Never Kiss A Stranger

I smile a polite, tight smile and raise my glass. “Glad to be home.”

Yasmin decides to input her two cents, “We’re so happy you’re here, Ellis.” She assembles her collagen-filled lips into a smile. “Aren’t we, Richard?”

My father nods, pretending he has the perfect family. I don’t know who he’s trying to impress. Henry? Kiki? The waiters? I’m sure it’s more the other members of the club, but I smile back like I don’t wish I had daggers to throw at him.

I don’t want to make a scene with Kiki here. A man who throws a temper tantrum in public can’t call himself a man. I can act like an adult here.

After we order, I reach for my water glass and bump hands with Kiki reaching for the same glass.

“Your glass is on your right,” she says, leaning toward me a little, letting me get a whiff of her sweet perfume.

Her scent transports me back to the afternoon I kissed her. “Right, sorry. Haven’t been in a country club in years.” I take a gulp of water. “I prefer something with less etiquette.”

She smiles. “Yeah. I really only need one fork.”

Exactly. This isn’t my life. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want it to be.

Urban likes this lifestyle. He enjoys brunch on Sundays and playing golf. Me, I want more than superficial. I want to enjoy myself when I’m with my family, not put on a show for everyone to see.

It makes me wonder about Kiki. Is this the life she wants?

It’s obvious Henry fits right into this lifestyle. I bet he even hangs out at this club on weekends.

I’m a silent observer as Yasmin makes small talk with Kiki about her business, while I drain my wine.

“You do dog weddings?” Yasmin asks, lighting up. “I’d love to contact you about that for my babies.”

Kiki hands over her contact information, and I silently wish her luck with the spoiled balls of fluff Yasmin totes around in a designer bag.

“Speaking of weddings,” Henry says, “you up for eating some cake tomorrow in my place?” He stares right at me, waiting for my response.

“No, no, it’s ok,” Kiki says. “I can go with Lola or Poppi.” The ring on her left finger reflects the light from the chandelier overhead and nearly blinds me. I guess she finally got it back from the goat holding it hostage.

Urban laugh/coughs, and I give him a glare before turning my attention back on Henry. “Sure, I could eat some cake. But only if Kiki wants me to come along.”

“You’re helping plan the wedding?” my father asks. “Watch yourself,” he directs to Kiki. “You’ll have a champagne disaster if he’s helping you.”

I think back to his wedding to Yasmin, and how I tried to ruin the whole thing. I almost did, but in the end, they finally went through with it, and were married. But, like I said, not for lack of trying on my part.

“It was just a few bottles,” I tell my father. “Excuse me.” I need a break from his phony smile. His phony life.

From his phony everything. Kiki looks at me with questioning eyes as I stand. If circumstances were different, I’d take her with me. I’d grab her hand and we’d run to the back, and I’d sweep her into my arms.

She’d blush as I trace my fingers over her cheek. She’d moan as I lean in to kiss her.

We’d leave from here, never looking back.

But circumstances aren’t different, so I weave between the tables toward the back of the restaurant in search of somewhere to escape. I find something—a little hidden patio off the back.

I step outside and breathe in the balmy night air. The ocean is close, I can smell the salty sea, and some of the stress leaves my shoulders.

“That’s some major tension at that table,” Kiki says, joining me on the patio, overlooking the golf course.

“My father and I don’t really get along.”

She smiles. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she says with playful sarcasm in her tone. “Why not?”

I perch on the half wall enclosing the patio. “It’s a long story.”

She scoots a little closer. God, she’s beautiful with the moonlight dancing across her skin. “I kind of like long stories. I mean, it must be some major emotional baggage to kiss a stranger, just so you don’t have to see him.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets, so I don’t grab her and kiss her again. “Sorry about that.” But, am I really sorry? Every part of me knows it was so wrong, yet, I don’t regret it.

Although, I should. And that’s the most fucked up part.

“I see you got the ring back.” I nod toward her left hand, changing the subject.

She lifts her hand, staring at the ring on her finger. “Yeah.” Then, she turns to face me. “Is it bad every time I look at it I think about goat poo?”