have called it off. I should have told him to just meet me somewhere else, anywhere else. But the afternoon got away from me, and one thing after another went wrong. My last job, a massive back piece, ended up running over. Like, an hour over.

  I texted Bodie the first chance I got, but by that point, he was already there. And the second I was finished, I blew out the door and caught a cab with my pulse speeding. I hadn’t even had time to go home and change. I fussed over my clothes — my Misfits tee with the oversize neck, black miniskirt, shredded up tights and combats. And as I touched up my makeup, nerves overwhelmed me, stoked by the anxiety of being late and not knowing what to expect from the night.

  When the cab pulled up to the curb in front of Lucky’s, I spotted Bodie leaning against the wall next to the box office, his eyes dark and brows low, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.

  He looked gorgeous.

  Gorgeous and pissed.

  I paid the cabbie and slipped out of the car into the sweltering heat, trotting across the sidewalk to him as he pushed away from the wall.

  I found myself breathless, probably from jogging. Or from Bodie — broody and tense and pumping out testosterone and pheromones at me like tear gas.

  “Hey,” I breathed, wishing I could wrap myself around him like a boa constrictor. As much as I’d thought I’d missed him, it was nothing compared to standing there in front of him without permission to touch him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  He attempted to relax with a deep breath that lowered his square shoulders just a touch. “It’s all right, but can we get inside? I could use a drink.”

  I smiled, hoping it looked like I wasn’t nervous as shit. “Yeah. Of course.”

  We headed over to the box office in heavy silence, and I picked up our tickets. And within a few minutes, we were stepping under the blasting air-conditioning and making our way to the bar.

  It was already packed and loud, and within ten feet, the air-conditioning was a distant memory — the heat from the hundreds of bodies packed into the space had turned it into a sauna. We waited in line at the bar, trying to shout at each other over the noise with a thousand things we wanted to say pressing on us like the oppressive heat.

  Lucky’s was general admission only, and we wormed our way through the masses to get as close to the stage as we could. Every second, the crowd closed in a little tighter around us, and I slammed my double tequila almost as fast as he slammed his double whiskey.

  Bodie leaned down to my ear. “I’m gonna get us another round.”

  I nodded and yelled, “I’ll be here,” which sounded way less cute in scream-speak.

  He disappeared into the crowd, and I took a breath and let it out. As excited as I had been to see Bodie, he was angry and tense, and it was my fault. The combination of me going radio silent, him having to wait an hour for me in the hundred degree heat, and the fact that we hadn’t talked about anything we wanted to — it was almost too much to bear in the span of a few minutes.

  It all of a sudden felt like a kamikaze mission, and I clambered for a way to salvage the night.

  A few minutes after he left, he was back with a fresh drink, looking a little more relaxed. He smiled and brought his lips to my ear. “I found another bar upstairs, it was empty.”

  I reached up on my tiptoes to get to his ear in return. “Good. Thank you.”

  He repeated the ridiculous motion to get to my ear, the frustrating lag in conversation pissing me off.

  “You’re welcome.” He ran a strand of my blue hair through his fingers. “You changed your hair.”

  I nodded, our lips had found places, our cheeks almost pressed together so we didn’t have to move. “You like it?”

  “It’s different,” he answered enigmatically just as the crowd began to cheer.

  I turned to find the opening band making their way onto the stage, raising their hands to the crowd as they picked up their instruments. And just like that, any shot we’d had to talk was blown.

  We bounced around to the opening band, pounding drinks. By the time their set was finished, Bodie and I hadn’t spoken, and we’d each had three doubles. This could have been a good thing, except for the fact that we were both drinking to ease our nerves. Or at least I was. Bodie seemed to be drinking so he could tolerate me.

  He went to get us our fourth drink during the set change. And by the time he got back, the lights were dimming, and the crowd screamed and clapped as Rodney walked out from backstage.

  It was then that I realized something very important — far too late for it to matter.

  I’d had a lot of bad ideas in my life, but agreeing to meet Bodie at Lucky’s that night was hands down the worst.

  My breath was still, my eyes blinking as Rodney fucking Parker — my albatross and cross to bear — took the microphone in a leather jacket and skinny jeans, looking like a goddamn motherfucking god.

  He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man with a guitar and a voice and that hair and those hands. I was like a bug in a spiderweb with my eyes locked onto Rodney as I struggled to break free. For two years, I’d been obsessed with him even though he hurt me, and there he was, in the flesh, a grown man, resurrected. My past stood there before me, and my future stood next to me whole I stood in the middle, completely frozen from the unanticipated shock of it all.

