Then Kiss Me Page 7

  Lots of people commented positively about my paintings; ultimately, though, no one bought anything. Maybe they were just being nice to my face. I certainly wouldn’t want to tell an artist I didn’t like his work to his face. That just wouldn’t be nice. But that was okay. Isabel wanted to keep them. I felt relieved. After all, this showing was almost like my big break. Well, not exactly. Until my work actually sold, I was still a nobody. Well, I’d sold one painting, so I shouldn’t complain. And these two paintings had a little more time, so I was just going to bask in the compliments I received and not look at all the Sold signs on other artists’ work in the gallery. I reminded myself that the Denver gallery where I’d worked never even showed any of my stuff because I wasn’t known, but I wasn’t known because they wouldn’t show any of my work. Isabel told me my paintings had gotten good reviews (apparently she’d heard nice things too), and it was only a matter of time before someone decided to buy them. My ego was pumped, especially hearing news like this from tight-lipped Isabel.

  I left the gallery around eleven that night, high from my success. I would have blamed it on the champagne, but it had already burned out of my system. I was sober and able to drive, so I headed over to the party.

  I’d never been on this side of town, but David had given me good directions. I didn’t have any problems finding it, and it wasn’t too far from the gallery. The music was loud but I rang the doorbell anyway. No one answered the door, so I wound up just letting myself in. Their place was halfway full, mostly of people I didn’t know. I looked around for a friendly face and didn’t find one, but someone did hand me a beer. I finally ended up in the living room, and that was when David spied me. “Hey, Casey! We thought you’d never show up!” A couple of other guys from work were there—the night manager and another cook—but no one else I knew, at least not there in the living room. There was one guy with long black hair in the corner, and I couldn’t remember for sure, but I thought he was the bassist in Scott’s band. David crooked his finger at me until I walked over. “We’re playing quarters. Sit down.” He stood up, partly stumbling (all the way trashed). He whistled. “Wow…don’t you look fantastic?” I looked down. Yeah, I guess I did still look pretty good. I’d almost forgotten about the cocktail dress.

  “Thanks.” I sat down next to David but kept looking around. I couldn’t see Scott anywhere and I wasn’t about to ask. I went ahead and joined the game of quarters. I relaxed as I realized Metallica was playing and, even though I hardly knew anyone, at least the quarters folks were people I knew, except for one girl sitting next to the night manager. I’d never played this drinking game much, so I started getting buzzed pretty quickly, the more beer I had to drink. And, of course, the more I drank, the worse I got at the game. And the worse I got, the more I had to drink…a never-ending cycle. There was no way for me to avoid not getting drunk.

  After getting pretty buzzed, I came to the conclusion that Scott wasn’t there, but I kept looking for him anyway. David finally asked, “You looking for someone?”

  Maybe the alcohol had loosened my lips or maybe I wanted to talk. Even now, I’m not sure. But I answered, “Yeah, but he’s not here.”

  David arched his eyebrows. “My roommate, perhaps?”

  I laughed, feeling giddy. “Perhaps.”

  David cleared his throat and lowered his voice, bringing his lips close to my ear so I could hear and no one else would be able to. “I think he’d been waiting for someone too and was finally convinced she wasn’t coming. So I think he went to go play pool with Jim.”

  I let his words sink in. “Oh.”

  “Sorry.”

  I nodded. I was a big girl. I should have been happy knowing he’d maybe been waiting for me. I said, “That’s okay.” I was more disheartened than I would’ve thought I would be. “Let’s get wasted then.” I was too drunk to go looking for him at this point and, even if I’d been sober, I wouldn’t want to seem desperate. His loss, not mine, right?

  So I started drinking more every time I lost until I felt myself losing hold of reality, saw the edges of the world growing black. That was sweet release. It helped to take my mind off Scott. That was also a good thing because, more and more, my mind was always on Scott.

