Nick
If I could have just one kiss
If that's all it is, I'll know that is over
If I could have just one kiss
If there's something more
We could start over...
The camera was on me. It was fun to pretend I was in the middle of a staring match as I ended a song. I leaned into the mic stand, dragging out each Just One Kiss until I thought I saw a fan in the front row swoon. Applause rang out as I ended my orgasmic series of 'Oh-ohhhhh's.'
A second later, the enthusiastic host was beside me rattling in German so fast that it almost made my head spin. As a seasoned veteran of the biz, I knew that all I had to do was just stand there, smile, and nod even though I sometimes wondered if the host was telling national TV that I was a mule.
"Danke," I said softly. That brought about another round of applause. I ran out into the audience, shook hands, and darted backstage. I was a man on a mission; I had to be across town at my own soundcheck in less than an hour.
"Let's go," Andrew said, slapping me on the back.
I was sweaty and pancaked full of makeup, but I had no choice. I followed him to the waiting town car. The makeup I could try to scrape off; the sweat I couldn't fix. I was only going to get sweatier. My only consolation was that I had plaid on my side.
My plaid wardrobe had greatly increased since I had started dating Heather. She said there was something sexy about it that brought the country out in me. I didn't argue, and the fan response was great. But sometimes I thought it made me and Bri look like a less boob-a-ful version of the Doublemint Twins.
I was almost done scraping the left side of my face and Andrew was cursing at crazy German traffic when my cell rang. I didn't recognize the number at first, but another glance told me that it was coming from Kentucky.
Kentucky?
"Hell-lo?"
"Nick? This is Marietta."
I almost pulled the ultimate mistake of saying - 'Who?' - but luckily, at the last second I remembered. Heather's mom.
"Hi," I repeated. I was going to go with a traditional 'What's up?,' but that didn't seem appropriate. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Andrew turn to me, mouthing the words back. I held up a finger.
"I want to know what's going on with you and Heather," she said sweetly.
Crap. What did she already know?
"Nothing that I know of," I said, preparing myself for a sudden international reaming. "I'm in Germany and Heather's home working on her boo--"
"No, she's not."
"She's not?"
"She's here. Actually, she's playing basketball with Chris and Brian to avoid talking to me."
Fuck. So that explained why she wasn't answering my calls. She really WAS pissed.
"What a nice surprise for you!" I said in faux-happiness. My mind raced. "Wait, Brian's there too?"
"Yes. It's just like old times," she drawled. "But I want to know why," Marietta pressed, the whole 'mama bear' tone creeping into her voice, "why my daughter isn't with you."
I tossed the soggy Kleenex I was using to scrap the makeup off my face onto the seat. "There was a slight misunderstandi ng, but it works into my...uh...surprise," I rambled.
"Surprise?" Now I had her mother's interest.
"Yeah, a surprise," I said, my wheels turning. "Actually her being with you guys is perfect. Perfect. I'm gonna need you to keep her there until I fly in. I'll be there May 13."
"What's the surprise?"
I leaned forward and lowered my head between my legs. I thought about Lauren's naked body lying under mine. Then I thought of Heather's pink little apron hanging on the refrigerator at home. I'd had Lauren for about three months. I'd had Heather for three years. I had a week and a half to get Lauren out of my system. I could do it. Say it, Carter.
"Well, I think I need to talk to her dad too, but..." I felt the sweat taking care of the rest of my makeup. It was coming off in rivlets. "I want to marry your daughter."
Heather
“I do believe I’m winning. Against both of yall.” I bounced the ball at Brian and he caught it instinctively, though he did look a little shell shocked and worn. He glanced at Chris, who was doubled over, holding his knees, panting.
“Buck up, bro,” Brian drawled, slapping Chris on the back, “We can’t get slaughtered by a girl.”
“I can’t,” Chris wandered to the sidelines and collapsed on the grass beside Tessa, who was cooing from her stroller. He groaned as he closed his eyes and covered them with his hands.
I looked at Brian. “Forfeit?”
Brian bounced the ball back to me. “No way. I’m not being beat by a girl,” he said.
“Well,” I said slyly, “You better get used to the idea.”
I quickly dribbled the ball, maneuvered myself around the driveway, backing into Brian’s chest and pushing him back toward the net, then spun and leaped up, pounding the ball into the net. Again.
