Kiss the Girl Read online

  “Can I help you gentleman?” I ask as the first man in uniform approaches me.

  He’s older than the other three, with salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles around his eyes. He looks nice enough, and I guess I should respect my elders and all that shit, but seriously, is it illegal to say cock in a courthouse parking lot?

  “Are you Ariel Waters?”

  “Who the hell wants to know?” I respond in annoyance, crossing my arms in front of me.

  One of the younger men in a matching sheriff uniform moves up next to the older guy and chuckles.

  “Yep, that’s her. Should we get our Tasers out now, sir?” he asks.

  The other two deputies flank these two, staring me down with their hands hovering over the Tasers attached to their utility belts.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Deputy Louis. I’m sure Mrs. Waters will remain calm. Isn’t that right, ma’am?” he says in a soft, kind voice.

  His use of the word “Mrs.” makes me feel anything but calm. Sure, I never went back to my maiden name after my divorce went through, but that’s only because it was too much of a hassle and cost too much money.

  “What’s going on here?” PJ asks, leading my group of friends as they walk around the deputies to surround me.

  I open my mouth to reply when a fifth person in their little group suddenly emerges from behind the deputies.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask in annoyance, momentarily forgetting about the law enforcement taking up half my driveway as I glare at Eric Sailor.

  “He’s our friend. And he’s helping us move,” Cindy whispers from behind me.

  The man in question smiles and gives me a wink as he slides his hands in the front pocket of his jeans and casually strolls to the other side of me, bumping his shoulder against mine.

  “Uugghh, don’t touch me. Who knows where the fuck you’ve been,” I mutter, wiping off the spot on my arm where he rubbed against me.

  The smile never leaves Eric’s face as he stares down at me, which just causes me to glare at him harder. Eric Sailor has been a thorn in my side ever since I first met him at Charming’s a few months ago, when Cindy, Belle and I showed up for our first stripping lesson. He’s part owner there with PJ, and every word out of his mouth grates on my nerves. I don’t even know what it is about the guy that annoys me, he just does. The harder I shoot him murderous looks, the wider his smile gets, until dimples are indenting both of his cheeks.

  That’s it. That’s what annoys me. He has dimples. Dimples make women stupid, and I refuse to be stupid over a man ever again. He’s also entirely too good-looking and knows it, with his dark brown hair cut close to the scalp on the sides and back and just long enough on top to lay in messy spikes that look soft to the touch. Not that I want to touch his hair or anything. Not that I’ve ever thought about running my fingers through it. I have, however, imagined clutching it in my fist and yanking it out by the roots. That thought always makes me feel warm and fuzzy. And then you have his ridiculously bright green eyes; long dark lashes; delicious woodsy cologne smell; and lean, muscular build. He’s got a runner’s body. A hot runner’s body.

  Yet another reason I hate him. Running is dumb and so is Eric Sailor.

  “Stop undressing me with your eyes, it’s making me hard. You’ve got a little drool there,” Eric says under his breath with a smirk, his hand coming up between us and moving towards my lips like he’s going to wipe off said drool that is absolutely not leaking out of the corner of my mouth.

  I smack his hand away with an irritated huff before he can touch me. When the older sheriff starts speaking again, I look away from Eric before I actually do commit a crime. Namely, murder.

  “Anyway, we don’t want any trouble. Ariel Waters, you have hereby been evicted from the premises,” the older sheriff states, taking a step towards me and holding out a large manila envelope.

  All thoughts of Eric and how stupid and annoying he is fly from my mind and my heart drops right down into my toes. Literally. I can feel my heartbeat in my toes. It could be the adorable open-toed wedges I have on cutting off my circulation, but that’s just silly. They’re too cute to cause me any pain. This news from the sheriff makes me want to die, so that’s obviously what’s happening.

