A Mess of Reason (6 page)

She smacks me. Thank
God
!

“I don’t want to erase it.”

Touchdown. Holy spike the ball…what?

“Tess…what?”

“Why are you you so sorry you kissed me? Am
I that awful? Why do you feel like it was a mistake?”

She still won’t look at me. Her face is
planted in my chest right against my heart. My heart, which is
pounding like I was just given an adrenaline shot that could wake a
dead elephant. Imagine the rampant confusion racing through me.

“Tess, I need you to look at me. I need to
see your eyes, baby. It’s me…come on.”

Nothing. So I do it for her. I tip her head
back, pull her chin up so she can’t for anything avoid me now. And
then I see those three little Chiclets wedged between her teeth and
I bust out laughing because she’s a melted-box-of-crayons mess. Her
face is red and raw, mascara is running in rivers down her cheeks,
her eye makeup is smudged to a point that she looks like a crack
whore. Her hair is knotted, mangled, and stuck to her face. But the
pink, green, and red Chiclets that sit happily between her front
teeth make her look like Christmas morning to me. She’s just the
most beautiful mess of a creature in the entire world and my heart
melts all over again, like it has a thousand other times.

“You’re laughing at me? I hate you.”

“I know you do. But I love you. Now open
your eyes and look at me.”

She does. She looks not just at me—she looks
into me. And fuck if I don’t want to kiss her like I did before all
over again. But this time…this time, I don’t. This time I stop and
I talk.

“You don’t want to erase it,
sweetheart?”

“No. But you do. So whatever.”

“And that makes you…?”

“Sad.”

“You liked that kiss?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want me to kiss you again like that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate you. You want to erase
it.”

“Oh, that.”

“Hand me a shot of tequila. I smell it,” she
says, pinching my nipple really friggin’ hard. I let her. Maybe
inflicting pain on me will help her. Fine.

“Sure.” I reach over, grab it, then do the
honors by pouring it right into her mouth. She swallows it in one
smooth gulp. Then I grab one for me and sink it back.

“Another,” she manages to squeak out. I
indulge her again. And myself as well.

We sit in silence. I’m so confused, I’m not
quite sure where to jump in. I’m feeling damned if I do, damned if
I don’t. She liked the kiss…but hates me? Liked the kiss…but
doesn’t want me to do it again? Hates me for wanting to erase it,
even though she hates me for doing it? I need a help line here.
Anyone? Tell me this isn’t confusing. Part of me wants to rip my
brain stem out.

“Why did you tell me it was a mistake?”

Thank fuck for our good buddy and in-house
therapist Jose—now we may be able to get this party started.

“Because I made you cry. Because you were in
your wedding dress getting ready to marry Creed. Because I think I
crossed the best-friend line. Because I thought I’d lost you over
it.”

“But not because you didn’t like it?” she
says with a wee sob, a sound that might come out of a child’s
throat.

“Jesus, Tess. I fucking loved it. That was
the greatest kiss of my life back there.”

“Yeah…really?”

“Yeah, I swear to you…best ever.”

“Oh,” she says, looking at my eyes for a
second with the smallest crack of a smile on the corner of her
mouth. “Hand me a beer, can you?” I grab two. She opens one after
the other with her bottom teeth. The Chiclets are still wedged
between her two front teeth, though most of the color is worn off
them, smeared onto her lips and making her look more like a crack
whore clown.

“So you came here to apologize for making a
mistake that isn’t a mistake?”

“Yep.”

“So what does that make it?”

“I think that’s up to you, baby. Do you want
me to kiss you again?”

“No.”

“Okay. Do you want me to feed you? I made
you mac-n-cheese.”

“You did? You made
the
mac-n-cheese?”
Her eyes tear up again, making my heart swell like a balloon.

“Just for you…the one and only.”

“Feed me.”

“Thought you’d never ask. You wanna suck the
Chiclets out first? Or are you saving those for later?”

“You take them out, you know the rules: you
put ’em in, you take ’em out.”

“Anyway I want? Like old times?”

“Anyway you want.”

I’ve done this a hundred times. I’ve used a
pencil, a paper clip, a nail file, a donut hole, a squirt gun, a
book cover, my pinky toe, a red Sharpie marker, my guitar pick,
etc. But never once have I used my tongue. The deal is, the person
who wedges them in gets to take them out, anyway they like.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Promise.”