Chris laughed from the grass. “Oh God, just give up, Bri,” he called, “She’s embarrassing you.”
Brian laughed and reached for the ball as it bounced away, then he dribbled, and quickly scooted down the driveway and about-faced to come back and dunk into the hoop. When he jumped off the ground, so did I, and somehow I ended up jumping on him. Brian toppled backwards onto the grass, me on top of him, straddling his body, my chest smashed against his chest, both of us breathing heavily from the game.
We laid there on the grass like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. It seemed to last a lifetime. Brian’s blue eyes searched mine, then, he laughed and rolled and dumped me into the grass. “Good Lord,” he muttered, his face pink.
“Right?” I laughed. I struggled to my feet and dusted myself off. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed that my brother was staring at us with a goofiest looking smirk on his face – one that I knew all too well… it was the same look that Chris gave me when he was about to tattle on me to mommy. “What are you looking at, Mr. Cat-That-Swallowed-the-Canary?”
Chris shrugged. “Not a thing,” he replied. He picked Tessa up from her stroller, pulled her onto his hip and let her sit upon his arm. He grinned as he kicked the stroller closed and hung it over his opposite forearm. “See you inside?” he asked, and headed for the house.
Brian jumped up from his position on the ground like he was some kind of crazy gymnast. He dusted off the seat of his pants and looked me over. “Good game, kiddo,” he said with a smile. “Gotta give ya a hand, you kicked some serious ass.”
Somehow ass sounded like a terrifically terrible word because it had poured out of Brian’s mouth. It was like being 5 years old and hiding behind the swings on the playground and saying every naughty word we could think of… like poop.
I giggled.
Brian
That night, I was exhausted, but happier than I’d been for a very long time.
I was sitting at the desk in my old bedroom from high school in my parent’s house, surfing the net and trying to decide what sort of thing would qualify as special. I leaned back in the chair, folded my arms over my chest, and closed my eyes, thinking about how the day had gone. It had been the first time I’d felt completely comfortable with a woman in a long time. Too bad it hadn’t been Leighanne.
The idea of Leighanne playing basketball made me laugh. She was far too much of a girly girl to want to bounce the ball around with me in the driveway. I imagined her squealing over dirt on her Wylee shirt or not wanting to shoot the ball because she was too afraid to break one of her freshly manicured fingers.
Really, it was a wonder I’d ended up with someone like Leighanne in the end. I’d never been into the kind of woman who knew what nail beds were. Not to mention one who would train me to care about nail beds. I mean -- please. I’m a Kentucky boy. I like dirt and skinned knees and sweating from hard work in the sun. My first job had been mucking out the stables at Uncle Jerald’s barn with Kevin and Harold. I was in my element in the mud.
When I brought Leighanne home in 1996 for the first time, I remember Chris’ reaction. He’d pulled me aside, “A Barbie doll? Really?” he’d laughed. “Is she licensed by Matell?” he joked.
“She’s gorgeous,” I’d said.
“Yeah, she certainly is pretty to look at,” he agreed – who couldn’t agree with that? But he’d hesitated. Finally, he’d said, “High maintenance, though, I’m guessing?”
“So she needs a couple hundred a month to pamper herself. Isn’t that what being a rockstar is for? Being able to spoil the ones you love?”
He nodded absently, staring at her from across the room. “I guess we just all assumed you’d end up with ---“ he stopped mid-sentence, laughed then said, “You know, a tomboy.”
Leighanne had been leaning against the kitchen counter, talking with Heather, who had her hands wrist-deep in meatloaf. At sixteen, Heather was still a tomboy. She had a smudge of ketchup on her cheek and her hair was hanging in a messy ponytail. She looked like an exact opposite of perfectly polished Leighanne, who looked so hot in a sun dress printed with giant red tulips.
“I guess I always thought so too,” I said, watching the two women talking and smiling across the room. “ But you know… things change,” I answered.
I realized my mind had gone off on a tangent, and opened my eyes to find my screen saver blinking at me from the computer. I ran my fingers over the mouse touch pad. The beauty about Heather, I thought to myself, was that she was so opposite of Leighanne. I guess that’s what made us such good friends.