  PJ reaches out and snatches the envelope from the guy’s outstretched hand when I make no movement to do so, since I feel like every inch of my body is frozen in place. I hear Vincent growl angrily from somewhere behind me, and for the first time since I met the guy and Belle started dating him, I don’t mind hearing that noise coming out of his mouth. It’s comforting. Like being all alone in the woods squaring off with a black bear and having a mountain lion come up behind you and give you a head nod before ripping the bear’s face off, followed by a mountain lion fist-bump.

  Yep, I’m losing it.

  I numbly stare at PJ as he rips open the envelope and quickly scans the paperwork inside. After a few quiet minutes, he looks up and gives me a sad smile before turning his face towards the deputies.

  “Can you tell me why you felt it was necessary for four of you to come over here and do this?”

  The man shrugs, giving me a kind smile that I sort of want to punch right off of his face. Again, not a wise idea, but at least the numbness is slowly starting to leave me and anger is taking over.

  “Well, since a few of my deputies are familiar with Mrs. Waters, we thought it would be prudent for more than one of us to be here and make sure it went smoothly. You know, just in case there was another Starbucks incident.”

  I hear Belle giggle softly behind me, followed by a loud “oomph” when I assume Cindy smacks her in the stomach. They quickly squeeze between PJ and Eric on either side of me and wrap their arms around my waist. Their support warms my cold body and reminds me that I’m not the type of woman who just falls apart when she hears bad news.

  “I asked for a large and the dumb shit behind the register didn’t know what I was talking about,” I finally speak in a low voice that quickly gets louder with each word I say. “Venti-grande-horseshit nonsense. I just wanted a motherfucking LARGE CUP OF GODDAMN BLACK COFFEE!”

  That’s it. I’ve officially lost it and I give zero fucks. You cause one little scene at Starbucks and knock over three stacked towers of empty cups with a karate chop and suddenly you’re an animal that requires not one, but four sheriff’s deputies to handle you.

  “Sweetie, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s a mistake. They can’t just take your house without giving you some kind of notice,” Cindy states, trying to calm me down.

  “They’ve been calling her repeatedly for the last three months,” Sheriff Louis pipes up.

  “Ah-ha!” I shout, pointing at the smug little asshole across from me. “Now who looks like an idiot? I don’t use my phone for that. NO ONE USES THEIR PHONE FOR PHONE CALLS! WE USE THEM TO TEXT PEOPLE, TO GOOGLE RANDOM SHIT LIKE IF YOU CAN DIE FROM A RUNNY NOSE, AND TO FIND A FUNNY MEME ABOUT HERPES!”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Cindy mutters, tightening her hold around my waist.

  “Please, don’t be difficult, ma’am,” the older deputy says with a sigh.

  “Piss off. I’m not difficult. I’m a fucking delight,” I mutter in annoyance.

  I hear Eric chuckle off to the side and resist the urge to reach around Belle and punch him in the stomach. Barely.

  “Just because the bank claims they called me doesn’t mean you can just kick me out of my house, right, PJ? Tell them they can’t kick me out of my house.”

  “Hon, you’re six months behind in your mortgage. And it says here they’ve not only called you, they’ve sent you emails and letters that have all gone unanswered. I’m sorry, but this is legit and it’s happening,” PJ replies quietly.

  There’s no way I’m that far behind. It has to be a mistake. Sure, I missed a few payments here and there, but I’ve been trying to get caught up. They have to at least give me points for trying. I cannot be the only person in the world who ignores her problems in t
he hopes that they’ll just magically disappear. I’m sure there’s a lot of us. Maybe even a union.

  “We want to make this as quick and painless as possible,” grandpa sheriff states. “We know it’s difficult, but we’ll need to escort you through the house so you can grab whatever personal items you need, such as your purse, legal documents, and things of that nature. Other than that, everything has to stay with the house and is now bank property.”

  It’s fine. I’m fine.

  “Everything? Like, everything everything?” I whisper.

  There’s no way they actually expect me to leave behind all my antiques. No. Fucking. Way.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but everything inside the house now belongs to the bank. Eviction proceedings started thirty days ago. The judge issued the eviction five days ago and the notice was taped to your front door. Now we’re required to issue a lockout and change the locks immediately.”

