The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

13

When Michael walked back into the shop, his mom was watching him with her arms crossed. Through the display window, she had a clear view of Stella’s white Tesla as it backed out of the parking lot. He was certain she’d watched the kiss. That was why he’d made it so short when what he’d really wanted to do was kiss Stella until her eyes glazed over.

She had his body tied up in so many knots, he could barely see straight, let alone think, and she’d caught him off guard here in the shop. That had to be why he’d accepted her proposal when he’d already convinced himself to do the right thing and turn her down. She hadn’t teased him, and she hadn’t laughed. Instead, she’d been impressed with his work and with him—the real him. No one wanted the real him. Only Stella. In that moment of weakness, he’d recklessly tossed his reservations aside. He’d said yes for no other reason than he wanted to be with her.

But now everything was spiraling out of control. Lines were blurring, and he couldn’t distinguish his professional life from his personal life. He might not even want to. His mom thought Stella was his for real, and he liked that way too much for his own comfort. Saying yes had been a giant mistake. He already regretted it and felt how wrong it was, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why. But it was too late now. It was just a month. He was a professional. He could handle a month.

“Stel-la,” his mom said, like she was testing out the sound of the name.

Michael gathered up Stella’s clothes and headed into the work area.

She followed right behind him. “I like her much better than that stripper you dated three years ago.”

“She was a dancer.” Okay, yeah, she’d also been a stripper. He’d been young, and she’d had an awesome body and all those pole moves.

“That one left her dirty underwear in a cup for me to find when I came over.”

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. Even after three years of escorting, he still didn’t understand the strange power games that happened between women. “I broke up with her.”

It had just been about the sex anyway. His dad was a cheater, and rather than commit and hurt people, Michael had spent his early twenties keeping things impersonal. To be honest, it had been a lot of fun, and he’d gone a little crazy, pretty much fucking anyone who showed interest. His memories of the time were a rainbow haze of women’s underwear.

When disaster hit and he needed money, he’d thought, why not get money for it? In his previous line of work, he’d dealt with lots of wealthy older women who propositioned him from time to time. All he’d had to do was accept. Plus, it was the perfect slap in the face to his dad—the reason for the disaster in the first place.

“That was an expensive car Stella drove,” his mom noted.

Michael shrugged, put Stella’s clothes with the other items that needed to be sent out for dry cleaning, and seated himself at his sewing machine.

In Vietnamese, his mom said, “She really likes you. I can tell these things.”

“Who likes him?” Ngo?i piped up from her place in front of the TV where she was in the middle of watching Return of the Condor Heroes for the millionth time—the old one starring Andy Lau where the kung-fu-fighting condor was a man in a giant bird suit.

“A customer,” his mom answered.

“The one in the gray skirt?”

“You saw her?”

“Mmmm, I had my eye on her from the first second I saw her. She’s a good girl. Michael should marry her.”

“I’m right here,” Michael said. “And I’m not marrying anyone.” That wasn’t an option when he had to escort. He could still remember all the times when his dad had left during his childhood, the way his mom cried herself to sleep, the way she fell apart but still stayed strong for Michael and his sisters and never missed a day of work. Michael would never hurt a woman by cheating. Never.

Not that Stella would ever want to marry him. Why the hell was he thinking about this anyway? They’d been on three dates. No, not dates. Sessions. Appointments. They were in a practice relationship. This wasn’t real.

“Did I raise you to go kissing people’s daughters like that if you’re not going to marry them?” his mom asked.

He stared up at the ceiling in frustration. “No.”

“She’s good enough for you, Michael.”

Ridiculous. Like he was some kind of rare prize.

Ngo?i mmmmed her agreement. “And pretty, too.”

Michael smiled then. Stella was pretty, and she didn’t know it. She was also smart, sweet, caring, brave, and—

His mom laughed and pointed at him. “Look at your face. Don’t try to tell me you don’t like her. It’s clear as day. I’m glad you finally got some good taste in women. Keep this one.”

Ngo?i mmmmed.