  I don’t remember passing out, but when I woke up, I was in a dark place. I let my eyes adjust and after a while realized I was lying on David’s couch in the very same living room where I’d been doing quarters earlier. A pillow was under my head; my shoes were off; and a light blanket covered me. Good ol’ David had made sure I was taken care of. He was turning out to be a good friend.

  But I had to pee. The urge was strong—I’m not surprised, as much as I’d been drinking. So I stood up and my head started spinning. I was still really drunk. Jesus. Why was I drinking like a college kid again?

  I crossed the room slowly and walked to the room I thought might be the bathroom. I opened the door slowly, listening for sleeping sounds, just in case I’d opened someone’s bedroom door. That could’ve been embarrassing. But I heard nothing, so I felt for the light switch. It was the bathroom, and relief washed over me with that realization. But then the urge hit harder, so I shut the door and used the facilities. I didn’t bother putting my pantyhose back on. After peeling the damned things off, I couldn’t bring myself to pick them up off the floor. Every time I tried to bend over to put them back on, my head would throb and I’d feel faint. So I just knelt over once and carried them with me.

  I stumbled back to the couch and fell on it. I wondered what time it was, but I wasn’t curious enough to seek out a clock to find out. All I did know was that I was still too drunk to drive home and hurting way too much. So I lay back down. I couldn’t fall back to sleep for a long time because I felt so nauseous. Did it to yourself, Casey, my subconscious nagged me. Finally, though, at some point, I did drift off to sleep. When I woke up again, the room was bright beyond imagination. It hurt my eyes. My head was pounding. I put my hands on my temples, trying to ease the ache, my eyes still closed. I lay there just breathing—it was all I could do. I hadn’t had a hangover of this magnitude in a long time.

  I heard voices. They seemed distant at first, and I could barely hear them. As I grew more accustomed to the pain, I could make out their words better.

  “So what the hell were you guys doing?”

  “You know, just hanging out.”

  “You should’ve come home earlier.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Hold on.” That was David’s voice. I heard footsteps, then whispering. Ah, my sweet little matchmaker. I was so glad I wasn’t still sleeping. I bet I looked like shit, but had I been sleeping I would’ve looked even worse. I heard footsteps coming my way, more quickly now. And then I heard the creak of the coffee table as someone sat on it. I forced myself to open my eyes. Oh, fuck. No, it wasn’t David. It was Scott, and I had no doubt in my mind I looked like hell. Shit.

  “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  I forced myself to sit up and a wave of nausea washed over me. I managed to hold it down, but then my head started throbbing. I grabbed hold of it on both sides out of instinct. I forced myself to say, “Morning.”

  “Man, you are one fucked-up chick.”

  “Please, don’t be so sympathetic. I might come to expect it.”

  He started laughing. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, Tylenol…a new head?”

  I stood up, taking my time. “All of the above, please.”

  He was still laughing when he said, “Coming right up.”

  “I’ve got to use your restroom first, though.”

  I slowly made my way back to the bathroom. It was much easier to find with light. Once there, I ran water through the sink and splashed it on my face. It felt cool. Then I shuffled to the kitchen. When David saw me, he said, “Ouch. You look like you’re not feeling too chipper.”

  “You could say that.” I sat next to him. “By the way, I blame you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t there some sa
ying…Friends don’t let friends get drunk?”

  “No, Case…it’s Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. I didn’t let you drive. Therefore, I’m a friend.”

  I screwed up my mouth in mock irritation. “Well, thanks for that, although death seems preferable right now.” I was kidding, but in all seriousness, I was glad I hadn’t driven home the night before. I wouldn’t have been in any shape to do it.

  Scott came back to the table and slid a mug in front of me. “Here’s your coffee,” he said. “And we don’t have Tylenol. I hope Ibuprofen’s okay.” He set two rust-colored tablets on the table by the coffee mug and then said, “Sorry I couldn’t find a new head for you.”

  “Thanks anyway.” I managed a smile. I picked up the tablets and popped them in my mouth, followed by a sip of the hot coffee. It felt good going down, but the way my stomach was acting, I knew I should only sip it.