  All four deputies move around us and start heading up towards my house as Cindy and Belle take turns reading over the documents PJ is still holding.

  “Sweetie, did you not see the eviction notice five days ago?” Cindy asks softly.

  “I mean, there was a big, bright orange letter taped to my door sometime last week, but I thought it was the stupid homeowner’s association bitching at me about trimming my hedges again so I ripped it off and threw it away without looking at it. Fucking homeowner’s association and their fucking colorful printouts. This is their fault!” I shout.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Ariel. We’ll fix this,” Cindy promises.

  “In 2015 an estimated two-point-seven million Americans faced eviction. It’s a growing epidemic,” Belle adds, patting me gently on the back. “Are you going to freak out?”

  I look back over my shoulder and watch two of the deputies disappear into my house while the other two stand at my open front door, changing my locks.

  “Freak out? Why would I freak out? There’s no reason to freak out. This is all just one big misunderstanding. It will be fine. I’m going to be fine. Everything is fine. Fine, fine, fine,” I singsong with a hysterical bubble of laughter.

  Everyone turns around to look back at the house when Deputy Louis sticks his head out the front door.

  “You want us to help you out and start dumping all these fish tanks in your kitchen?”

  I’d like to say I continue remaining fine, but it all goes downhill pretty quickly after that.

  Chapter 3: Gattaca!

  “Fuck you and fuck your mother! I will burn all your houses down. Burn them down to the ground, you spineless, soulless, dickless—”

  Cindy quickly smacks her hand over my mouth, cutting off the rest of my tirade after one of the deputies suggested dumping my fish tanks.

  He disappears back inside the house with a wide-eyed, scared-shitless expression on his face, and if Cindy’s hand wasn’t still over my mouth, he’d see me smirk at him.

  “I assure you, Ariel won’t give you any more trouble,” PJ tells the older deputy. “Obviously this is a very stressful situation for her.”

  I realize I’m acting like a fool, but I can’t help it. I’m losing everything I love and it’s happening right in front of me. I feel helpless and lost, and anger is the only thing keeping me standing right now and not curled up in the fetal position in my front yard.

  “Are you calm?” Cindy asks softly when the deputy moves away from us and inside the house with the others.

  I nod my head with her hand still clamped over my mouth.

  “Do you promise to stop yelling at the deputies?”

  I nod again, and her hand slowly falls from my face.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll behave,” I whisper.

  Taking a deep breath, I count to ten and do everything I can to remain calm.

  “Sorry, we broke one of these. But you’ve got like, thirty-five others just like it.”

  I glance up to see a deputy standing in the doorway, holding a broken half of a Prussian cake dish, hand-painted with roses. He looks completely unapologetic about breaking it, and I forget all about what I just said.

  A sound comes out of my mouth that has probably only ever been heard before on National Geographic, and I charge across my yard and up the steps of my front porch, snatching the broken piece of porcelain out of the man’s hand.

  “DICK SHIT HOLE ASS!” I scream, pointing the jagged piece of plate at his face.

  I hear my friends shouting behind me, but I ignore them. With the broken piece of china clutched in my hand and tears clouding my vision, I climb up onto my porch railing and wrap my body around one of the vertical wooden posts, holding on for dear life.

  “You will have to pry my cold, dead body away from this house!” I shout, squeezing my arms and legs tighter around the two-by-four.

  Yes, I climbed up on my porch railing and latched myself onto one of the posts like an octopus, don’t judge me. At some point in the last five minutes, I’ve lost touch with reality. I’m like a really, really drunk person who can hear the stupid things coming out of her mouth but has zero ability to stop them.

  “Seriously, Mrs. Waters, you need to come down from there and start gathering up your things. We only have a few minutes before we need to leave and lock up the house, and then you won’t be able to get back inside or even come near the premises,” the deputy tells me with a sigh.

  I remove one of my arms from the wooden railing and I watch the deputy’s face relax when he thinks I’m going to comply. Throwing my arm up in the air, I start pumping it up and down while I continue to glare at him.

