Kiss a Stranger (11 page)

Don’t be alarmed

After class early morning, Emily and I went to
Harbour Town to peruse for some good deals on clothes. I tried on about ten million outfits, remembering the rush that came with looking good in something. It’d been a damn long time since I felt this alive being out with Emily.

I bought a
tight, grey sweater dress and black waist belt to wear for tonight. It was modest but sexy, and seemed perfect for a dinner date in the city. Emily was clubbing again, so she stalked the shoe stores before buying three pairs of five inch heels. I wasn’t sure where she was going to store them back at her house.

“You better not throw them in my guest bedroom,” I warned her.

“It’s practically my bedroom now, so what do you care?” she replied flippantly.

“You might as well just move in then.”

She gasped, stopping in the middle of the shoe aisle to look at me with those blue doe-eyes. “For real?”

“Mom might be moving to Melbourne, and I can’t be in that house alone. Frankenstein needs a minion, right?”

She frowned at me. “Don’t call yourself that, and why does Mama Landon want to move away?”

“Kevin.”

“Well, he can get his ass over here then! She’s the one with the family.”

“He bought a house over there.”

“Is she going to sell yours?”

“No way.”

              Mom bought our house outright. It had brought her joy after years of heart ache. She would never let it go, even if she moved to another state.

             
“So,” I continued, “if you want to move in, you’re more than welcome to. I know how stressful your place can be.”

             
Just like me, Emily didn’t have a great upbringing. Her mother worked full time while her father was a bit of a deadbeat drunk that didn’t give two shits for either of them. She avoided her house like the plague if it meant escaping him. I often wondered if she wasn’t telling me something when it came to her family life. It was a door she didn’t leave open wide enough for me to walk through.

             
She said she’d think about it, and I knew she wanted to, but something was stopping her. I wished she’d involve me a little more.

             
I was waiting for her outside the female restroom, flipping through my phone and reaching out to a few friends when I felt a shiver run down my spine. I looked up from my phone and met the eyes of a middle-aged man in a cheap suit, standing a few feet away from me.

             
He was facing me, and his gaze was locked to mine without hesitation. I felt rooted in my spot, ignoring the thoughts inside my head telling me to run away and scream. I found I couldn’t. He continued to look at me with curiosity, and when a woman left the restroom, I stirred out of this bizarre trance.

             
“Do you need anything?” I snapped, irritably.

             
The man just smirked at me and shook his head. “No,” his gruff voice responded, “not yet.”

             
He turned away from me and ambled off before rounding the corner and disappearing from view.

             
What. The. Fuck.

             
If that wasn’t disturbing and creepy, I didn’t know what was. Alarm bells were ringing their tits off in my head, and I just nodded at them, totally immune to the feeling of worry when it’d been an emotion that was my constant in life these days.

             
I tried to brush the odd man’s words from out of my head, but they plagued me for hours to come. Was he just a creep that enjoyed scaring young women? It was rational to think so because I’d never seen him before. But it was something I couldn’t be certain about.

             
Emily and I did a bit more shopping before stopping by McDonalds for a feed. Two Happy Meals later and we were on our way home. All the while I kept an eye out, taking in my surroundings wherever I went.

             
You just never knew what some people were capable of.

*****

I stared at myself in front of the oval mirror on my dresser. I’d spent the entire afternoon getting ready for my date with Ben. I tried to stand tall and confident, but I spotted my lie from a mile away.

             
I liked the way the dress looked on me. I liked how long and straight my brown hair was. I liked that my green eyes popped out the way they used to when I spent the hour that I did on make-up. And I liked how tall I felt in my three inch heels because it made my legs look like they went on for miles.

             
But what I didn’t and couldn’t like were the scars. The way they distorted my left cheek, making them jut out so obviously under the light. The make-up concealed their pinkness, but it couldn’t conceal their shape. Every time I felt good, I just had to look at myself in the mirror and it all had to come crashing down again.

             
But Emily was right. Some people had it so much worse, yet I couldn’t seem to channel that into my emotions. Was it really my fault for hating them? How does one even come to embrace such obvious imperfections? Ones that spoke of some horrid event in your life. It was like your life story was hanging out for the world to see. They just had to look at you and know, “Well, shit, something bad happened to that poor, poor girl. Just look at her face. She might have been beautiful once.”

             
I shut my eyes and breathed in and out. I didn’t want to pity myself, not when I had been so excited all day. So I thought about Ben and the way he looked at me. He had never given me that pitying look I was used to seeing. He just looked at … well, me.

             
“Maybe I am beautiful,” I whispered to myself. “Maybe if I learn to see what he does, I’ll feel okay.”

             
The door knocked just then, and I glanced at the time. 6pm on the dot.

             
I grabbed my purse and hurried to the front door.

             
“I’m here for Claire Landon,” said a man once I opened it.

             
I looked past him and at the driveway where a taxi was running beside Mom’s car.

             
“That’s me,” I told him uncertainly. “Who called you out here?”

