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This is EM2 of Cami’s First Kiss. Check out EM1 HERE
“What is that?” I asked as Lisbeth stepped from the cab.
“What is what?”
“That outfit.”
“Oh, this?” Lisbeth waved a hand in front of the sackcloth she was trying to pass off as a dress. “Cloak of invisibility.”
Sometimes her logic was so…um…different, I struggled with following it, let alone understanding it. “I don’t mean to start one of those conversations where we repeat everything the other person said, but, cloak of invisibility?”
She adjusted the loose fitting fabric on her shoulders. “Last night, Jeremy said he never would have asked me out if I didn’t have such a, and I quote, ‘hot little body only a bimbo could possess.’ I’m senior marketing consultant at a huge company and he dated me to get it on with my body.”
“And so you’re hiding it to date men who are only interested in your mind?”
She nodded. I doubted she was unaware of her beautiful face with flawless hair and make up. Below short, loose dress stuck out perfectly shaped legs leading down to —
“What the hell are those?” I waved at her clunker-shod feet.
Lisbeth shrugged. “They match the cloak of invisibility.”
“Where did you get them?” There’s no way she paid money for those. Well, maybe if they had a brand name I couldn’t pronounce and a three-digit price.
She pointed a toe, still looking dainty in the female club version of steel toe boots. “I think you left them at my house.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes before I realized it might be true. “You can’t really expect to go out wearing that?”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk Miss I’m-dressed-like-our-waiter.”
“What?” I glanced down at myself, somehow not surprised I’d ended up not even knowing what I’d put on. “Darn it.”
“My dress doesn’t look so bad now, does it?” There was that smug thing again.
“I put on the black capris and a pink top, but the pink top needed to be ironed. So I put on the white top with a navy skirt, but it was too snug. Then I tried that grey dress, but it looked too ‘librarians gone bad’ for a bar. So I just put on the two most comfortable things and left the house.”
Lisbeth smirked as only a gorgeous woman could. Slightly arrogant yet still gorgeous. “Nothing screams ‘can I take your order’ quite like a white button-down short sleeve shirt and black pants.”
“Can we just do this?” I pushed, not that I wanted to head into one of those underlit-overheated holes, but getting it over with was a plus. Glancing at her outfit, I added, “We should stop at an ATM. You might have to pay a cover and buy your own drinks.”
Lisbeth got that look you’d give a child who said something stupid but is still adorable.
“No sweetie. I’ll leave that up to you.” She grinned and I knew, even dressed like that, she’d would be surrounded by men all night. Most of them drooling.
The doorman waved me along, but stopped Lisbeth. “ID, miss?”
“Are you kidding me?” I craned my neck to look past the bald, oversized bouncer’s head. “Do you really think she could possibly be under twenty-one? She’s four years older than I am.”
The giant peered over his shoulder. “Do we have a problem, ma’am?”
Cringing at the word ma’am, I snapped, “No. I’m used to it. Go on, Lisbeth. Giggle for the nice man.”
Lisbeth shot a look of pure venom my way, making her appear ever minuet the four years she had on me. I hovered between the door and bar area, waiting for her to finish her flirt-for-entry routine. Eventually, several men turned and stared, the drool almost visible from across the room.
“I chose this place very carefully.” Lisbeth took my arm and steered me toward the bar at its center. “The men are older, no frat boys. All nice, successful businessmen, rolling up their sleeves at the end of a hard day’s work. Even you should be able to handle this.”
I placed my notebook on the bar as I climbed atop my stool. “Thanks,” I mumbled.
“No problem.” Lisbeth beamed, oblivious to the sarcasm.
The bartenders were obviously hired by appearance, not ability. The upside was that Bran could have graced the seven-foot tall poster outside Abercrombie and Fitch.
“What can I get you ladies?” I liked him immediately. He may have looked only at Lisbeth, but he included me in the question. Very impressive skills at noticing shadows.
“Green Apple Martinis.”
“And a Diet Coke,” I added.
“I don’t think so.” Lisbeth turned her smile on the bartender. “Two Green Apple Martinis”
“Green. Apple. Martini.” I jotted in my notebook.