  If I’d been able to form a cognizant thought, I would have grabbed Bodie’s hand and run out of that stuffy, steamy, loud room like it was on fire. But since my brain had ceased primary functions, I found myself stuck to the spot with my mouth open and my drink warming in my hand.

  It was bad. So, so bad.

  I found my wits somewhere near the end of the set, stiff drink in my hand and stiff Bodie next to me. I snuck a glance at him and found him somehow looking
even more pissed than he had when I walked up an hour late.

  Disaster. Complete fucking disaster.

  I slammed my drink, teetering a little under the burn as the no-longer-chilled tequila made its way through my esophagus, and then there was only one thing to do — get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible.

  I grabbed Bodie’s hand and lifted my chin, tilting my head to indicate I wanted to talk to him, and he lowered his face so I could reach his ear.

  “Let’s go,” I said hastily and with a little bit of a slur.

  He nodded, everything about him softening with relief, but before we could even take a step, Rodney was on the mic, and I heard my name.

  “Penny! Hey, guys,” Rodney said, his voice rumbling at a trillion decibels from forty-eight-million speakers. “Check it out. See that girl there with the blue hair and the hips that could knock a motherfucker out?”

  He pointed straight at me, and everyone turned around to gawk, except Bodie. Bodie stared at Rodney like he wanted to separate his head from his body.

  “Come on up here, Pen.”

  I shook my head.

  “Come on! Help me out, guys. Pen-ny. Pen-ny. Pen-ny.”

  The entire fucking joint was chanting my name, and the next thing I knew, I was being pulled toward the stage by strangers, looking back over my shoulder at Bodie, begging for him to save me, begging for him to forgive whatever was about to happen.

  I was lifted up and put on the stage, and before I could even protest, I was in Rodney’s arms, pressed up against his chest as I angled away, scanning the crowd for Bodie, but I couldn’t see shit. I didn’t even know how Rodney had picked me out.

  Stupid fucking hair. Dead giveaway.

  “So, you might know Penny from her TV show, Tonic.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Well, wouldn’t you know it? Penny used to be my girlfriend a long, long time ago, but I was a stupid little prick back then.” His tone was self-deprecating, and I didn’t buy it at all. “I wrote some of your favorite songs for her because, let me tell you something — you don’t forget a girl like Penny.”

  He turned to me, all smiles as he let me go and stepped back, slinging his guitar from back to front, calling the song to the guys, and the drummer kicked off the beat.

  And I stood there on the fucking stage with a hundred lights on me, a screaming crowd — minus one pissed off Bodie — singing along as Rodney serenaded me with their biggest hit. The song was a drug-and-addiction metaphor for love, all about this muse who had ruined him, left him hanging to dry, spent and tired and needing more.

  I felt like he’d gotten his wires crossed about what had gone down between us.

  I was shocked and stunned, locked to the spot to the side of the stage by the expectations of several hundred people. I couldn’t walk off without causing a scene, and there were all those faces and eyes and lights — so many lights, blinding and sharp — pinning me down as a zillion thoughts zinged through my head.

  I legitimately want to die.

  Where did Bodie go?

  God, there are so many people staring at me right now.

  I should get an award for being so fucking dumb.

  Fuck, it’s so loud. This is ridiculous.

  I should walk. But what if he stops the song? Then everyone is going to boo.

  Do I even care?

  Yes, yes, I care if three hundred people boo me.

  Bodie’s watching. He’s got to be so pissed. I would be a raging psycho.

  Why didn’t we leave? We should have left.

  What the fuck do I do with my hands?

  I should have fucking called this off. Stupid, Penny. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Am I supposed to smile? Dance? Sing along? I don’t even know the damn words.

  Seriously, death would be a welcome release. Any second now, I’ll get struck by lightning and be put out of my misery.

  And so on for approximately four minutes, while I stood there like a fucking idiot, wishing I could run like hell.

  The song ended, mercifully, and Rodney made his way over, reaching for me for what I thought would be a kiss on the cheek.

  Wrong again. So, so wrong.

  His lips hit mine, soft and familiar, sending a rush of memories back to me, and I immediately turned my head, smiling awkwardly as I attempted to push him away. Discomfort covered me like a bucket of slime, and I pushed harder.

  He finally stopped, but before he let me go, he nuzzled into my ear. “Come see me backstage after the show.” His hand snaked down to my ass, and he squeezed it. “Fuck, you look good.”

  I pushed away from him hard, furious on the inside, laughing uncomfortably on the outside, with my cheeks flaming and all those people staring at me. When I turned, a security guy waited behind me with a hand extended to guide me down the stairs, and as I made my way down, I searched for Bodie in the crowd.