             
“Mr Costigan did, Miss.”

             
“And where are you taking me?”

             
“Northbridge. To an Italian restaurant.”

             
“Okay.”

             
He went back to his taxi and I followed taking small steps. I wondered why on earth Ben was sending a taxi out to my place instead of just picking me up. It baffled me.

             
Nonetheless, I climbed into the taxi and he took me into Perth city. It was dark by the time we were on the roads of Northbridge, and the smell of rain was in the air. Large clouds blanketed the sky, hiding the moon.

He stopped the car in front of a very reputable restaurant.
“This is it,” he said.

             
“Am I meant to pay you?” I asked him wearily.

             
“Already been paid,” he answered.

             
Oh, thank God. I didn’t bring a lot of cash on me.

             
I stepped out and waited in front of the restaurant. The street was backed up with traffic and the sidewalks crowded with people ready to have fun on a Friday night. Northbridge was a mixture of party goers and diners. Restaurants, bars, and clubs brought in a wide variety of people, including troublemakers. You didn’t want to be alone here at night after the rush died down. I heard too many bad stories not to watch out, even in my most rebellious days.

             
“You look stunning,” said a deep voice in my ear.

             
I whipped around and met dizzying grey eyes that could only belong to one man. And that man looked delectable in a grey, pinstriped suit.

             
“So do you,” I replied, smiling.

             
I wasn’t sure what to do. Hug him? Shake hands? Do nothing? Standing out here in front of a classy restaurant with him looking all money the way he did, I felt a little out of my depth.

             
Ben, on the other hand, was striking and calm. His demeanour spoke of his comfort, but his eyes gave away his thoughts. He was looking at me like there was no place he’d rather be, and fuck if that didn’t steal my breath away.

             
As if answering my thoughts – or perhaps he could read it all over me like I was some book he could flip the pages through – he dipped his head and kissed me softly. I melted straight into him, closing my eyes to feel the light sensation of his soft lips. His hand touched my cheek as he prolonged the kiss, moving his tongue intimately between my lips.

             
When he finally pulled away, I was breathing heavily. My skin was prickly all over, and my core a heated mess that wanted Ben’s hard touch more than anything.

             
“I like it when you’re relaxed,” he told me. “It happens when you’ve let go and stopped thinking. You ask yourself too many questions. So let’s forget all that rubbish that’s going on in there” – he pointed to my head – “and focus more on what this wants.” He rested a hand over my heart. “Sound good, beauty?”

             
I nodded. “Yes, it does.”

             
“Good.”

             
He took my hand into his own and steered me into the restaurant, moving to the front of the line where the hostess was. I looked back at the line-up where ten faces were fuming at us. I shrugged as a weak apology for why Ben had cut the line.

             
But the hostess didn’t look bothered at all. Instead, her eyes brightened and she exclaimed, “Mr Costigan! So good to have you here tonight. Let me take you to your table.”

             
“We can take ourselves,” Ben replied. “It’s the usual, right?”

             
“Yes, certainly!”

             
“Send someone to see us soon.”

             
“Absolutely. You have a good dinner, Mr Costigan.”

             
“Thank you, Shelley.”

             
I wasn’t sure if her bright hazel eyes could sparkle any more than they just did when he said her name. She blushed, eyeing him up and down like she was ready to blow her ovaries up just to have him. Not once did she acknowledge my existence, but I was sure it wasn’t intentional – she simply had eyes for Ben and no other.

             
Ben took us up a staircase to the second level where the noise fell away. The setting was classier than the first level. Tables were distanced from each other, giving it more of an intimate touch. We settled around a table adjacent to a large window overlooking the crowded streets below.

             
Like the hostess had promised, a waitress saw us not a minute later, handing us each a menu before she filled our glasses with water. She wasted no time trying to please him too.

             
“What’s with all this recognition?” I asked him after the dazed waitress left.

             
“I know the owner,” he answered with a vague shrug. “Nothing special about it, believe me.”

             
“If I knew being friends with owners got me into places, I’d have jumped straight on that.”

             
He smirked. “Not friends, Claire. I just know him.”

             
Righto. I looked through the menu briefly and felt a headache come on when I spotted the prices. Bloody hell, one course was equivalent to a mortgage payment.

             
“See anything you like?” he asked.

             
“The Calamari dish looks good,” I answered because it was the only damn thing I knew on here.

             
He waved the waitress over and we ordered our meals. “Any drinks?” asked the waitress when we had the appetisers and main courses down.

Ben looked to me. “Anything?”

“Just water,” I told the waitress.

“Same,” said Ben.

“You don’t have to avoid alcohol just because of me,” I told him when she took off again.

“What kind
of gentleman would I be if I drank and you didn’t?”

“The normal kind?”

He chuckled, and, god, how I loved the sound of it. “Maybe I’m not normal.”

“
No, you’re definitely not. But I admit, I’m sort of curious to know what you’d be like if you were drunk.”

The look on his face was difficult to read. “I don’t get drunk, Claire.”