The Kiss | Part 3

Welcome back. I’m glad to see you made it to Part III π
It’s actually Wednesday at noon EST, (so technically I missed my morning deadline but I won’t tell, if you don’t…)
Today only means ONE thing on the blog: It’s time for another part of THE KISS to go live.
If you haven’t read Parts 1 + 2 from last week, don’t hesitate to catch up now.
THE KISS BLOG NOVEL SERIES:
Part 1
Part 2
And if you have read those already, then CARRY ON.
Today’s (uncorrected) Part 3 picks up after Deacon receives a long-anticipated phone call in the midst of throwing an important party.
KEEP READING to find out what other unanticipated party favors show up as well…
__________
KAYLA
Itβs officially the worst βmove-inβ day Iβve ever had. And the day isnβt even over yet.
The Saturday afternoon sun is highβhotter than I ever remember. The street on which my apartment sits is sweltering, practically boiling beneath my flip-flops and as I grab for my TV, heaving it out of the back of the wide-mouthed U-Haul, I know somewhere in the back of my mind that Iβm slowly being cooked to death.
You could fry an egg on the sidewalkβ¦or on my head. A sheen of sweat coats the skin of my forehead and as I raise a forearm to swipe it, the television teeter-totters in my one arm.
I canβt believe how much has changed in the last six months.
A new job. A new city.Β
A new life.
My entire New York existence (all sixty minutes of it) flashes before my eyes when another set of arms reach out, catching the glass square from my hands. I straighten to find myself staring into a set of warm brown eyes.
Sophia grins at me, and for the first time all day, I feel a twinge of hope that maybe this move wonβt be the worst after all.
That is, until the TV slides from her sweaty hands, smashing on the sidewalk. I step around it, my breath coming out in huffs, hyperventilation works its way into my system as I turn, sit and settle on the step just outside of our apartment buildingβa brown, brick-built behemoth reaching towards the cloudless sky.
My new roommate sits beside me.
βFuck meβ¦β Sophia swears, leaning over. βI swear Iβll pay for that. I didnβt mean toβ¦β
βStop.β Iβd hold out a hand, but Iβm too tired from the hauling. I wipe at my brow. βYouβre just as exhausted as me. Even more so.β I exhale. βWhy didnβt I just pay for movers?β
βBecause we donβt have mover moneyβ¦β
Itβs an admission I hate even letting hit the air. Reality settles in my stomach at the thought that my familyβs money (or rather my fatherβs) wonβt save me this time. Or ever again.
I was alone. For the first time ever.Β
Especially now that Deacon and I werenβt speaking.
Sophia touches my arm. βIβm sorryβ¦Itβs probably the last thing you want to hear on your first day in the City.β
βNo.β I shake my head. βThe homeless guy around the corner asking me to touch his balls was the last thing I wanted to hear on my first day in the City.β
Sophia nods. βI think thatβs the standard New York greeting.β
And she may be right. So far, New Yorkβs welcome hasnβt been so niceβ¦
In fact, the city had been downright mean from the second my planeβs tires touched down, skidding into the abnormally hot July asphalt with a screech.
Fate, it seems, had been attacking me from all ends. I couldnβt get out of itβ¦and it was too late to turn back to where I came from.
Not that Iβd want to, anywayβ¦
To start off the day, Iβd been triple-checked by security in the airportβa creepy agency guy practically shoving a detector wand into my cut-off shorts. My luggage had ripped spilled all over the airport tile.
And Iβd been starving. So much so that Iβd opted for a street cart hot dogβ¦only to find a street cart rat scurry its way onto my plate.
Manhattan cuisine at its finest.
My only saving grace? Sophia.
My client (and good friendβs) sister-in-law was a breath of fresh air in a city that was currently stifling. When Iβd had all of my belongings from Kansas dropped off at a local Harlem facility, sheβd pick them up with a U-Haul.
Including me.
Three hours later, we were still unloading everything I owned into an apartment that was smaller than my old living room. And yet I was happier than Iβd been in ages, my newly-found freedom and exhaustion both battling inside my body as I sit up straighter, determined to unload the last few items.
I glance at Sophia, pushing back a few of the slick brunette strands of hair that have fallen into her pretty face. She laughs.
βAm I as gross as I think I am?β
βGrosser,β I respond. I grunt as I stand. βBut I am, too. Letβs finish this, shall we?β And with a heave, I pull her to her feet, finding the last sliver of strength in me as she takes my outstretched hand, following me towards the sizzling gray sidewalk.
We unload the rest of my belongings from the U-Haul.
An hour later, my brown hair soaked and outfit sweat-stained, I collapse on the laminate floor of my new bedroom, chest heaving, heart beating as I struggle to catch my breath, the late afternoon sun finally starting to settle behind the clouds as I glance towards the window.
Somehow, in the midst of move-in day from Hell, I find a grin spreading on my face. I take in my surroundings.
The walls are mostly white in my bedroom, except for one brick one. One tall window faces me and beside that window lays a layer of gray piping, adding an industrial feel to the entire space.
With the look of a newly renovated factory (and all the coldness of one), I imagine myself decorating the small area. Laying carpet. Inserting my bed.
Slapping a neon sign that says βMa, I made itβ on that hard brick wall and staring at the blinking bastard every night.
I relax in the small knowledge that this is the first risky move Iβve made for myself inβ¦well, ever, when my cell phone suddenly rings. I fish the phone from my back pocket, answering as soon as I see the name on the screen.
A name Iβve been waiting to see all day.
I almost shriek into the phone, my dry voice a harsh scream.
