Kiss and Tell 1 Page 4

  “I’m here to apply for a job,” I said.

  The woman looked me over, then waved her hand. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ll get you an application.”

  I followed her into The Terrace, and she led me to the bar space off to the side. “Have a seat,” she instructed before walking through a door with a sign that said Employees Only. A moment later, she returned with a paper application and a pen. “Fill this out now, if you have time. I’ll be back in about 15 minutes, then we can chat for a bit.”

  Fifteen minutes? I didn’t know how extensive the application was, but I knew that I wouldn’t need 15 minutes to fill it out. All I had was biographic, demographic, and academic information and no work history or professional references. I probably could have filled the thing out in 5 minutes flat—but I took my time with it and pretended to be reading it carefully as she went about her business.

  When the woman returned, I handed her my application. She put her reading glasses on and examined it before turning her eyes to me.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said, forcing a smile across her face. “This is a fast-paced upscale restaurant, and we’re looking to hire waiters and waitresses—and they need to be experienced to meet our needs. Seeing as how you have no experience, we can’t hire you right now, but I can keep your application on file in case we need bus staff or extra bar help.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a sigh. “I figured you were looking for someone with experience, but I wanted to apply, anyway.”

  “I commend you for that,” she replied, “and I wish you luck. I’m sure you’ll find something that suits you.”

  At least one of us was sure! The woman extended her hand and kindly shook mine. She had just rejected me, but she did so in a nice way that didn’t make me feel like a useless piece of shit…which is more than I could say about the next spot I hit.

  Chapter 10

  Christy’s Cup was about three blocks away from The Terrace, but it seemed like it was an entire world away. Whereas The Terrace was tame and empty, Christy’s was loud and booming with business. As soon as I saw the place, I wanted to play the role of customer, not potential employee, but I remembered that old adage about mixing business with pleasure.

  I walked up to the counter and tried to get the attention of the girl behind it, but before I could even open my mouth to speak, patrons were giving me dirty looks from the line, and the girl behind the counter joined them.

  “There’s a line, you know,” she said, glaring at me. She looked to be a few years older than me, though much more seasoned and bitter.

  “I just wanted to—”

  “Whatever you wanted, you can wait in line like everyone else,” she snapped back as she worked the cappuccino machine.

  Like a scolded child, I bowed my head and went to the back of the line. For the life of me, I don’t know why I didn’t just leave.

  I stood in line for about 10 minutes before it was my turn at the counter. Once I was face to face with the barista, I told her that I was looking for work and wanted to fill out an application.

  “Have you ever worked in a coffeehouse before?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered.

  “Then you don’t need an application,” she replied quickly. “This is a demanding job that requires a lot of skill and attention. We want serious, experienced workers—not rich kids who are looking for a fun or different job to keep them busy during summer break.”

  I couldn’t believe the way this girl was talking to me, and I couldn’t come up with anything smart to say in return (either in terms of being snarky or being wise). I bowed my head and turned to leave, but someone else’s response stopped me before I could.

  “That was very rude,” a stranger said. “Maybe instead of looking for one new employee, Gloria should be looking for two. This young lady would like an application. I suggest you give her one—and I suggest you treat her, and anyone else who comes in here looking for work, with a little more respect.”

  I didn’t know who Gloria was, but when the barista heard the stranger mention her name, a look of fear flashed across her face. “Yes, sir,” she replied humbly. “You’re right.” Now she was the one who bowed her head from being scolded. “Here you go,” she said, reaching under the counter and handing me an application.

  It all happened so quickly. It wasn’t until the application was in my hand that I turned to see the stranger who had interrupted our discussion to address her.

  “Thanks,” I said, looking at the attractive man standing in line behind me. He was much older than me—probably around my parents’ age—but he was very handsome, with dark blue eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and what looked like a nice body, though it was hard to tell as it was covered in a fine suit.

  “You’re quite welcome,” he said with a smile that made him look even more attractive. “I know the woman who owns this place—Gloria—and I know she wouldn’t like her employees treating anyone like that…I’ll have to have a word with her when I see her again.”

  The barista was still waiting to take the stranger’s order and had heard every word he said. She looked pissed off and worried, but she remained silent. She didn’t even press the stranger to order.

  After a few more kind words, he turned to her and finally ordered. “I’ll have a grande cappuccino with skim milk, to go,” he said to her before looking at me again. “And please get this young lady whatever she wants, too.”

  I’ve had many different men offer to buy me drinks—be they alcoholic or caffeinated—over the years, but this was the first time that someone so much older than me ever offered. I couldn’t tell if he was hitting on me or just being kind. Whichever it was, it was A-OK with me.

  “I’ll have a large latte,” I answered. I hadn’t really examined the menu, but a latte was always a safe bet in my book.

  The stranger paid the tab, and the barista went off to fill our order. I smiled at the man, thanked him, and then turned to go and start filling out my application. I stopped mid-turn, however, when I realized that I didn’t have a pen.

  “What’s wrong?” the stranger asked, reading my body language.

