The Kissing Game Read Online Free PDF

white hustles to open
the exit door for us. The two interns walk tightly around Robert and me, mostly
shielding our departure from view.
    Next thing I know, all four of us are standing the interior
courtyard of the lobby, which seems to have tumbleweed rolling through it compared
to the room we just escaped from. The two interns are now shipman waiting for
their captain’s next command. “You can go now,” Robert scolds them rather than
thanking them. Briefly I feel pity for them as they nod and fold themselves
back through the door we came out of.
    And now it’s just me and my boss standing there. He’s holding my
purse.
    “Caroline, how much did you drink to night?” Robert asks me. I
feel his knuckles under my arm.
    “Drink?” I reply. “I just had some piña colada, like you did.” I
point at him.
    He mumble-grunts, pulling me along. We are gliding now toward the
elevators. The fountain nearby swishes water through green fronds, giving the
appearance that the plants are vomiting upwards. The place smells sparkly and
feels windy. Big glass walls flank the elevators. I remind myself that I’m
going to have to make my move soon, while we’re in the elevator. The security
cameras must capture the evidence. For some reason, I’m not afraid.
     “Did you drink anything before you got here tonight?” His
face is close enough to mine that a strand of my long red hair sticks to the
stubble of his cheek. He presses the button. Then he swats my hair off his
face.
    “No,” I answer.
    The elevator dings, and the doors swing open. I can feel Robert
hitching his arm under me as he pulls me inside. I must weigh a ton the way
he’s toiling, but I feel feathery. With curiosity, I watch as he presses the “G”
button for the garage. The elevator’s dark wood walls make Robert’s face look
like that of a pretty demon god. Oh mister, I think. I’ve never been this close
to his curly lashes.
    “You have nice lashes,” I confess in a gust. I’m not sure why.
    There’s a measured second before the elevator wobbles in a
downward direction. Robert looks down for some reason, so I do too. His legs
remind me of race horses’, the way the muscles tense in the thighs.
    “Uh-huh,” is all he says, as if he’s heard that statement a billion
times. He really hates me. Really, really hates me. Good thing I had a little
alcohol. Elixir of confidence.
    And so here we are in the elevator alone. It’s so clichéd, isn’t
it? If we were two people in a sappy romance book, this would be the moment when
we’d kiss. I’d be cat-clawing his hair, and he’d be ruinously ravaging me. We’d
be two sex-starved dunes of pheromones colliding into an explosion of elevator
raunchiness. His hands would be pumicing the crests of my tiny breasts beneath
my dress. My leg would be leeching around his backside. My eyes roll just
thinking about it.
    Still, Robert stands close enough that I can smell the piña colada
on his breath. Coconut, pineapple. I can feel his cupped fingers around me. But
how do I take that lunge into the dark side with someone I hate so very much?
How do I cross that irrevocable threshold from sanity to utter insanity? It
feels like a mountain I’ll never be able to climb. Still, he’s touching me, so
the Xanax must be working.
    So now I ask myself: What is the worst outcome? He could laugh at
me, push me away, scold me. All possibilities. Even so, whatever happens
between us in this elevator would be just one more sharp piece of glass in a
pile of sharp pieces of glass. To rouse my confidence, I think of history books
containing all those stories about liberated people, the pictures of women
pleading for suffrage, migrant farm workers holding signs and marching in 100
degree heat for safer working conditions. Malcolm X. The Black Panther party—if
only they all had red hair, pale skin, and freckles—and fought for liberation
from tyrannical lawyers.
    Like Robin Hood, I turn myself toward the mountain beside