Blind Kiss(20)

She ignored me and left humming the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” melody. My heart was racing. I walked out as Gavin was taking one last puff of a cigarette. He had an eye closed against the smoke.

“Hey, PIP,” he said. “I missed you.” He stubbed the cigarette out in the planter and stood with his arms out for a hug.

I stared at him, stock-still, with my bag slung over my shoulder.

“Friendly hug?” he said, still holding his arms out.

“I smell pretty bad.”

“Me too. We’ll be perfect together. What did Doug call it? Alchemy?”

I hesitated and then finally gave in and hugged him, sort of the way I hug my dad: with my face in his chest, one arm slung over his shoulder and the other around his waist. The awkward one-armed hug.

He patted me on the head like a dog. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll take it.”

I didn’t want to lift both my arms and unleash my horrendous body odor. He was holding me when I mumbled into his shirt, “I just worked out for four hours, and I was gonna take a shower at home because the heater is broken in the locker room, and it’s freezing in there, and I didn’t feel like getting hypothermia on a Friday night, so I decided that I would just . . . you know take a shower later—”

“You’re rambling, Penny Lane.”

I pulled away to take him in. His hand was wrapped up and it looked like there was grease on the bandage. His longish hair was going everywhere and he was wearing black faded jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt with a hole in the shoulder.

“Did something happen to you. Did you get hit by a car?”

“Ha ha, funny girl. No, I just came from work. I don’t have class on Fridays so I usually work all day Friday. And now I’ve got the whole night free for you.”

Oh God. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, nothing. I just had to cover some fresh ink.”

“Huh?”

He grinned. “A new tattoo.”

“Do you have a lot of tattoos?”

“I have a few. My roommate Mike is a tattoo artist.”

That threw me. Not too many students I knew were living with tattoo artists. “How’d you meet Mike? Does he go here?”

“No. Ha! Mike is forty. We’re in a band together. Nothing serious, just kind of a hobby band.”

Who was this person? He was like a college mascot meets Eddie Vedder. “What do you do in the band?”

“I sing a little and play the guitar.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was looking through me again.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.”

“So what’s the tattoo of?” I asked, pointing to his hand.

“I already told you what I was getting. Your email and phone number, silly.”

Oh, he was laying the charm on thick now. “I don’t believe you.”

He ripped the bandage off, and sure enough, he’d gotten my email and phone number tattooed onto the palm of his hand in my own handwriting. “Are you kidding? Is that real? Why would you do that?”

“I told you I would. I wanted to and I’m not a liar.”

“But it’s permanent.”

“I didn’t want it to wash off.” He blinked and looked down at the ground. Was this Gavin being embarrassed?

“Well, you didn’t use the number or email. I thought you’d call me?” I was trying to catch him off guard.

“I didn’t have to because I saw your car and figured you were in there practicing. I thought I’d hang out here until you were done. See how the Honda’s doing.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

He shrugged. “An hour or so.”

My eyes went wide. He had been waiting on the curb outside the dance studio for an hour. “The Honda is good, but that’s not why you’re here. I still can’t believe you tattooed my number on your palm. What if my number changes?”

“I’ll still call it just for fun, and tell whoever owns it that it used to belong to the most beautiful girl in Fort Collins.”

“Oh geez, here we go.”

“Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“I actually have plans. I’m sorry.” I was so glad I didn’t have to lie. “I just told Ling I’d go to a party at her apartment.”

“Really?” He was serious, like I had broken his heart with that information.

“Yes, really.”

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to try again some other time.” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

“You have my number,” I said.

He chuckled. “That I do. Can we at least grab a coffee or something before you go home? I’ll have you back here in an hour.”

“A coffee?” I said, squinting.

“A beer?”

“Okay, a beer sounds more like it.” I needed the liquid courage. I wasn’t blindfolded anymore.

“We’re gonna get along, Little P, I can tell. We can go to New Belgium and share a flight or two.”

“Okay,” I said.

I left my things in the Honda and hopped into Gavin’s car, where we were immediately greeted by The Smiths on the radio. Gavin knew every word to “This Charming Man,” and he also had a pretty decent singing voice. There’s something about a man who can sing and isn’t too shy to do it in front of a girl he’s just met.