  “GATTACA! GATTACA! GATTACA!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “Are you a huge fan of Ethan Hawke?”

  Craning my neck around, I see that Eric has pushed through my friends as they all stand at the base of the stairs, looking up at me in horror. Eric is perched on the top step of the porch with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his stupid hot face.

  “The fuck are you talking about?” I mutter.

  “Gattaca is an Ethan Hawke movie. I think you meant to yell Attica. You know, from the movie Dog Day Afternoon with Al Pacino, where the chanting of the word Attica referred to excessive police force used in the prison riots at the Attica prison.”

  My lip curls and I let out a small growl. Eric quickly shakes his head and pulls his hands from his pockets.

  “Never mind. GATTACA! GATTACA! GATTACA!” he shouts, throwing his fists up in the air.

  “Jesus God, don’t encourage her,” Cindy complains, coming up the steps to stand next to Eric. “Sweetie, we’re going to run across the street and grab a few of our leftover packing boxes, okay? We’ll be back as soon as we can. Eric, can you—”

  “Say no more,” he interrupts, closing the distance between us and reaching for me as my friends all race back across the street to Cindy’s house.

  “If you put one hand on me I will chop off your balls,” I warn him.

  If possible, Eric’s smile grows wider and he chuckles under his breath as he presses his hands to my sides.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Standing behind me, his hands move from my sides, circling around me until his arms are securely wrapped around my body. I’d like to say I start kicking and screaming and putting up a fight over him physically removing me from my protest, but I don’t. With his chest pressed against my back, he gently pulls me away from the wooden post and I go completely limp against him. Every bone in my body turns to jelly as he holds me tightly to his body and takes a step back, slowly lowering me until my feet hit the floor of the porch. He’s much more muscular than I thought he would be. Muscular and warm as he continues to hold my back against his front with his arms still wrapped tightly around my waist. I want to tip my head back and rest it against his chest and forget about everything happening right now. I want to close my eyes and never stop feeling so warm and safe and stress free.

  A loud crash sounds from somewhere inside my house, and it’s like someone threw a b
ucket of cold water over my head. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I seriously standing on my front porch all calm and quiet and compliant because of Eric? Did I really just let a man make me feel all warm and fuzzy and girly?

  I immediately jerk out of Eric’s hold and take a few deep breaths, remembering who I am. I am not a woman who needs to be saved by a man. I am not a woman whose heart goes all aflutter when a hot guy shows her attention. Especially a hot guy like Eric, with his annoying flirting and boy-next-door charm. I hate the boy next door. I married the boy next door and look where that got me: In debt and completely fucked, and not in the good way.

  With my head held high, I march into my house and try not to start screaming again or break down when I see the deputies carelessly pawing through my things, taking inventory and writing shit down on their clipboards as they go.

  I hear a low whistle from behind me and realize Eric followed me into the house. I suddenly feel self-conscious about my things, and I don’t know why. My love for antiques wasn’t something I was born with. It showed up in my life at a time when I needed something to make me happy. I couldn’t rescue myself, so I rescued things. Lots and lots of things that people sold at flea markets and garage sales, throwing them away for pennies, not understanding that with a little love and polish they could be amazing and beautiful and worth something. You just had to take the time to appreciate them.

  My home is filled with beautiful things with value that no one appreciated, and I hate the idea that this annoying man who does nothing but piss me off is looking at everything and judging me.

  “If you say one word about me being a hoarder I will—”

  “Chop off my balls,” he interrupts. “Yep. Got it. Wasn’t about to say that anyway. You have a lot of beautiful things.”

  I turn away from the chaos happening in front of me to put my hands on my hips and look at Eric, fully expecting to see a sarcastic smirk on his face. Color me surprised to see nothing but appreciation in his features as he looks around—not even a hint of disgust on his face when he sees that there’s barely any room to walk through my living room with all the antique clocks and paintings and knickknacks piled everywhere.