  All I caught was a glimpse of the back of his head and the set of his shoulders as he wound his way through the crowd toward the door.

  “Fuck, shit, fuck,” I hissed, a little wobbly from the tequila as I hurried as best as I could after him through the throng of people to the deafening sound of the band’s final song.

  I burst through the door and onto the sidewalk to find Bodie storming away.

  “Bodie, wait!” I called after him.

  He didn’t stop.

  My heart broke, and I trotted to catch up, laying a hand on his arm.

  “Bodie, please,” I said.

  He whirled around so fast, I almost fell backward.

  His eyes were hard, his jaw set and lips a thin line. I barely recognized him. “What?” he shot.

  And the accusation in that single syllable cut through me.

  “I … I—” I stammered with my mouth open like a trout, completely stunned by the shift in him, though not at all surprised. I deserved every bit of his anger and braced myself.

  “Jesus, Penny. What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”

  I blinked, angling away from him a little. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  He took a controlled breath, his eyes boring into me like icy blue drills. “I’ve done everything I know to do to try to make you happy, and the second things got real, you dropped me like a bad fucking habit. You didn’t speak to me for days — days, after everything — and when you did call, you called to tell me he called you.” He jabbed a single finger at the venue. “And then? Then we came here together—”

  “Hang on, that was your idea! I didn’t even want—” I tried to say over him, but he was a steamroller.

  “—And the whole fucking time you were staring at him like he was God’s fucking gift. He treated you like garbage, Penny. Fucking trash. And then you went up on that stage and you fucking kissed him and I just can’t with you, Penny. I can’t.”

  I fumed and stuck my own skinny finger in his broad chest. “I didn’t kiss him, you asshole. He kissed me, and I tried to get away from him!”

  He laughed, a sound as dry and hot as the desert. “Please. You laughed and smiled and stood there instead of walking away.”

  My heart stopped and started again with a painful kick. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Make a huge scene on the stage? Bodie, for fuck’s sake, I came here with you.”

  “You haven’t spoken to me in days!” he raged, the muscles in his neck taut and red. “You left me hanging, blew me off, and I’m supposed to feel good about you kissing that prick in front of three hundred people? I mean, what the actual fuck, Pen?”

  “Hey, Penny,” Rodney said from behind me.

  I looked back in horror to find him jogging up with a smile on his face.

  “I thought you were coming backstage?”

  One second, Bodie was standing there with his fists clenched, looking like a coil about to spring, and the next, his arm was pulled back, and he coldcocked Rodney in the face.

  I watched the whole thing happen in slow motion, accompanied by a series of noises �
� the smack of knuckles against flesh, my gasp, Rodney yelling Son of a bitch!, and Bodie’s heavy breathing as he shook out his hand.

  Rodney crumpled to the ground, and out of sheer, shocked instinct, I reached for him to help him sit up as he held his bleeding nose.

  “What the fuck, man?” Rodney yelled but narrowed his eyes as he really got a good look at Bodie. “Wait … Diddle?”

  But Bodie just shook his head and looked at me with eyes as cold and sharp as a switchblade. “You two deserve each other,” he said. And then he turned and walked away.

  Tears burned my eyes, my throat in a vise, my gaze on Bodie as he stormed down the sidewalk, taking all my hopes and wishes with him.

  Ruined. I was ruined. My heart was ruined. And it had been ruined long before I let him in.

  Rodney tried to make sense of what was going on, inspecting me. “You’re dating Diddle?”

  I sniffed, blinking to keep my tears at bay as I pulled Rodney to stand. “It’s complicated.”

  Rodney wiped the blood from his nose and inspected his hand. “Well, he’s gone now. Come on backstage.”

  He smiled around the gore on his face, the effect gruesome and sickening. Or maybe it was the tequila. Or the fact that Bodie had just dropkicked my heart.

  I shook my head. “I just really want to go home.”

  His smile widened as he tried to put his arm around me. “I’ll take you.”

  I turned to avoid his grip. “I can make it on my own. Thanks for the tickets, Rodney.”

  That smile of his fell, slipping into anger. “Hang on. You’re not actually ditching me for Diddle, are you? That fucking loser never had a shot with you, not then and not now. He always had a thing for you. So fucking embarrassing.”

  I clenched my teeth, hot anger boiling in my ribs as the flip switched, illuminating everything I’d avoided, lighting up all the things that had been right in front of me the whole time, if only I hadn’t been too blind to see.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I fired. “He’s fucking incredible. You’re the loser. How dare you. How dare you call me up on that stage and embarrass me and kiss me without my permission in front of all those people. You son of a bitch — you ruined me, and now you think you can call me up and bring me to a show and fuck me like you used to?”