Accidentally on Purpose

Accidentally on Purpose

Accidentally on Purpose

L.D. Davis

© 2012 L.D. Davis

This book is a work of fiction. Al names, characters, and situations are entirely a result of the author's over active imagination. Any

resemblance to persons living or deceased is coincidental. No part of this novel may be reproduced without written permission from the author.

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I would like thank Evelyn Erndt for her editing skil s, big brain, and magic fingers.

I would also like to thank Brittania Bombardier for her help even though she's mad busy with work and family.

My thanks also goes out to Christopher Bombardier for his inspiring words and al owing me to quote him.

I want to extend an enormous THANK YOU to Lorien Vanover for her wicked editing skil s, insightful thoughts, patience in waiting for me to

final y finish a novel, and most of al , for your friendship.

Thank you, to my daughter Sarah Boris for your sketches. Okay, sometimes you're awesome. Just think, in another four years, you'l be al owed

to read this!

Final y, I would like to thank my husband Kris for leaving me alone when I'm writing and not freaking out when I went through two ink cartridges in

one night to print this out.

This novel is dedicated to all of my girlfriends. Never accept anything (or anyone) less than you deserve.

Anyone who can rationalize love through intellect, has no idea

what love is, for it is an emotion, and cannot be rationalized.

For love is crazy.

~
Christopher Bombardier~

I was already plastered when Kyle walked into the bar. He was the last person I expected to see in this smal bar, less than a mile from my

home. He was the last person I
wanted
to see. I couldn’t even be an alcoholic in peace.

Kyle was my boss, and a dick. There was no kind way of saying it, or at least in my plastered mind, there was no other way to say it.

He looked around, as if he wasn’t sure if he real y wanted to be in this hole in a wal . I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d turn and leave, and he

almost did. Then he saw me. He hesitated for a moment, but then walked over.

Oh shit
, I thought.
God, give me the strength not to break a barstool over his stupid head.

“Emmy,” he said, sitting himself down in the stool next to me.

“Kyle.” I surreptitiously took in his dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes while he cal ed the barmaid over. I once thought he was cute, until

he opened his mouth.

“I’l have whatever she’s having.” He told the bartender.

“I’m having double shots of Hennessey.”

“Okay. Great,” He shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, almost in an accusatory tone.

“What are
you
doing here?” He looked at me.

“I live here.”

He smirked. “Here in this bar?”

“I mean I live nearby. Less than a mile.”

He nodded, stared at the drink the bartender put before him. “I was passing through.” He said quietly.

“Passing through where? Where were you coming from?”

“You ask a lot of questions. In fact, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk at once.”

“Maybe you’re just not listening to my eyes and my facial expressions, because I talk a lot with those.”

“Real y,” He was amused.

“Yeah. You should pay attention.”

“What do you say with your eyes and facial expressions?”

“Depends on what you said to me with that hole you cal a mouth.” Another shot was put before me and I took it like a trooper. “Are you going to

drink that or are you going to make love to it?”

He gave me a ful blown smile now. I had never seen anything like it on his face before and was a little taken aback.

“You’re drunk,” he stated the obvious.

“Yeah, and my intoxication makes you only a little less of a dick.”

He looked at me, and I looked at him. I had no mute button tonight. He had pushed me to the edge earlier in the day, barking more orders at me

than I could keep up with, and then barking some more when I didn’t complete them in a “timely manner” and then barked some more, just to hear

himself be a man yel ing at a woman.

“I guess I can’t argue with you. I can’t deny it.” His smile faded and for a moment he looked sad and I felt bad, but only for a moment. He swal owed his Hennessey and his expression had changed.

“I guess you’re not a drinker,” I said, watching his face contort from the burn.

“Not much. Bartender, can you keep them coming? For both of us.”

“You better eat some nuts or something, or you’re going to puke, for sure.”

Two hours later, I was mopping puke off of my jeans in the parking lot. At least it wasn’t chunky, and I said as much.

“I’m so sorry,” Kyle slurred. He was looking a little on the purple side.

“You can’t hold your liquor!” I slurred back. I threw the bar mop in a nearby trash can. I seriously doubted that Lil y, the perturbed bartender wanted the towel back. “I told you to eat some nuts!”

“Then I’d just be throwing up nuts.”

“That sounds funny.”

“It sounds funny when you say nuts, too.” He dug his keys out of his pocket.

“You can’t drive, Kyle. You’l kil someone, maybe yourself.” I was pretty drunk, but he was way worse off than me.

“You hate me anyway. Would it matter if I died in a fiery crash?”

“I don’t hate you…much. But you can’t drive. I may be drunk, but I know you can’t drive.”

“Wel , how did you get here?”

“I walked. Just come to my house for a little while until you are sober enough to drive.”

He thought about it for a moment, and then agreed.

