24 1/2 Kisses (A Bashir Family Romance)
Read 24 1/2 Kisses (A Bashir Family Romance) Online
Authors: Kennedy Claire
24 ½ KISSES
Kennedy Claire
First Edition, March 2015
Copyright© 2015
by
Kennedy Claire
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission or the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review, interview or article.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
“
Longing hearts could only stand so much longing.”
-Gone with the Wind
by Margaret Mitchell
Table of Contents
I
paid the grumpy cabbie his twenty bucks and watched the yellow New York City taxi pull away from the busy sidewalk. It was bone-chillingly cold so I pulled my coat tighter around myself.
Appropriate weather today
, I thought bitterly to myself.
As I walked into the lobby of the expensive high-rise, I noted the irony of the date. We had lasted exactly two years before Dev slipped away from me, leaving behind my shredded heart.
I should have stayed with him. I never should have gone to Seattle.
No
, I quickly corrected myself,
he should have waited for me. Our love should have been strong enough to withstand whatever demons he was wrestling with.
The elevator door opened to his floor and I took a deep breath and steadied myself for what was to come. I had to end this so we could go on with our lives.
But I had to do it face-to-face.
I remembered that first year I was in Seattle; he had called me every day and visited so often he bragged about earning enough frequent flyer miles for a first class trip to Mongolia.
And then it all changed.
After he was promoted to a director at Franklin Bank—something that made him a sensation in the banking world and an instant New York celebrity of sorts—I stopped hearing from him; and the few times when he did talk to me, he was dark, cryptic and moody. When I begged him to open up to me—to finally tell me what dark secrets he was holding onto—he would only beg me to move to New York, putting me in a no-win situation.
I cried myself to sleep over him more times than I would ever care to know. This relationship wasn’t healthy for either of us
.
When I made it to his door I almost chickened out. I thought about walking past it and taking the other elevator back to the lobby.
You have to do this, Scarlett.
Pushing myself forward, I rang the doorbell. It was early Sunday morning, but he didn’t answer. I had texted him the night before letting him know I was coming but I guess he ignored it.
As usual.
I pulled out my key and slid it into the lock. He had insisted I take my copy to Seattle and then, he predicted,
when I missed him so much that I had to move back to New York immediately
, he wouldn’t need to give me another one.
Funny how things work out.
I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. I was instantly consumed by darkness.
But it’s morning?
I turned on the lights and noticed that he had heavy curtains closed tightly throughout the entire apartment. I thought maybe he was asleep, so I checked the bedroom, but his bed was neatly made and empty. My eyes lingered over the steel gray comforter and the dark wood platform frame, modern and sleek—
like him.
I felt a familiar tingle in my stomach recalling the nights I shared with him in that bed. For an instant, I could feel his breath on my neck and his lingering kisses…the heat of his body against mine. Deep in my core, I knew there would no one else who could make me feel they way he did.
This was going to be harder than I thought. Maybe it was too hasty…
Oddly, something seemed off about his room. His guitar, which always sat next to his bed, was gone. He always had to read “something philosophical” at night before going to bed, but the nightstand was empty. Where was his Voltaire, Plato—our Sufi poetry with the seductive and enlightening verses he would whisper into my ear late at night?
I left the bedroom and pulled the curtains opened in the livingroom revealing an impressive view of the Upper East Side. I hadn’t been to his New York apartment in several months, and it felt like a stranger lived here now—not Dev.
At least,
not my Dev
.
While I surveyed the sterile room, it hit me all at once: all reminders of me were completely gone. The impressionist floral paintings I picked out from that street artist in Soho were now replaced with expensive-looking silver and black modern pieces. The purple and blue vase that reminded me of the color of Texas bluebonnets in the spring—the one he kept full of fresh flowers from the farmer’s market—was missing. And I couldn’t find his framed copy of
our picture
, the one of him kissing my cheek with purpose in front of the steely cold Puget Sound from the deck of a slow moving ferry.
I could still remember how they felt on my skin that day, but I guess he was in a hurry to forget.
I was here to break up with him, but it seems he’d beat me to it. It hurt more than I would admit because I knew that part of me came to New York holding out hope we would mend things. Knowing that he had already moved on without me caused me to feel
suddenly
desperate
to fix this.
My mind worked quickly: I had two years left at the University of Washington—I could transfer. I would move in and make it all better again.
Yes, when he comes home, we’ll fall into each other’s arms and pick up where we left off that hot, steamy summer.
As I worked out my plan, I remembered something he’d said to me once during one of his visits to Seattle, before…
before everything fell apart
.
“This might seem like a crazy idea, but just hear me out.”
