The Kiss

should have fed Nate a made-up story about an awesome date that ended with oral sex—him in the receiving end. That would have gotten the jackass off his case.
    “Don’t sweat it, man. Happens to the best of us. You two just weren’t meant to be.” Nate wrapped an arm around his shoulder, turned him toward the direction he was originally going.
    Bill sighed with relief and was about to thank him, when Nate let go and swatted Bill’s ass. “Now go play with yourself thinking of might-have-beens.”
    “You’re such an ass.” Bill didn’t waste a second to put some distance between them.
    ***
    “ That’s my girl,” Nate whispered. He tossed away his forgotten cigarette and lit a new one. “One for the road,” he muttered to himself, forcing his feet to lead him the opposite direction than the one tugging at his entire being.

Chapter Six

    Despite having told Krista she wouldn’t give up, Eliza woke up feeling quite down.
    The date with Bill had provided laughing material for a lifetime, and she’d genuinely liked the guy—as a person —but somehow the evening had brought home the very real possibility that she’d never find out who’d kissed her.
    Days had gone by, and she was sure that the mystery man would have shown up by then, if he was really into her. Unless maybe he was deformed. It could be a Phantom of The Opera kind of thing.
    She shook her head at her silliness, rolled over, and buried her face into her pillow.
    It could still be Cal, she thought, though she somehow doubted it. The way he carried himself showed he had confidence in his manhood, but he lacked the finesse of whoever had changed her world with a kiss in the dark.
    “Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” she muttered to herself, the sound muffled against the pillow.
    Plus, if it wasn’t him, it could be either of the last two guys. That she’d failed to spot them around town since that night didn’t mean she never would. There was still hope.
    Only, she didn’t feel all that hopeful.
    ***
    Cal was militarily punctual.
    He knocked on Eliza’s door at precisely eight in the evening. When Eliza said there was no reason for him to come upstairs to get her, he said that was what a gentleman did.
    He also brought her a red rose, which really tipped the scale toward him, and he was dressed appropriately: dress slacks and a button down shirt that did not have colorful patterns on it.
    Maybe she’d been wrong in her assessment of him.
    She filled a coffee mug with cold water, put the flower in it, took his proffered arm, and bid Krista goodnight.
    Cal told her he’d made reservations for them in a fine restaurant—not too posh, but certainly not a casual diner—and commented on how her dress matched her eyes.
    All in all, that date started off in the most promising of ways.
    Until the waitress came to take their order.
    “I’ll have the pepper steak, medium-rare, and the lady will have the Carpaccio and mozzarella salad,” Cal said. Then he turned to Eliza and winked. “I know how you gals are always on a low calorie diet.”
    She decided not to kick him in the shin just then. He had been extremely polite up to that point, after all. If ordering for her without asking first and making one politically incorrect remark was all he had going against him, she’d get over it—even if she was drooling at the thought of his steak, and had never been worried about her diet.
    It appeared that wasn’t all.
    Cal Finn was as dull as a doorknob. An unpolished one.
    All he talked about was the class, the lecturer, and the team . Early on, Eliza had to prop her elbow on the table and lay her cheek on her palm, to avoiding falling asleep in her salad.
    He wasn’t a bad guy, she told herself. Just not Mr. Right. Or Mr. Right-Now.
    To be absolutely honest, he was Mr. Right-Now-I’d-Rather-Be- Anywhere -Else.
    Oh, great. He changed the subject.
    “I go to the gym every day.” The way he needed to flex his biceps to serve her some wine gave Eliza a vivid imagery of a male peacock stretching its tail feathers.
    “That’s nice. I do kick-boxing three times a week.”
    He chuckled. “Gives you the illusion you can defend yourself?”
    Eliza decided that even if he was the kisser there was no future for the two of them. She’d throttle him in his sleep if they ever were a couple. “I don’t need an illusion.” She drove a leaf of lettuce across her plate with her fork. “I can actually land any would-be-attacker on his