  I was a little embarrassed, and it probably showed in the way I stuttered when I answered. “I-I-I don’t have a pen,” I replied, “and I certainly don’t want to ask her for one.”

  The stranger chuckled, which made his eyes narrow a bit and made him look quite endearing. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and handed it to me. It was one of those silver “gift set” pens—you know, like the kind your old spinster aunt would get you for Christmas.

  “I can’t take your pen,” I said, looking at the thing. It had to have some type of value, either sentimental or monetary.

  “Please,” the man said. “Don’t worry about it. Keep it—and keep it in your purse so that you have one when you need one.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I will, and I’ll think of you whenever I use it.”

  I was shocked that I said that last part, and so was the stranger. His entire face lit up with a huge smile, and, I swear, I saw him blush a little.

  Just then, the barista returned with our drinks. The man took his and handed me mine. “I hope to see you again,” he said, “here or anywhere.”

  “Me too,” I replied. Our conversation had definitely turned into something flirtatious, and I definitely liked it.

  Just as quickly as things got flirty, they came to an end. The stranger’s phone rang from somewhere within his fine suit, and I silently cursed whoever was calling. The stranger nodded in my direction and smiled again, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone as he headed toward the door.

  Once the handsome older man was out of sight, I went and sat down to fill out my application. Again, it should have taken me only a few minutes—but, in fact, it took me much longer.

  That handsome older man was out of sight, but he definitely wasn’t out of my mind, and thoughts of him kept dancing through my head.

&nbs
p; Chapter 11

  My experiences at the bookstore and pet store weren’t really that noteworthy. I basically went into each place, asked for an application, and hung around to fill it out (using my new pen from the stranger).

  After filling out the last application, I headed home, feeling a little defeated and deflated. I knew I wasn’t going to get hired at any of those places, but at least I’d done what Mom wanted and expected. Maybe now she’d let up on the leashes a little.

  When I got back to my house, it was still relatively early in the morning, and I intended to just go in, change, and crawl into bed for a very long nap. Much to my surprise, as I rounded the back door, I saw London laying out on a lounge chair by the pool. I don’t know what came over me—perhaps it was the residual glow from talking to the stranger—but I decided to go over and talk to him.

  “Hey jackass,” I shouted as I got closer to London’s lounging form. “What the hell are you doing up this early?”

  London made a strange snorting sound, jerked a little, and lifted his hat to look at me. At that point, I realized my question had been a pointless one. London hadn’t been awake—he’d been sleeping. He’d been sleeping in the lounge chair, and my greeting woke him.

  “Were you sleeping?” I asked, though I didn’t have to.

  “Yeah,” he replied, removing his hat and running his hands through his hair. “I think I passed out here last night.”

  “Last night?” I asked with a giggle. I hadn’t noticed before, but there were three empty 40-ounce beer bottles sitting beside him.

  “Last night, this morning—I don’t know,” London answered. “I went out with some friends, then sat down here to look at the stars when I got home…. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  I giggled again and reviewed my own morning in my mind. I couldn’t understand how I’d missed seeing London passed out on the lounge chair when I left with Mom earlier, but I figured it was because I was in my own daze from being up so early.

  London sat up and collected himself a bit. “What’s up?” he asked, turning the tables and trying to change the subject. “What are you up to—and why are you all dressed up like a grown-up?”

  “I am a grown-up,” I said, though I doubted the validity of my own statement, “and I’m dressed like this ‘cause I was out applying for jobs this morning.”

  “How’d that go?” London asked.

  “Pretty shitty,” I answered.

  “Sorry to hear,” London replied. “Want a beer to make you feel better? I need to go have one to take this hangover away. Hair of the dog, ya know.”

  I was a little set back by the idea of drinking so early in the day. Don’t get me wrong, like any respectable person my age, I’d had my fair share of benders that carried over into the next day, and was intimately familiar with the powers of the hair of the dog that bit ya, but those days, for me, were in the past. I didn’t roll like that anymore, and didn’t want to fall into any bad patterns. It wasn’t even noon yet.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I guess I’ll just head back home.”

  “Well, we can hang if you want,” London replied quickly. “I just need one beer to chase this away, then I’ll be back to normal.”

  The idea of hanging out with London while he was drinking wasn’t at all appealing to me. But if he was only going to have one drink to chase away his hangover, that wasn’t so bad, and spending some time with him sounded much better than sulking myself to sleep.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s hang out for a bit.” I don’t know what I expected to happen, but I definitely know, of all the things in the world, what ended up happening was something I could have never expected.

  London and I went into the pool house. First things first, he drank his beer and removed his sweaty T-shirt, then tried to find something cool we both could do together. He asked me if I wanted to play video games or cards, if I wanted to smoke some pot, and if I was sure I didn’t want a drink. I replied in the negative to all of his questions, and the next thing I knew, he was sitting beside me on the couch, with his hand on my knee and his face in front of mine.

  Apparently, London’s idea of “hanging out” meant making out, and had this been any other point in my life, that would’ve been my cue to get out. But the way things added up at the time, I couldn’t resist. I leaned in and brought my face to London’s, allowing our lips to meet.

