Page 7 of Your Kiss Is On My List

“You don’t even know the whole story. I did try modeling. A couple of local Boston shoots for an agency there, nothing crazy. It was okay. I was okay, but—”

“But you didn’t pursue it?” I feel like her father now—or what her father should sound like. But it’s not like that. I sound like a guy who cares about her. “Why not?”

“I have bigger, better plans,” she says.

“Of course you do.” I smile at her because I know her ambition, I understand it. She’s an all- or-nothing girl, wants to be the very top of the heap or not do it at all.

“I would be a mediocre model at best. The supermodels all towered me over and were much lankier—”

“You mean skinnier, like they need serious medical attention,” I say. She laughs and the sound hits me in the chest again but it feels less like an assault and more comforting in its familiarity. I stiffen because I can’t let myself get used to it, can’t allow myself to get sucked into her orbit only to watch her gather all the guys on campus along with me, choose one of them—or all of them the way she did in high school.

“Exactly. They were absolutely obsessed about food—not in a good way. And you know me, how I love food.” She raises her eyes to the sky and puts her hand to her heart looking like she might be floated up to heaven on a cloud any second. I nod and gulp down my tension. I do know how she loves food. Watching her eat and enjoy it was one of the seven wonders of my foolish world growing up. She made me feel like a Michelin-star chef when I fixed her a grilled cheese sandwich. But then she had—still has—a different perspective on the simple basics of life.

We reach the campus co-op and go inside. Her eyes light up. Exerting control over my emotional response to her drains me. Rolling my shoulders to loosen my tight muscles I follow as she rushes straight for the hockey jerseys hanging front and center because we’re mid-season and in the spotlight of SPU sports.

“Look at you!” she squeals and I cringe because she’s looking at the oversized cardboard cut-out of me suspended from the ceiling. It captures me in action about to score a goal. I’ve heard about it but haven’t seen it until now and, as I catch up to Dani, I notice heads turn in my direction. Luckily the store is almost empty and the heads belong to employees who I hope are trained to act professionally. But no.

“Tre-e-ey? It is you! How can I help you?” The clerk grabs the arm of her friend and they rush me. I’d be impressed with their speed if I weren’t trying to get my footing back with Dani, to find that easy friendship we once had, before I realized she was the most desirable girl—now woman—I ever met.

“We’ll take one Wildbeast Hockey hoodie, size small,” I say.

“But look at all these different colors, Tre-e-ey.” She draws out my name the way the clerk did, then compresses her lips to suppress her laugh. I chuckle under my breath because she was always good at keeping me grounded and humble.

“When did you ever have trouble deciding on a color?” I turn to the clerk. “She’ll take pink.” The clerk bobbleheads, staring up at me for a few beats until her friend pokes her and they scurry off, presumably to find what we want.

“Still the same old bossy pants, I see,” she says.

“Still the same old ball-buster, I see.” My smile is reflexive and her holding onto my arm and leaning in reminds me of how it used to be—except now the effect is different. Instead of the brotherly affection I once had, I’m now working at controlling my dick before it turns into a big D boner. Not what I need here. Whatever perfume or shampoo or soap she uses is not the same flowery scent as before. It must be packed with pheromones because I swear if I don’t back away I’ll get dizzy with need.

“Of course you’re right.” She points to her chest. I look automatically. Shit. “Pink. No shit Sherlock. But maybe I want to change now that I’m here, do something different, something wild.” Her eyelids lower to a flirtatious level and my blood literally rushes through my body heading to the one place I don’t need it to be right now. Fuck.

In a desperate move, I untangle my arm and turn away, pretending a sudden interest in a football jersey on a nearby rack.

“Maybe you should get one of these. We have a lot of football guys at the house I can introduce you to. If you want to live dangerously.” Her eyes widen.

“Since when would you ever let me get away with anything dangerous? I thought it was your job to protect my honor, not throw me to the lions?”

“I get the feeling you’re the lion these days.” She laughs.

“Maybe you’re right. How are you at taming lions?” She moves close again, backing me into a rack of clothes and I almost knock it over, but the two clerks come to my rescue.

“Here’s the hoodie, Trey. Can we get you anything else?” The girl invades my space, handing me the hoodie as if I’m going to wear it, as if it’s intimate nightwear or some shit.

“No, we’re all set.” Extricating myself from between the rack of clothes and the clerk, I take Dani’s hand automatically when I head to the checkout counter. The girl scurries behind us.

“Thank you so much, baby. I love the gift.” Dani flutters her lashes at me then says under her breath, “Pretend I’m with you and we’ll ditch these girls for you. I’ll be the best wing man you ever had.” I snort a laugh and she glares at me so I compress my smile and taking a deep breath, I go along because I know it’s all fun and games to her.

“Sure doll face, whatever you want is yours.” I slip out my credit card and hand it over. I’d planned to buy it for her anyway, though knowing her she’d put up a fight. She’ll still put up a fight. I bet anything she’ll try to give me money for it later. Easiest thing in the world to resist. If I could, I’d buy Dani the moon and the stars because she went without for so long.

Lou told me she’s had money since going to NYU on a full scholarship. She didn’t tell me about the modeling, but mentioned she made good money from a part-time job. Lou’s been filling me in on all things Dani for the past three years and luckily it comes naturally to her so I don’t have to ask, don’t have to make it obvious that I miss her or that I’ve been avoiding her.

Before we leave the store, Dani switches out her NYU jacket for the SPU hoodie and we start walking to Wildbeast Pizza, her arm looped through mine keeping one side of my body toasty warm as I try to stay in the moment and not overthink our relationship.

“Oh, I almost forgot—almost let you get away with buying me this.” She stops and reaches inside her bag, pulling out a couple of twenties.

“Oh no, you are so letting me get away with it. Consider the hoodie a welcome to SPU gift.” I want to say more, to tell her it’s to make up for being so absent for the past three years because with every minute I spend with her my guilt over abandoning her grows. And she hasn’t said a word about it. Maybe because she hasn’t said a word about it.

“I can’t let you. That’s so gauche. I practically forced you to buy it for me.”