It Started with a Kiss

It’s nice to be with someone you don’t have to entertain all the time like most women I date.

The elevator door slides open, and the eyes of the high school girl from the tenth floor widen when she sees me. Like always. A smile starts to embed in her expression until her gaze shifts to my left, and then annoyance takes over her face, and she moves to the corner of the elevator.

“Hello,” Marlow says, stepping on.

The girl stares at her shoes and replies, “Evening.”

With our fingers still intertwined, Marlow doesn’t even flinch from the exchange.

I say, “Good evening,” to her as the polite thing to do, but her eyes meet mine briefly until I’m situated next to Marlow. The door closes, and now it’s awkward. We haven’t descended even two floors when Marlow moves closer, pressing our arms together.

Grinning, I try to restrain myself from laughing out loud. I can’t say I normally care for acts of jealousy, but I’m living for this one. I bring my fist to my mouth to hide how I’m failing miserably.

An elbow taps into mine, and Marlow squeezes my hand. Thank fuck we’ve reached the lobby. I step aside with my hand on the edge of the door to let the ladies exit first.

The neighbor hurries out the front door, but Marlow stands not five feet away with her arm stretched toward me. I could really get used to this with her. I take her hand again, and we walk out together. It’s cold out, and she rearranges, wrapping her arm around mine. Just before we hop in a cab at the curb, she says, “I can’t take you anywhere, St. James.”

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Come on, lady-killer. Let’s go meet our friends before I get swayed.”

We slip inside the cab, and I tell the driver the address. She nods but doesn’t seem too interested in us. “And what would said swaying look like for it to work?” I ask Marlow.

“Hey, speaking of Billy Joel.”

The whiplash cricks my neck. “I wasn’t aware we were talking about Billy Joel.”

“I saw you had his album in the closet.”

“This has got to be the most indirect loop into a conversation I’ve ever been a part of.” I glance out the window to see where we are in the city before turning back to her. “I inherited the Billy Joel album from my parents when they gave me their collection. You have thoughts on it?”

“No, not really. I don’t know his music, but anytime I hear or see that name, I’m reminded that my mom once dated him. Thank goodness it didn’t work out, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Thank God for that.”

She rubs my cheek. “Aw, thanks.”

I take her hand and kiss it. “There’s got to be quite the age gap between him and your mom.” I know who her mom is. Everyone does. She’s not the same role model I had in my life, but I guess not everybody gets so lucky. Just would’ve been nice if Marlow could’ve had at least one reliable parent in her life.

“Yeah, that stuff doesn’t matter when you’re in love. They weren’t in love, by the way, but I’m told he had a massive . . .” She holds her arms wide. “Bank account.”

“I’m proud to say I don’t know about his assets.”

The joke was lame at best, but it tickles her, making her laugh. I love seeing her in such a good mood. The troubles she’s been dealing with for so long had started camping in her irises and dragging her down. It’s good to see the light shine in them again.

When we arrive, I help her to her feet on the busy sidewalk. We walk to the door, and I fasten the button of my jacket. Placing my hand on her lower back, I step forward, but she stays put, not moving an inch. I look back. “What’s wrong?”

Her chest is rising, and her eyes don’t reflect her smile like they did moments earlier. I pull her off to the side, out of the way of the entrance to the restaurant. Dipping my head, I try to block out the rest of the world for her, so she only sees me, hoping I can give her comfort. “What’s going on?”

“Jackson,” she says on the inhale of a deep breath. “I think we should—” She shivers from a cold breeze gusting down the avenue. I rub her arms to warm her up, which has her moving even closer. “I want to be with you, Jackson.”

Smiling, I reply, “You are.”

“No, Jackson, I want to be with you in public like we are at your place.”

My place. The sound of it being only temporary sours on my tongue, but then the rest of what she said sinks in. Tempering my feelings on the matter, I need clarification before jumping to conclusions. “What do you mean?”