  David asked, “Want something to eat?”

  “Hell, no. I don’t dare.”

  Scott sat down next to me. I noticed he was looking at my legs. “Nice dress, by the way.”

  Really? I’d seen my face in the bathroom mirror. I’d seen better days. Well, I guessed, if he could look past what the hangover had done to me, so could I. “Thanks,” I said, the least lame reply I could think of.

  His lips curled up into a smirk. “Nice legs too.”

  Seriously? He was flirting with me? God, if I’d felt better… I was in no shape right now. So I said, “That’s about all that feels nice on my body right now.” I sipped more coffee.

  David got up. He was at the stove, placing a skillet on a burner, then grabbing sausage and eggs out of the fridge. “Sure you don’t want anything, Casey?”

  “Positive.”

  “Scott?”

  “Whatever, man. You don’t have to make me anything…”

  I took another sip of coffee and enjoyed how it warmed my throat. While David engaged in his activities at the stove, I propped my chin on my hand and turned my head to Scott. I lowered my voice and said, “By the way, I thought you were supposed to be here last night.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You too.”

  “I got here eventually.” I grinned.

  His eyes twinkled. “So did I.” I stuck my tongue out at him playfully and he laughed. I started to laugh too until I winced in pain. I grabbed my head again, trying to alleviate the pain radiating through it. The sausage cooking smelled okay, but I knew the eggs wouldn’t smell so great, so I took a large swallow of coffee and said, “Thanks for the hospitality, guys, but I’m going to go sleep this off.”

  “Do you need a ride home?”

  Shit…if I were feeling better, I’d take a ride. Hell, I’d have given him the ride of his life. But… “No, I’m okay. Thanks, though.” I walked over to David and hugged him. “See you later.” I found my shoes and purse as well as the pantyhose I’d thrown on the coffee table and made my way out the front door.

  The air was warm but not too hot and my eyes had finally adjusted to the brightness. Still…I needed a nice, dark room and more rest. I had to work late afternoon, but I wanted to at least sleep until it got closer to the time I had to go in. I had to shake the nausea and headache.

  When I woke up, I felt better. I jumped in the shower and that helped too. I started thinking again how stupid I’d been to drink that much. For heaven’s sake, I was almost twenty-seven-years old. I’d already done this crap over and over in college. But I was starting over again. Maybe I was just taking it too far. But I knew I wanted to be more responsible about it next time.

  Then, after mentally chiding myself for my childish behavior, I tried to remember the highlights of last night…at least the stuff before I’d passed out. It was fuzzy, but I knew David had told me that Scott had been waiting for me to show, and when he didn’t think I was going to, he’d left. And this morning, he’d made a comment about my legs. He’d been looking, so that gave me hope. But now I figured I was probably making a mountain out of a molehill. I really liked him and wanted to believe the feeling was mutual, especially after seeing me at my hungover worst.

  I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass it was to be single.

  So I tried to bring myself back to reality and headed into work. Scott and David were also working, and it was busy when I got there. I barely said hi before jumping in to help.

  It wasn’t until later when it slowed down that David said, “You guys go take your breaks so I can go home, okay?”

  I furrowed my brow. “What the hell are you in such a hurry for?” I was afraid he was playing matchmaker again, and I wasn’t in the mood.

  But he grinned. “I have a friend coming over for a late dinner. I’d like to impress him with my cooking prowess.”

  I smiled. “Oh…okay. Gotcha.” So I filled a cup with Diet Coke and heading out to the break area outside. It was warm out there but cooler than the kitchen. Two waitresses were heading back inside when I sat down. Scott was already there, sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette. I lit one up too and sat crossways from him. “Smoking, huh?”

  “Sometimes.” He exhaled. “I get the urge on occasion.” I nodded. There was some light outside but it was kind of dark out there. Still, it was enough to see facial expressions, and I saw his change from impassive to amused. “You know, your legs looked much better without the jeans.”