“No. You have to say the words, then pinky
swear me at the same time. You know the rules.”

“I, Tess Harlow, do solemnly swear and
promise on this pinky swear that under no circumstances—regardless
of the method with which you use to remove the Chiclets wedged
between my two front teeth—will I get mad. You want me to sign in
blood, too? I have some handy…I have my period in case you’re
wondering, but I’m sure you’ve already guessed that.”

“Nope, you can keep your tampon tucked. The
pinky swear and oath are all I need.”

Well, you heard her. She swore on it, and in
our rule book, pinky swears count. I tip her chin up, take my lips
to hers, and suck the Chiclets out in a kiss, and then—because I
have no other choice—I just keep on kissing.

I kiss and kiss and kiss. I kiss her more
deeply than I’ve ever kissed anyone in my life, and I’ve done a
boatload of kissing, let me tell you. I kiss every fleshy sweet bit
of her lips and her mouth as her tongue slides over mine, teasing
me with demanding claim. She undresses me with tiny moans and
tender, rousing licks. I answer her with deep primal moans of want.
She drags my bottom lip into her mouth, then baits me with
soul-swelling penetrating probes of her tongue. We’re making love
with our mouths with bold, emotion-filled liberation. I don’t for
anything let her take a breath anywhere other than from my lungs.
And, not for one second does she resist me, my tongue, my lips, my
hands on her face. Nothing will get between us and this
pleasureful, decadent kiss. Time stands still and I listen to all
of it. I listen to her moan in my mouth, I listen to the sounds of
our lips and our tongues sliding, and more than anything I listen
to my heart speaking its very own language of need to hers.

“Scout,” she says as she pulls away for the
first time. I was not going to be the one to pull away. Not even if
there was a bull pulling me off of her—not this time.

“Hey…was that okay?”

“Uh-huh,” she says as her eyes dance between
my lips and my eyes.

We don’t talk about it beyond that. Well,
not right away, anyhow. Instead, I feed her bite after bite of my
homemade-just-for-Tess mac-n-cheese. You’ve never seen a happier
girl in your life. And as for me…yeah, I’m pretty fucking stoked,
too.

CHAPTER SIX

TESS

Never has something so precarious felt so
right. I know, I know…I’m engaged, so that makes this right a
wrong. Can two wrongs make a right? Two kisses that felt so very
right? Technically I shouldn’t even be kissing him, nor should he
be kissing me, since he’s dating Liberty Storm. But…the heart wants
what it wants.

I’ll admit I’m more confused than ever, for
a myriad of reasons. I’m not quite sure where to start or what to
ask—of me, my heart, or him. Does this mean he’s interested in me?
Or was that just a really blindingly luscious kiss? I can’t
possibly break off my engagement with Creed over an awesome kiss,
that would moronic. Right? I’ve been engaged for almost a year,
we’re coming into the final home stretch, and now this. I’m weeks
away…yeah, weeks. My bachelorette party is this weekend at my
mountain cabin, and the only guys invited are Scout and
Striker.

What exactly is the protocol on kissing
one’s very best friend when you are both with someone else?

“So you did all of this for me as an apology
for that kiss?”

“Yes, darling girl, I did. I’ve never in all
our years seen you so damn mad. Never. I mean, you were for sure
pissed that I screwed Roxanne in high school, but even that was
something you glossed over. Do you accept my apology? I have some
presents to twist your little arm.”

“Show me the goods…and maybe I’ll forgive
you.”

“Put out your hand,” he tells me, and I put
my non-ring hand up to his face. “This is a promise ring,” he said.
“I promise to never hurt you like that again. I mean, I might fuck
up once in a while, but I won’t do anything ever again unless you
pinky swear me first or you ask me to, okay?”

“Okay, that’s…well…that’s putting a lot on
me, isn’t it?”

“Well, I think it has to be that way. You’re
engaged to be married in a few weeks. I’m coming to your
bachelorette party to eat cake in the shape of a cock and shit like
that. I’m kind of in between a rock and a hard place.”