  As our mouths melted together, I felt a bolt of excitement rush through me. He was one hell of a kiss, and even though he tasted faintly of beer, the warmth of his mouth and softness of his tongue soon made me overlook anything and everything else.

  Instinctively, my hands wrapped around London, and I caressed the back of his neck, pressing gently to bring his face even closer to mine. The hand he’d placed on my knee was now nearing my thigh, and his other hand was on my chest, trying to grope my breasts through my loose top.

  Our kissing grew more intense as the moments passed, until we were lapping at each other like ravenous animals. I moved my hands from London’s neck to his bare chest, and I could feel my insides flutter as I touched his firm, smooth muscles. His body was ripped, and it had me dripping.

  London fumbled around with the buttons on my blouse. He had a hard time undoing them, but his difficulty helped build the anticipation. Once he finally got the last button undone, I let my top fall off behind me, and he moved his mouth to my chest. Sure enough, the wait was worth it. His warm, soft tongue felt incredible on the bulbs of my breasts, and I eagerly undid my bra to give him more access.

  My nipples were hard, sensitive, and ready to be sucked, and London took to them like a horse to water. His lips wrapped around each of my nipples, in turn, and he twirled his tongue around them as he sucked at them intently. All the while, I ran my fingers through his hair and moaned lightly. It felt great, but I wanted more.

  Luckily, London was ready to give more. He continued to work his mouth on my breasts for a little while longer, then he moved down to kiss and run his tongue down my stomach. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me and looked up at me before quickly undoing my pants and pulling them down just far enough to give him access to my most sensitive region.

  I gazed down at London and looked him in the eyes as he dropped his head down and began gently licking my carefully trimmed mound. He teased me with his tongue for a bit before licking at my female folds and parting them to expose my throbbing clit. I nearly exploded when he took my bud into his mouth, but I held back so that I could fully enjoy the treat I was about to receive. It had been a while since I’d gotten laid, and Jeremy had never been a big fan of giving oral sex. He loved receiving it, mind you—but giving it was a different story.

  London rolled my clit around in his mouth, then flicked it hard with his tongue. He really knew what he was doing, and I really, really liked it. He continued to work me with his mouth for a few more minutes—sucking, licking, flicking, and rolling—until I couldn’t take it anymore. When he shoved a finger inside of me that was it. He pushed me over the edge, and my entire body felt hot and began to spasm. I arched my back, let my eyes roll to the back of my head, and moaned as I came harder than I’d come in a very long time.

  After my legs stopped shaking, London removed his head from my pussy and looked up at me again. He had a big smile on his face, and my juices still glistened on his lips and chin. He got up off of the floor and stood in front of me for a moment. I reached out and put my hands on the waistband of his shorts, determined to return the favor.

  No sooner than I touched him, London recoiled and pulled away. As he did, I noticed how “flat” his shorts were. There was no rise where there should’ve been, no tension in his shorts.

  In other words, London didn’t have a boner—and he wasn’t the least bit interested in me touching him, let alone returning the favor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, walking toward the kitchen. “I drank way too much last night, and my little buddy there ain’t working right….but I’ll t
ake a rain check if you’re willing to give me one.”

  I felt heat all over my body, but it wasn’t like the heat I’d felt only moments earlier. This heat was a flush of embarrassment and humility. I didn’t care what London said about how the booze effected his “little buddy,” I felt like shit. I was disappointed in myself that I couldn’t make him hard, and disappointed that he didn’t even want to try to take things any further. Was I unattractive? Unappealing? Was I a bad kisser? Why didn’t he want me?

  London walked off to the kitchenette, and I sat up and pulled my pants back on. “Want a beer?” London called out.

  “No thanks,” I replied. So much for him just having one! And so much for my chances with him—if alcohol made his penis not work, why would he chose to drink more when I was sitting there, ready and willing to play?

  Before London returned to the living room, I stood up, straightened my clothes and hair, and grabbed my purse. “I really should be getting home now, anyway,” I said, rushing toward the door. I wanted to get out of there ASAP.

  “K,” London said, emerging from the kitchenette just as I got to the door. “I’ll see you later, then.” He seemed so nonchalant about it all, as if nothing strange had just happened. In fact, he seemed a little pleased—and that disturbed me. I wondered if this was all part of his game, or if this was his way of still bullying me after all these years. Maybe he was trying to get back at me for something, and if he was, he sure did. The whole experience made me feel horrible and had carried me from heaven to hell.

  The second I stepped out of the pool house, I started sprinting home. Tears were forming in my eyes, and I wanted to get to a safe place before I let them fall. Once I was in my house, the tears came freely, and kept coming for what seemed like a while. I must have cried for about 20 minutes or so, and the tears came from a few different places, not just from my disappointment over my encounter with London.

  I also cried because of my experiences earlier that morning looking for a job; because of my breakup with Jeremy; because I was back home living with my parents; and because I felt like a complete and utter failure in every aspect of my life.