Never Kiss A Stranger

“Why would you do that?” she asks, her lower lip jutting out.

“I just wanted to take you out.”

She clears her throat and goes through an agonizingly slow process of drying her hands for what feels like centuries before she finally responds, “Take me out? Like a date?”

This girl is so dang pretty it’s hard to actually focus on what she’s saying. I know, I’m going to Hell. I’m not usually one of those types of guys. You know, the ones that can’t stop staring at a good set of tits. I’ve glanced at Kiki’s once or twice, but I’m not leering.

I’m appreciating.

“Well, going out doesn’t need a name.” I stand. “I want to get to know you.”

And I do. I want to know all about her spa and what she does for fun. I want to know the color of her panties and the sounds she makes when she comes. I’m not going to suggest we label this as friends, because there’s no way I’m putting myself in the deathly friend-zone.

“You look really stressed,” I tell her. “Want me to give you a facial?”

To my surprise, ‘cause I have no idea how to give a facial, she walks to the chair and sits down. “Yes,” she says, closing her eyes. “Use what’s left in the bowl.”

“Look, there’s a party at my brother’s house,” I tell her, dipping my fingers into the goo. I glide it beneath her eyes, like war paint. Her skin is like gossamer as I rub the pads of my thumbs across her cheeks. “You can come and hang out. You have to eat anyway.”

“A party. Hm,” she muses. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

She’s not saying no, and I’m taking that as a good sign. “I think time is relative.”

“Ok,” she agrees, opening her eyes. “We can...socialize.”

I trace my fingers around the bow of her lips. “Yes, socialize. I like that.”

Now I’m fucking nervous. I don’t get nervous. This is my one shot, and why this is so important to me, I don’t know.

“Tell me about your business,” I say, gliding my fingers along her jaw.

She closes her eyes again and tells me all about how her and Poppi started the Dog Spaw with a small bank loan and a dream. How every bit of their success is because of their dedication to each client. She’s smart and that’s a big fucking turn on. I’m captivated by her, hanging on her every word.

I think the thing that makes her so damn attractive is she doesn’t even know how cute she is. She looks like a blueberry, and I love it. I want to lick it all off her face. God, it’s like I’ve been transported back to high school.

I don’t want this to end. For the first time in a long time, I feel grounded.

The urge to spread the concoction across the ridge of her collarbone and onto her breasts is strong, but she puts an end to the facial. “You’re really good at this,” she says, placing her hand on mine, “but I should get back to work.”

Before I can assure her I’m much better at other things, she swings her legs to the side of the chair and stands to grab a towel to wipe her face.

“Ok, Spanky,” she says, “your turn.”

He wags his tail and I lean against the wall to watch her work.

A popular song pipes into the room—maybe Taylor Swift?—and she sings along as she pampers Spanky.

I smile as I listen to her. “Umm, I don’t think that was the actual lyric.”

Kiki stops singing. “It totally was. Trust me.” She starts singing again, and this time I know she’s not saying the right words.

I laugh. “Don’t think those are the right words either.”

I’m going to be honest, this girl can not carry a tune, but she’s committed, and I have to give her credit for that.

When Spanky is all done, and his t-rex legs are on the salon door, trying to push it open, I give her the details for the party tomorrow night.

The party I made up. And now, I have to convince Urban to have one.

* * *

“Just invite a few people,” I coax my brother as we lounge on the back patio of his house that’s located along the water. “It’s not like you don’t entertain here.”

Who can blame him? His house is five-thousand square feet of pure relaxation. Boat dock, massive patio set-up with outdoor kitchen and bar, and of course big patio doors that stay open with the soft-billowy curtains flowing in the breeze.

“I don’t know,” he says with a grin. “I usually only entertain one woman at a time.”

I roll my eyes. “I need a party to happen tomorrow night. Do this, and I’ll tell you what I’m working on.”

“Why don’t you just ask her to dinner, like a normal person?”