  I hadn’t expected that. I stifled my grin, but it was difficult. “Yeah, but the jeans leave much more to the imagination, don’t they?”

  He lowered his brows down onto his eyes. What lascivious thoughts was he not sharing with me? God, to have been in his head… “Guess so. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  I raised my eyebrows but said nothing, afraid of playing the wrong card in this flirting game. So I just sucked on my cigarette and kept my mouth shut. I decided to change the subject. “So how long have you and David been friends?” I didn’t know why I found it odd that a gay guy and a straight guy would be so close.

  Scott chuckled. “We’re cousins.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. So I guess that means we’ve been friends our whole life.” I nodded. “Seriously, we both grew up here and we were in the same grade, went to the same schools, and he got picked on a lot. I beat up the shitheads who picked on him. And then I got the typical ‘Oh, you must be a fag too’ response.” He took a drag off his cigarette and crushed it out in the coffee can on the table. “So I just beat them up again. Eventually, they shut their fucking mouths.”

  I wasn’t a fighter. I’d never endorsed playground (or other) fighting. Most of the time, it was stupid, but for some reason, it touched my heart knowing that Scott would fight for his cousin’s honor. Hell, it did more than touch my heart. Thinking about Scott getting all righteous and in some asshole’s face for picking on such a sweet soul…well, it made me hot.

  That also told me that Scott probably knew exactly everything I’d ever told David about him. That would change now. I loved David, but I wanted whatever was going on between Scott and me to progress naturally. I didn’t want it to be forced or awkward. So I just said, “He’s lucky he had you.”

  He shrugged and stood up. “Maybe. I dunno. I probably made it worse. The shit probably would have died down sooner if I hadn’t made it my mission to pummel some of those people into silence.” He headed back inside and that was that.

  I was constantly learning new things about the guy. And, so far, there was nothing about him I didn’t like. When I got back in, David was finishing up his stuff and then Scott got to leave soon after, leaving me to close the kitchen. That meant I was alone with my thoughts, not always the safest place to be.

  Chapter Seven

  TWO MONTHS IN Winchester. I was beginning to like the place in spite of myself, and it had nothing to do with Scott (although, I must admit, his presence helped). The people were friendly and I could afford to live there. I’d been fixing up the place I was renting, and all the interior walls now had a fresh coat of paint. I�
��d also kept all the weeds at bay outside, and I’d planted a few xeriscape plants that would need a little water now and nothing in the near future. It was now June and the weather was heating up. It was a good time to paint the outside, and I planned to get to it at some point soon. Inside, though, I’d even painted floral borders near the ceiling in the living room. I just hoped my landlord would like the work I was doing. In my bedroom, I had to patch up a couple of holes too, so I’d gone to Home Depot and they showed me how to patch drywall with texture and tape. I hoped someday I’d remember how to do it again if I ever needed to know. But the place was looking great.

  Still on my house agenda: painting the fence and doing more minor repair work. When Lewis stopped by in late May, he seemed pleased with what I’d done thus far and said he wasn’t regretting having me as a tenant. I was happy to save the rent. Because of our agreement, the savings I’d brought with me (which, admittedly, I’d tapped into quite a bit), and my frugality, I actually had more money saved at this point than when I’d left Denver. It also helped that I could eat a couple of things free on the job, and since I didn’t eat much to begin with, my food bills were low.

  Oh, and Barry called once more to tell me he was having to take me off his health insurance. I hadn’t realized I’d still been on it. I didn’t really care, because I hated doctors. I only went when I absolutely had to. But Barry apparently needed more reasons to call.

  I’d also sold another painting at the gallery and took some of my more traditional paintings for Isabel to choose from. She merely replaced the one she sold, but she took a mountain scene, one of my favorites—a watercolor of a waterfall. It was one I’d painted from memory, so it wasn’t accurate by any stretch. In fact, I couldn’t even remember where I’d seen it. It was somewhere in Colorado, somewhere my father had taken us on a camping trip when I was in middle school. I knew my painting made the place look more idyllic than it really was.