Just Kiss Me. Kathleen O'Reilly

the reason, Amanda still hated discussing it. One day. Hopefully soon.

      “Avery?”

      “Yes? You paged?”

      “Why did you send me orchids?”

      “Did Joe send you orchids as well?”

      Amanda sighed heavily into the mouthpiece, making sure he heard it. “No.”

      “Well, there. Your beauty calls for a rarer flower. Something long and delicate. Wasn’t it Robert Frost who said, ‘Sometimes I wander out of beaten ways, half looking for the orchid Calypso.”’

      “Avery, that’s very pretty, but I told you, I love Joe.” Saying the words gave her a wicked thrill. Okay, it was lust, not love. But the lust was beginning to feel rather overpowering.

      As usual, Avery ignored her. “I’ve been offered two tickets to The Producers for tonight.”

      “I’ve already got a date.”

      “With Joe?”

      “Yes.”

      “Where’s he taking you? I hope someplace that epitomizes a marvelous dining adventure. Have you tried that new French bistro on the Upper East Side? Très Appétissant.”

      “We’re staying in tonight.” She maintained a meaningful silence, hoping he’d think that she and Joe would be having wild, passionate sex. She hoped that they would be having wild, passionate sex. Probably not yet, though. It was too soon. But when?

      Avery coughed.

      Enough about sex. “We’re renting a movie. Popcorn. Butter.”

      “How bourgeois. I’m sure if Joe could afford better, he’d take you there.”

      “Don’t be a snob, Avery. Everyone is an adult here.”

      “I’m sorry, Amanda. I’ve never been a graceful loser. Not that I think the war is over, not by any stretch of the imagination. I have not yet begun to fight.”

      That’s what she was afraid of. “Avery?”

      “Yes?”

      “I have a deposition to go to. I’ll talk to you later. No more flowers, hmmm?”

      She hung up before he could reply and immediately dialed the airport. “Joe Barrington, please.”

      In the background, she heard the thunder of the planes, pounding tools and voices yelling, with a particular New York flavor. La Guardia. Laughing, she took notes, learning a few new fun words. Finally, Joe picked up. “Barrington.”

      “Joe? It’s Amanda.”

      “What’s up?”

      “I told Avery we were watching a movie tonight.”

      “Yeah? What’s that got to do with me?”

      She gritted her teeth. “I think we need to watch a movie at your apartment.”

      “No offense, Amanda, but I’ve got a date tonight.”

      A date? “You’re still dating?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Is this serious?” Nervously, she twisted the barrel of her ballpoint pen back and forth.

      “Define serious.”

      “How long have you been seeing this person?”

      “I met her two nights ago.”

      “Joe! What do you think your brother will do when he finds out? He’ll think you’re cheating on me!”

      “He won’t know.”

      “Joe!” She picked up her pen, jotted a few more choice words on her notepad and then crossed them out again. “You want this to work, right?”

      A power-drill whirred in the background. “It’s not going to work.”

      “It won’t work unless you have a positive attitude and a celibate existence.”

      “You didn’t tell me this was a requirement last night.”

      She didn’t reply.

      “You’re killing me, here.”

      “Joe, doing without sex will not kill you.”

      “But it can make a man awfully grumpy.” Thankfully, he acquiesced soon enough. “All right. I suppose Monique will understand.”

      Monique? Trust Joe to pick up girls named Monique. “For the duration, Joe. It’s going to take several months for this to work.”

      “Several months? Are you serious?” A pause and then his voice dropped. “Look, I can keep my private life private. Avery will never know.”

      “Joe.”

      “I’m not a monk. I’m not even a monk wanna-be. I don’t do monk.”

      “Joe. He sent me orchids today. Orchids! With poetry.”

      To further her fury, he laughed. “All right, all right. You win. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

      She knew exactly what she was asking. Hopefully, they could all muddle through this and live happily ever after. Right now she just wanted to focus on one day at a time, and getting Joe in her bed. “It’s for a good cause.” After all, she didn’t want Joe to turn into a grumpy monk.

      “Right,” he said, sarcasm oozing over the line.

      “See you tonight, Joe. I’ll bring the movie.”

      He sighed like he was already missing Monique. “Yeah. See you then.”

      THAT EVENING, she brought an indie-flick and wore her shortest skirt. If he noticed anything at all, he hid it well. Joe’s apartment was exactly as she’d pictured it. There was one overstuffed couch, a leather chair and a coffee table that had never seen a coaster in its carefree existence. No Pottery Barn here. She thought of her own pristine white loft, and sank happily onto the faded cushions. This is what she wanted to understand. How to have a messy life and not feel guilty about it.

      “Want something to drink?” He had a beer in one hand, and his shirt hung unbuttoned, as if he had just shrugged into it. She declined the drink and instead handed him the videocassette, secretly studying the chest that he exposed so casually. He was strong, she knew that. He had to be to work on the planes. All muscle, but not bulky. No, long and lean. Bottled energy. When Joe walked, he exuded that energy. She lusted after that energy.

      He looked at the tape, a sultry film noir that she thought would be perfect. The sexiest movie she could find that wasn’t porn. “You’re not going to make celibacy easy, are you?”

      She brushed her hair back, and smiled. “Just for a few months. Surely it won’t kill you.” If she had her way, it’d only be a few weeks. Maybe days. She looked at her watch. Maybe hours.

      Joe sank into the big leather chair across from her. Chair and owner immediately became one. She laughed aloud.

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me what you find amusing?”

      “I like your furniture.”

      “Not what you’re used to, is it?” There was a defensive note in his voice that she had heard when he was near Avery. He’d never used it around her before now. It hurt her to hear it now, with her.

      “Joe, I was being honest. I do like this.” She waved her hand around the room. “All of it.” A painting hung over the coach and she twisted around for a better look. A naked lady, tastefully done, she’d give him that, but still a nude. She pointed at the pouty raven-haired siren in the picture. “Except for that.”

      Joe shrugged. “All the blondes hate her. It’s art.”

      “Well, yes,