Page 76 of Better Hate than Never

CHRISTOPHER:“Labially liberated”?? Where do you come up with this shit?

KATE:Come up with what? Labial means lips. Ask the New York Times Crossword. “Labially liberated” is my fancy way of saying I’m loose lipped.

CHRISTOPHER:My mind goes somewhere else when you talk about liberated labia, that’s all.

KATE:CHRISTOPHER PETRUCHIO YOU PHILANDERING PHILANDERER THIS CONVERSATION IS TERMINATING IMMEDIATELY.

Choking down a laugh, then taking a deep, steadying breath, I type my response.

CHRISTOPHER:I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.

KATE:You’re lucky I liked the donuts & pumpkin pie & the pasta you made. Consider yourself forgiven.

CHRISTOPHER:Thank you. I promise next time I see you, I’ll be on my best behavior.

KATE:I can’t promise the same, because I’m me & life’s too short to be well-behaved. If I can find my meds, I’ll at least be better at avoiding alliterative slips of the innuendo variety.

My phone dings with a new message preview, and I tap on it to read it fully.

JAMIE:We’re on for this Saturday, 4 pm, at Peace, Love, and Paintball with the usual motley crew. Beainvited Bianca and Nick too, but Bianca opted not to come because she said she doesn’t trust Kate with projectiles around Nick yet, which I’m inclined to agree is wise.

I switch back to my message thread with Kate.

CHRISTOPHER:Looks like our well-behaved reunion will be sooner rather than later, Katydid.

KATE:Just got Bea’s text. Paintball! Better watch your back, Petruchio.

CHRISTOPHER:No need. We’ll be on the same team. Jamie made sure of it.

KATE:Both of us on the same team sounds like a recipe for disaster.

CHRISTOPHER:We made a pretty good team last night, making pasta, and that recipe was anything but a disaster.

KATE:Yeah, but paintball isn’t going to be nearly as delicious.

CHRISTOPHER:I disagree, at least, if you plan on being extra labially liberated.

KATE:I’M DELETING YOUR NUMBER. I BID YOU GOOD DAY SIR.

When Curtis comes in with next meeting’s notes, I’m still wiping away tears from laughing.

•TWENTY-THREE•

Kate

I don’t have butterflies in my stomach. I don’t glance up every time someone enters the room, hoping it’s him.

Because I amnotcrushing on Christopher Petruchio.

I’m just possibly slightly affected by his kindness and care and friendly text messages the past few days. And my dreams the past few nights, which have possibly involved obscene moments in the kitchen that started off how we did and ended very differently. Me pressed back on a counter, hands I know so well, strong and beautiful, skating up my thighs, easing the ache between them. Hard, slow kisses turning my limbs loose, liquid gold.

“Everyone suited up?” Hank, the Peace, Love, and Paintball employee in charge of orientating our group, asks from the middle of the gear room as everyone trickles in from changing.

I crouch to retie my bootlaces, which don’t require retying, to hide the fact that my face has turned bright red as my thoughts wandered down Lusty Lane, and to avoid Bea’s eyes because my sister’s looking at me curiously, like maybe she has a guess as to what’s running through my head.

“This is an aggressively unflattering green on me.” Toni plucks at the hunter-green fabric of his coveralls.

“It is not,” Bea tells him. “You look cute as a cabbage.”

---