“What are you doing?”
“Noting our drinks.”
“You write YA. You can’t even get your heroine her first kiss. What do you need to know about adult beverages for?”
“Someday I may want to write about this. You know, going out on the town with my friend dressed as Raggedy Anne. Having a couple of drinks. Scoping out guys to hit on in a not-hitting-on-them type of way.”
“Who would read that?” Lisbeth squinted at my notebook, the consultant in her running through possible business strategies.
“How would I know? I write YA.”
The bartender returned with the order: two Green Apple Martinis and killer a smile for Lisbeth.
“You might try slouching a little.” I honestly was trying to help. If she didn’t want attention, I was the girl to show her how to not get it. “Looks lazy and hides those boobs.”
Not only did she not slouch, I swear her shoulders went back. “Sweetheart, nothing can hide these girls.”
She was right. Or perhaps comparison made hers look so big. Next to my not-quite-B cups, anything needing support was impressive.
Studying the room over her martini, Lisbeth jumped right in. “Scoping the guys is a big part of any night out. Start with looks. There are three categories of guys.”
Finally. Something I could answer. “Blond, brunet, redhead.”
Her look questioned my almost perfect SAT scores.
“No. Jeep, Civic, Yugo. Obviously you want to avoid Yugo’s at all cost.”
“Obviously.” Note sarcasm.
“The Jeep is the hot guy. The one that always looks good. And just like his namesake, looks even better with his top off.”
“Are you serious?” If this is what I was going to learn out in ‘the real world,’ no wonder I stayed home so often.
“The Honda,” Lisbeth steamrolled my question. She motioned to my notebook with a pointed look until I raised my pen to capture her brilliance. “Is a nice run of the mill guy. Depending on the year and model, he could be close to a Jeep or, you know more like a rust heap. The Yugo, well, that’s self-explanatory.”
“And probably what I’ll end up with.”
“Jenna, you’re a solid, one-to-three year off the lot Civic. I’d say you’re silver. If you put makeup on, you might even be red. Don’t sell yourself short.”
So where did that leave me? I was dependable, flat-chested, shopped at the Gap, and you could get me drunk off one drink. Yup, I was a mid-level Honda all right.
I looked at my friend, the Jeep, and counted all the blessings of being a Civic. Low cost, reliable, compact, inexpensive maintenance, low gas mileage.
“So, I need a Civic, right?”
Lisbeth scanned the room, weeding out guys in her head like Florida weeds out valid votes.
“Him.”
Almost directly across the bar sat The Target.
Plusses:
- Good looking, but not too good looking
- Not wearing a t-shirt or ten year old fraternity paraphernalia
- Alone. No buddies to face as I made my notations
Lisbeth adjusted herself on the barstool to block the man trying to get her attention. “You can do this. Just be yourse–” Her gaze dropped to my notebook. “Just relax, and smile.”
“I can do this.” I nodded my head in self-affirmation.
I pictured myself walking around the bar without tripping. I picture myself approaching him and no one stepping in front of me. I pictured him turning and smiling at me as I set my drink down without spilling it on him. I pictured him being sweet and understanding and agreeing that, of course it’s necessary to research a fictional seventeen-year-old’s first kiss in a downtown bar.
“Maybe you should leave that here.” Lisbeth took my drink. “You can’t even keep milk in a sealed carton.”
Every part of me wished she wasn’t right, but I left the drink where she laid it. I rounded the bar, no tripping, no bumping, no spilling. First mental picture, completed.
I reached Target Guy’s side. My hands shook like a coatless club girl’s in a January bar line. Second mental picture, completed.
“Hi.” That was easier than expected. Guys complain about having to cross the room all the time.
“I’ve already got a drink, thanks.” Target Guy turned back to the bar.
“I’m not actually a waitress. I’m a writer.” I waved my pen and notebook in front of him like a B-movie cop with his badge. “I write YA, ah, young adult. And I’m doing some research.”
“In a bar?” While it wasn’t an encouraging question, it did give me my in.
