A Different Blue(129)

“Bugger!” Wilson sputtered, and then laughed and groaned, running a hand down his face in

obvious agitation. “Well, you don't.”

My heart fluttered and my stomach dropped at his words. “So what's the problem?”

“That's the problem.”

“So if you kissed me and it felt like kissing one of The Golden Girls, all would be right in

the world? Because that's what it felt like for me, and I feel fine, while you obviously do not.

”

“The Golden Girls?” Wilson obviously didn't watch American re-runs.

“Well . . . maybe not one of them. Maybe . . . Prince Charles,” I teased.

“But not Camilla? Please tell me it wasn't like kissing Camilla,” he insisted.

I snickered. Poor Camilla. “Was kissing me like kissing Victoria Beckham?” I poked at him.

“Tiffa told me you had a major crush on her when you were seven.”

“Oh, yes. Since I know exactly how it feels to kiss Victoria Beckham.”

“Did you think about Victoria Beckham when you kissed me? That's almost as good.”

“No, Blue. I didn't. Unfortunately, I was very aware of whom I was kissing and why I shouldn't

be kissing her.”

My attempts to avoid serious examination of “the kiss” had obviously failed. Wilson kept his

eyes forward all the way home, and I stifled the urge to ask him to explain himself, to justify

his blunt rejection. If he was struggling with his feelings for me, he would have to figure them

out. I refused to feed his regret – or even argue with it. I sat in stony silence for the

remainder of the ride. He pulled up in front of the house and put the car into park, turning the

key and turning to me at the same time.

“I've crossed so many lines with you so many times. I was your teacher, for God's sake! My

sister adopted your child! It's all so convoluted and complicated, and I don't want to make

things messier than they already are. The friendship we have, the incredibly intimate moments

we've shared, the fact that you are my tenant . . . I can rationalize all of that away. I can

justify all of it . . . as long as there is no romance. Tonight, when I kissed you, I crossed

the line from friend, teacher, adviser, bloody father figure,” he spat this last line out,

clearly disgusted, “to something else entirely, and I owe you an apology. I don't know what I

was thinking, letting Alice manipulate me that way.”

“Father figure?! Holy Crap!” Now I was horrified. “That's how you see our relationship? Yuck,

Wilson!” I slammed out of the car and stomped up the steps, not waiting for Wilson. I really

didn't want to kill him, but at that moment, strangling him would not have been a stretch. I

heard him behind me, and I swung on him as we climbed the front stairs.

[page]“For the record, Wilson. You were my teacher. Once! You've become my friend. I am not a

child, and I am not your student. I am a grown woman, not even three years younger than you are.

You not only kiss like a stuffy old woman, you're acting like one! Kissing you was no big deal!

It was not inappropriate, it was a silly party game. Get over yourself!”

I prided myself on my honesty and here I was, lying through my teeth. The truth is, the kiss was

a big deal. It was a huge deal. And Wilson definitely didn't kiss like an old woman. But he