Walking, I found, can be almost as dangerous as driving intoxicated. Twice Kyle stepped into the street without looking, almost getting hit by

angry drivers (in New Jersey,
all
drivers are angry). He fel in my driveway, and when I tried to help him up, I fel down with him. I wanted to be angry, but I found myself rol ing on the gravel, laughing with him, at nothing in particular. It took us a long time to get up and make it the rest of the way to the

house.

We stumbled through the foyer, down a hal , and into the family room. I didn’t turn on the light, because I was too intoxicated to think of something as bril iant as that, and both of us tripped over the coffee table and ran into the couch before col apsing onto it, giggling like little school

girls.

His head rested on my shoulder. His hair smel ed edible, like strawberries. In sober times, I would have never al owed
any
physical contact

from a tool like Kyle.

“You’re such a tool,” I said more to myself, than to him, but he heard me anyway.

“I know,” he sighed deeply. “But I’ve been okay tonight, though, right?” I could feel his eyes looking up at me, searching for approval.

“Yeah, you’ve been okay. Almost normal.”

“I don’t mean to be. I mean I guess obviously I mean to be a dick
some
times, but sometimes I just can’t help it. Life has just molded me that

way.”

“That’s a load of crap Kyle Sterling. You make choices in life. You can choose to be a dick, or not to be a dick.”

He was quiet. I didn’t know if he passed out or if he was thinking about what I said. After a few minutes he said “You never talk this much at

work.”

“I told you, I say a lot with my eyes and my facial expressions.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You keep me too busy for conversation.”

“You’re different now than you are at work. You barely object to me, let alone cal me a dick.”

“Work is work. Outside of work is outside of work. I know how to be professional.” At that moment, I remembered that I was wearing puke pants.

I jumped up and started to undo my jeans.

“What are you doing?” He asked. Even though there weren’t any lights on in the family room, light from the foyer gave the living room an eerie

glow, and we could see each other a little bit.

“I’m wearing puke pants!” I stripped out of the jeans and turned the light on. I wanted to make sure I didn’t get any puke on my Mom’s couch.

She would kil me and bury me inside of the thing.

After thoroughly searching the couch for traces of puke, I looked at Kyle, who was looking at my underwear with a stupid smile on his face.

“Who lives in a pineapple under your jeans?” He sang softly. “SpongeBob booty pants!” He ended his little song with a soft slap to my rear.

I stared down at him, a hand on my hip.

“You’re a pig.”

“I thought I was a dick.”

“You’re a pig dick.”

“Now we’re going into new and crazy territory,” He laughed and I couldn’t help but to laugh with him.

I sat down beside him again. Why, I don’t know, when I could have sat on the loveseat, or in the big chair, or on the floor, or on the moon or

anywhere else besides right next to an attractive drunk man when I was drunk and half naked myself. I wasn’t seated for more than a few seconds

when he leaned over, grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. I kissed him back for a moment, before remembering who and what he was. I

pul ed away, and when he tried to pul me back, I put a hand on his chest.

“No, Kyle,” I was saying no, but his kiss was awesome. My lips were getting al pissy with me because I stopped and said no. “It’s the alcohol

that’s making you like this. You’l regret it in a few hours.”

“Give me more to regret then,” He pushed me back on the couch and kissed me again. I should have stopped him again. I didn’t think he was

going to make me do anything I didn’t want to do, but I didn’t stop him. I kissed back and didn’t stop his hands from roaming wherever they wanted

to.

“You’re stil a dick,” I whispered into his ear, and then he proved to me what a dick he real y was and I hoped my mom would never find out what

we did on her couch that night.

At six a.m., the alarm on my cel phone startled both of us awake.

“What time is it?” Kyle blinked at me. He looked way more sober now, and I guess I did, too.

“It’s six. I have to get up.” I found my shirt and put it on, backward.

“Why do you get up so early? You don’t have to be at work until nine.”

I was a little irritated at this, but tried my best to mask it. “You come in at nine. I go in at seven, seven thirty at the latest.”

“Why? You’re not scheduled until nine.”

“I haven’t come in at nine in a year. I try to get a head start on the day, and it takes some time to get everything ready for you.”

He thought about this, probably for the first time since I started working for him almost a year and a half ago.

“You have to get up. You need to get home and get yourself presentable. You have a meeting at 9:15, and the rest of your day is pretty packed.

I’m going to go put on some jeans that don’t have puke on them and drive you to your car.”

I walked out of the room before he could get up. I didn’t want to see him naked, even if I had
felt
him naked. Seeing him naked in this sober

state would be something entirely different, even though he saw
me
naked.
Crap
.

When I returned to the first floor, he was ready and waiting at the front door. He looked serious again, not the fal down drunken guy that he was

a few hours before. I’m sure I looked al business again, too, even with my shirt on backward.

On the quick drive to his car, I gave him a rundown of his schedule for the day and reminded him of the phone cal s he had to make before his

first meeting.

“But don’t worry,” I said out my window as he stood by his car. “As usual, I wil have everything written down for you on your desk when you get