βChrist, Elsie, I was wondering when you were going to call!β
My best friend laughs out loud on the other end. βGo easy on me, Kay! Iβve been in the studio all day with a monster of a cold coming down. Iβm absolutely beat.β
I snort. βYou have no idea of what the meaning of βbeatβ is until you try to move into an apartment in this weather. I almost had heat-strokeβ¦β
βI canβt believe you tried to move your own stuff,β Elsie exhales. βAre you nuts? Itβs a record-high today. Hot enough to fry an omelet right in the middle of the street.β
I shake my limbs out again on the floor, the back of my head finally cooling down as I lay my cheek against the wood beneath me, fighting not to roll my eyes. I think back to the rough few hours that nearly killed me. I grit out the words. βAlready noted.β
But Elsie is already chastising me. Doing what she does best.
Being a friend.
Having a superstar singer for a bestie wasnβt easy. Especially when sheβd built the career on her own.
Winning singing competition American Superstar in front of the entire country wasnβt luck for a new phenom like Elsie Carpenter; it was a calling.
And the curly-haired blonde girl that Iβd known at fourteen had flourished into a global superstar in front of all of our Kansan-born and bred eyes. Taking the world by storm with none other than TV show Tattoo Gods superstar (and my brother), Brett Jackson, wrapped around her now-millionaire dollar arm.
And I was proud of her.
Prouder than Iβd been of myself in a long, long time. Especially when Iβd spent all twenty-four years of my life depending on other people.Β
Moving to New York was only the first step. At least, for me.
On Monday, Iβd start as the newest PR agent at Stanton Public Relations.Β
I just had to actually make it to Monday firstβ¦
A certifiable feat if my wobbly legs and hammering heart didnβt give out before then. I sigh on the phone, stopping Elsie in her mother-like lecturing tracks. I let out a long breath.
βElsie, I love youβ¦but I had to do this for me. You came here to New York to sing because that was your dreamβ¦β
βYeah, butβ¦β
βMaking it my own in this city is mine,β I interrupt. βAnd no offense, but I canβt exactly make it on my own if Iβm reaching out to you, Brett or my father every time Iβm in a bind.β I exhale once again. βIβm okay,β I say, hoping I believe it. βIβm a big girl, Else. Or if I was, Iβm not anymore after leaving fifty pounds of sweat on the sidewalk. Letβs say a prayer I wonβt waste away.β
βYou wonβt,β I hear Elsie assert. βI wonβt let you.β
I smile. βGood to know.β
βBut speaking of βwasting awayββ¦ β I can hear the mischief in her girlish voice. βHowβs about drinks tonight?β
My brow furrows. βDrinks?β
βYeah, thereβs this party happening downtown. Turns out that ridiculously hot baseball player Sevin Smith is throwing a bit of aβ¦β
But her words are cut off, interrupted by a muffled noise in the background. Elsie comes back on the phone line in seconds.
βShit, works never stops, it seems. Iβve gotta go, Kay. Finish up this studio sesh.β She coughs lightly on the other end, a thickened sound that draws my attention, but I let it go. βIβll call you as soon as Iβm done. Now excuse me while I go inhale a hundred cough drops first for this cold.β
I snort out a laugh. βAnytime, sicko. Just feel better.β
βI will. Talk to you later.β And then sheβs gone.
But my roommate isnβt.Β
Moments after hanging up with Elsie, I find myself imitating a starfish on the floor as I splay my tired limbs out. But itβs not enough to stop Sophia from interrupting my early onsetting slumber, as she storms into the room, her footfalls heavy as she stops just short of me by a few feet, her tiny breath emitting in spurts.
I keep my eyes closed.
βSophia, if you love me, youβll return back to where you came from and stay there. For the next two days.β
Her voice is excited when she responds. βSorry. Canβt. Not when the social event of the season is happening tonight. Right here in the City.β
βIβm pretty sure this nap Iβm preparing to take is the social event of the seasonβ¦β
βWell, whatever dream guy your nap could create wonβt hold a candle to this guyβ¦β
I open my eyes. Just as Sophia shoves her phone screen in my face with a picture of one of the most gorgeous guys Iβve ever seen shown on the surface.
I grab the phone, holding it closer, even as my arm aches. I raise an eyebrow.
βHis name is Sevin Smith. Baseball god. And the Chicago Cougarsβs newest player after the Yankees stupidly,β she tumbles her eyes mid-sentence, βtraded him.β She reaches for her phone back, and I let it goβreluctantly. Sophiaβs pink lips widen into a grin, her entire face lighting up as she clutches her cell to her chest, sweat stains and all.
She does a little dance.
βBut hereβs the kickerβ¦β Her eyebrows arch skyward. βSevin is holding a secret party to celebrate his last few weeks in New York. And guess who has the inside scoop on where the partyβs going to be tonight?β
βIf itβs not you, Iβm going back to sleep. And you can shut the door on your way out.β
Sophia leans down, slapping my leg on the floor. Iβd slap her backβ¦but Iβve lost most feeling in each limb. I watch as she wiggles her hips in front of me, the little dance turning into a full-on jig.
I canβt help but laugh at her infectious mood.
βOf course itβs me,β she sings aloud, her voice surprisingly clear and pretty. βAnd you and I are going.β She heads for the door. βI have a friend connection at the bar thatβs hosting the party.β
βWhich is?β
βA little rustic spot called The Alchemist.β She glances over her shoulder before exiting. βYouβll like it. Itβs got some of the best beer in the area. And the owner is melt-your-panties-off fine. We leave in one hour.β
I groan. So much for sleeping for the next two days.
__________
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And find out what happens NEXT WEDNESDAY in Part 4 after when two old friends find themselves in the same place and an unexpected guest crashes the party.
Literally.
Tell your romance reading buddies, and tune in for more THE KISS next week.
Happy Wednesday!