As soon as the red light changed to green, I laid on the horn and didn’t let up until the granny driver made a right turn at the next street. Seriously, some people have nothing better to do than to slow me down. Resting one manicured hand at six o’clock, I used my free hand to brush a rogue curl off my neck only to realize the tickle at my collarbone was from the trim of feathers on my evening gown.
I stole a glance at my shotgun passenger who was bent over to tug a banana yellow sneaker on his foot, his eyebrows pinched in a scowl. “Could you have found a color any brighter?”
“It’s a sneakers gala. You can’t show up wearing” —a grungy Adidas sailed over my shoulder— “the ratty shoes you wear to the gym.”
Self-consciously I scratched at my ankle where the anklet draped over my mint-green tennis shoe. “Are you sure Tracy won’t be there?”
“Positive. But if you spot her, then—”
“I pretend to sprain my ankle while you leave before you lose your cool.”
He grunted.
The Ritz hotel shot up on the right and I braked hard to climb the driveway. A split second into the maneuver I remembered that Tyler was still hunched forward and his forehead smacked the dash in a deafening crunch.
“Ooh. Sorry.”
He straightened, rubbing his head. “My fault for letting you drive.”
I snagged the first parking spot. A minute later, he looped his arm through mine as we walked toward the designated ballroom. Chandeliers sprinkled light throughout the room and the occasion squeak of sneakers interrupted hushed conversations.
“At least I won’t be overlooked tonight. I’m a walking beacon.”
“Nah. The yellow complements your navy-blue suit—” The words garbled in my mouth as I spied a head of gelled black hair. The profile was enough to see the shadow on his jaw he carefully trimmed every morning.
I turned to warn Tyler, but he hadn’t stopped walking. My arm still tucked in his, I heard the pop before fire shot up my calf.
As he guided me to the waxed hardwood, Tyler scanned the crowd. “You see Tracy?”
If only.
I scooted my ankle closer, but the slight movement caused white-hot pain to cascade down my leg.
Tyler scowled. “Game over, Mel. Tracy’s not here.”
A wave of panic came over me when I noticed a shadow pause just ahead, then approach. I lunged at Tyler—twisted ankle and all—and pressed my mouth to his.
At first, his kiss was plastic. But then his fingers curled around my neck and his lips molded over mine.
But I still needed his help to get me up and out of here.
“We should go,” I whispered against his mouth.
Ignoring me, he angled his face and drew me onto his lap to deepen the kiss.
I hadn’t realized I had screamed until the pain laced around my brain and my breathing came in pants.
“What the—” His face washed white. “Did you really twist your ankle?”
Before I could answer a voice cut through the murmuring of colleagues. “Melanie? You still work here?”
I clamped down on my back teeth. If I didn’t have such a throbbing ankle, I would have slipped off my shoe and lobbed it at my ex-boyfriend’s coiffed dark hair.
By now Tyler got the message.
Except it was the wrong message.
Because when he scrambled to his feet, I saw the gleam in his eye.
A shudder ran through me as the first punch landed—not by Tyler though. Mark had blocked his and used the forward momentum to plow his fist into Tyler’s face, knocking him backwards, his yellow-sneakered feet flying up and over his head.
I inched away. Tyler’s attempt at justice was noble, but he fought like he had rubber limbs. If I had to bet between an inflatable punching bag or Tyler, I’d bet on the punching bag. Anonymously, of course.
Wiping the blood off his lip, he climbed to his feet and probably would have gone another round if his gaze hadn’t slipped to me and my sprawled legs.
With resignation, he swept me into his arms and headed toward the doors. “So, when it’s my ex it’s pretend, but when it’s yours…”
“Hey! I’m not the one with the black and blue mark on my face.”
“Always rushing ahead.” At the car, he settled me down on the curb and started to untie my shoe. “Look where that got you.”
I sucked in my breath as he gently eased the shoe off. “And that kiss. For a second I thought…” He fingered the ankle, but even as he probed the tender skin, the shocks that were entwining my heart were no longer from my wounded foot.
That kiss.
I had only wanted to ignore my ex, but now, as my lips felt swollen with need, I remembered Tyler kissing me back. I wanted—needed—another taste.
My mouth went dry as he leaned back on his haunches with a look that told me he was thinking something similar.
I clung to his shoulders as he captured my lips but this wasn’t the same passion as when I caught him off guard. Now, he held back, as if he was savoring the moment. He explored, he caressed, and finally he teased my mouth open until electricity threaded through my veins. By the time Tyler released me, my head was spinning and it was a good thing I was already on the ground.
While he snatched a breath, his eyes heated to bronze. “Not running so fast anymore, are we?”
I didn’t dare respond. Because the galloping of my pulse had brought time to a grinding halt. For a girl who raced ahead, I was content to stop. And when Tyler kissed me again, I let the sensations ride me—first the trail of kisses across my cheekbones, then the feather-light peck at the hollow of my neck. Sneakers begone because for this second, everything else could wait.
*** *** ***
Dear Reader,
Thanks for reading Melanie and Tyler’s sweet (and hopefully funny?!) romance! This story was fun to write! It was a submission to a short-story writing contest, NYCMidnight—and was my very first attempt at humor in narrative! The genre was “Rom-Com,” the setting was “gala,” and somewhere in the story I had to use “anklet.” 😊 I hope you enjoyed this little tale!
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