He stroked my cheek as we lay facing each other in an oversized Queen Victoria bed, tucked inside the cozy and quaint bed and breakfast overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
“Tell me,” I purred, his touch intoxicating against my skin. I had other things on my mind—
sinful things
—but reluctantly gave him my full attention.
He sat up in bed, suddenly energized.
“There’s this house on Baga Beach in Goa, overlooking the Indian Ocean. It’s blue and white…with bright yellow shutters.”
“Sounds nice.”
He smiled, thinking he might have me hooked. He continued his hard sell.
“From the house, you can see clear out to the water—which is green-blue like your eyes, my love, and the fishing boats—tons of them—on the horizon every morning.”
He talked as if he were there.
“In town, there’s a market full of every kind of spice you can imagine, Scarlett—you know how you’re always complaining you can’t find what you want in the stores here?”
“Yes—
wait
, I don’t complain that much, do I?” I retorted.
“All the time.” He winked at me in that charming way that always made me melt.
What was he getting at
, I wondered.
He leaned over me and cradled my face with his warm hand. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he wasn’t suggesting a short vacation during spring break.
“Let’s move there.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“You want me to leave school? And what about your job?” I forced a laugh.
He’s joking, of course.
“I’m serious, Scarlett. Come live with me in that house. I’ll arrange everything…I can have the tickets ready today and we’ll send for your stuff later.”
Then he whispered heavily in my ear, his voice suddenly seductive and enticing. “We can cook and read and swim…and play
twenty-four and a half kisses
every night on the beach. It’s very secluded there.”
I blushed at his mention of our private game—the one he had created for my pleasure the first time we had made love. But as deliciously tempting as his offered sounded, I had to be practical. I knew he was getting busy with his career—he was in the most demanding field in the most competitive city in the world—but this was insanity.
I kissed him, trying to lure him back to reality.
“One day, Dev. We’ll move there one day.”
My mind returned back to the empty apartment; A chill ran through me, though it wasn’t cold.
What I would have given to be back in that bed with him. Maybe I would say yes. Maybe we would be living in that blue and white house with the yellow shutters right now. But instead I was standing in his empty apartment waiting to break up with him.
But you can fix this, Scarlett. You love him. You always will.
I decided in that moment that we deserved one last try.
But I was too late.
Submerged in my delusional fantasy, I didn’t hear the door open, but I did hear his low, seductive voice.
“Would you like a nightcap, Greta?”
A woman’s flirty laugh, her voice, satiny, slinky. “It’s morning, silly.”
He’s bringing a girl here?
A second later, Dev and a tall brunette in a too-tight black dress and stiletto heels stumbled in looking as if they had just come back from a night out—
a long night out.
She saw me first.
“Oh, hi,” she greeted me in an awkward tone.
Dev looked at me like I was a ghost. I tried to read his eyes, but he immediately put a wall up.
“Scarlett, you’re here,” he said, stating the obvious, emotionless.
“I texted you last night.” My voice sounded like a little girl’s, unsure and quiet, and I felt like I was 12-years-old in my winter coat standing near “Greta” who looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue.
“My phone’s been on the fritz lately,” he answered, using the same lame excuse I had used against him one time.
Greta, sensing the tension in the room, decided to make her exit. She gave Dev a peck on his cheek—
my territory
—and whispered something in his ear.
The door closed quietly behind her and then we were alone.
I knew in that instant we were over and that any effort I made at this point would be futile.
Maybe if I begged him?
No, Scarlett, you’ve come too far in life to grovel in front of anyone.
“May I ask why you’re here?” he asked, a note of sincere curiosity in voice.
I struggled to remove the diamond engagement off my finger. It was the first time in two years I had taken it off, and it was embedded in my skin, a part of me now. I could feel his eyes watching me intently, the air heavy between us.
I didn’t have to explain anything as he watched me set the ring down on the console table—the one where he used to keep my vase—and walk toward the door.
He blocked my path, and the sheer physicality of his movement made me jump a little.
“Running away again, Scarlett?
Anger welled up inside me.
“I should slap you!” I seethed.
He seemed strangely pleased at my threat. He inched forward and angled his face perfectly so my hand would have no problem making contact. He was calling my bluff.
I couldn’t do it.
“What are you waiting for?” He moved so close to me, I could feel the heat and tension from his body. He searched my eyes. “I thought you were a fighter.”
Something about the way he said that cut me deeply, and I was already hemorrhaging from seeing that woman in here with him. What else did they do in his apartment—
in our apartment?
It was the last nail in the coffin of our relationship.
Before he could see me cry, I pushed past him and stormed out the door letting the hot tears release down my face as I ran down the long hallway.
I never looked back.