“That’s a lot to think about. In not a lot
of time.” I’m eyeing the plastic bauble on my hand, flashing it
about like a girl does when she just gets engaged.

“Do you still want me to come to your
bachelorette party? You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t. I
already botched up your fitting day. The last thing I want is to
mess that up, too. Would you rather it just be you and the
girls?”

“No! I want you there.” My legs are snugged
up on his lap, his hands just under my bottom. I crash my shoulder
into him a few times to make my point. “You’re my best friend; you
have to come! Please don’t back out. We were going to drive there
together to set up and stuff—I don’t want to do that alone. Please
come.”

“Yeah, of course I will. I’ll do whatever
you want me to, okay, boss?”

“Please…more mac-n-cheese.” I love when he
feeds me. I love that I’m in his lap, eating his mac-n-cheese,
wearing his promise ring. I love it until I look down to see my
hand—with my engagement ring staring back at me—resting on my
wedding dress. I slide it under my leg. I know he sees me do it.
It’s just I can’t have that big thing glaring at me while I’m
enjoying this…way too much.

“These things are for you.” He puts a little
stash of plastic gumball-machine bubbles into my lap as he
continues to give me overly ample bits of mac-n-cheese, licking off
the bits that fall to the side of my lips, washing me with his
tongue.

“Wanna do another shot?” I ask while opening
my first plastic bubble.

“Me? Hell yeah. Why do you think I brought
the whole bottle? I wasn’t sure how much lubing up I’d have to do
to win you back.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“I’d call you a bitch, but…”

“But you know when you call me a bitch it
makes me wet.”

“Your words, not mine. I know that’s your
bumper sticker and all…”

“Oh, fun—stretchy handcuffs…we’re hooked for
life.” I love him. What can I say? I always have. So here I am.
More than a little bit lost.

“Hooked. Yes…forever, Tess. I promise you,”
he says it with a bit of trepidation, a sad lilt in his voice. I
don’t know how to read him. Does he want me to get married? Do I
ask him how he really feels about it? Why can we talk about
everything but this? He would never tell me not to, he just
wouldn’t. But, he’s also waited pretty much forever to kiss me and
really, in my heart of hearts, I want to be married, I want to have
kids. I’ll be twenty-nine before I get married. Would I rather
marry Scout than Creed? Well, if I were standing at a crossroads
and both of them were there, yeah…I would choose Scout in a
heartbeat.

Does that make me an awful person? Does that
mean I should break off my engagement? One week before my wedding
is my twenty-ninth birthday. Shit…then I’m thirty, then my ovaries
are really going to start putting up a fight and kissing me
good-bye. I don’t even know if I can get pregnant. Maybe we are
really only meant to be friends.

“Wow, that was some daydream you just got
lost in,” Scout said. “You’re still holding your shot…you sure you
want that?”

“Yeah.” I slam it back. I need to stop
thinking. I need to get drunk with my friend and stop any further
thought. So that’s exactly what I proceed to do. I drink, eat
coconut Chiclet cake, open all the plastic bubbles and fall asleep
laughing my ass off just like I’ve done a thousand other times with
my very best friend.

I want him, all of him. The problem is, if
that’s what he wants—all of me, to know every inch of me—it’ll
never happen. He thinks he does know all of me, but he never will.
No one will.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TESS

“Sooo…Creed and Liberty are both in town?
I’ll bet that’s not awkward for you and Scout.”

Rox and I are having a little pre-party
drink at Scout’s bar, The Devil’s Tongue. My hands are shaking, I’m
so nervous. I’m seeing Creed for the first time in a month, which
is not unusual. It’s just I’m coming off of a few succulent kisses
with my best friend, wondering if Creed will sense my vibe of
weirdness. Roxanne sure does.

Scout and I have managed to avoid each other
all week, mostly on my account. Technically I’ve been working my
tail off with all the new photos for his holographic concert tour.
Basically I’m playing paper dolls with his mostly nude body all
day. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t occasionally one-handed.

“Rox, don’t. I’m a wreck already. Creed’s
here for two days, flying in on his jet just to see me before my
bachelorette party. Maybe he’s wants to surprise me for my
twenty-ninth? I’m not asking. I have no idea why Liberty is in town
this week. Scout told me she was on tour.”