“You see, Cami, my main character, just turned seventeen. Now, the publishing house says it’s time for her to get a boyfriend. They’ve told Rachel, my agent, the next book has to have a boy and a kiss. I disagree, but if I want to continue being paid, it’s boyfriend time for Cami.” I laughed, trying to fill the awkward silence before storming forward again. “Which, of course, I worry about. I mean, I know she’s imaginary, but I feel very protective of her.”
I glanced across the bar at Lisbeth and the man sitting in my vacated seat. She gave me the keep going look.
“So, anyway,” I continued. “It’s been a long time since my first kiss. I’m not sure I could image it. I mean, can you even remember your first kiss? I don’t mean like who it was with, but like, what was it like, how did it feel. That kind of stuff. So I was wondering if, maybe, you would consider, perhaps, kissing me and I could think about what it would be like being a first kiss of sorts and, if you don’t mind, make some notes.”
Target Guy looked dumbstruck. It’s a common expression, but this was the first time I’d seen it in action. Or, as the case may be, inaction
“Make some notes?”
Encouraged, I nodded and waved my handy notebook again to reassure him. “Yeah. I’m not some crazy pick-up girl. I just need to make some notes.”
I kept expecting the dumbstruck look to go away.
“Are you ordering another drink?”
The dumbstruck look stayed on his face as the head it was attached to turned toward the new voice.
“I’m not a waitress,” I explained to the petite woman who appeared at my side.
“Sorry. Are you a friend from work? I’m Jamie, Mike’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I could feel the heat creeping toward my cheeks, starting at the edge of my waitress-wannabe-white shirt, past my neck and up to my ears. “Girlfriend. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t hitting on him. I’m just doing research for a book.”
“Wow, a book. What do you write?” Cheryl asked.
“Young adult. I write about a teenager girl name Cami.”
Cheryl pulled her stool out to sit as she asked, “What kind of research are you doing here?”
“Ok. I think we have to go.” Mike jumped off his stool. “It was very, ah. . .nice, to meet you. We have a reservation. I’m sure we don’t want to miss our table.”
He had Jamie by the arm and was pulling her away under protest. “But, our reservation isn’t for forty minutes.”
By the time Mike responded, the couple was safely at the door. He glanced over his shoulder, still slightly dumbstruck, as he pushed his girlfriend out into the street.
Men are supposed to be easy. They aren’t supposed to get embarrassed by a woman wanting to kiss them.
NOTE: Although prone to stating embarrassing things in public, men seem to be easily embarrassed by forward-thinking women.
EXAMPLE: Mike at the bar who was too embarrassed to tell his girlfriend about being asked to be kissed. This statement would not have reflected poorly on him, so why be embarrassed?
I set my notebook on the bar and contemplated the fact I may not be the type of girl to pick up a guy in a bar – or even to not really picking him up.
Beyond the chair Mike had sat in, pair of broad shoulders hunched over the bar pulled at my awareness. It wasn’t the broadness of said shoulders that demanded attention, but their shaking. Dark hair with threads of auburn flopped over his forehead. The man hid his face in his hands, elbows propped up on the bar.
Poor thing. To be weeping so openly in public. Some girl must have really ripped his heart out and carted it out the door with her. Pushing Mike’s chair out of the way, I slid over to the stranger. I laid a hand on his arm and softened my voice so no one else would hear.
“It’s ok. I’m sure whatever she said to you it couldn’t be half as bad as it sounded.”
The shoulders shook harder and then slowly, so slowly, the dark head rose. Pink rimmed from crying, his chocolate eyes studied me a moment before the sound burst forth from his mouth.
The jerk! He wasn’t crying. He was laughing. At me.
Want to read some other Excerpt Monday snippets, check out:
Gina Ardito, Historical Paranormal (PG)
Lynne Chandler, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Kinsey W. Holley, Paranormal (PG)
Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG-13)
Cynthia Justlin, Romantic Suspense (PG)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG-13)
Ansha Kotyk, Middle Grade Adventure (PG 13)
Adelle Laudan, Romantic Suspense (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical (PG)
RF Long, Fantasy (PG)
Alina Morgan, Urban Fantasy (PG 13)
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