More Than a Kiss

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Authors: Saxon Bennett, Layce Gardner
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hasn’t realized it yet.  That’s all
I’m saying."
    "So
you are going to ask her out."
    "If
it comes up organically."
    "How
does asking somebody out come up organically?"
    "You
know like if her stomach growls and I hear it.  I could say, 'You must be
hungry,' and she'd say 'I am hungry' and I could say 'let's go get
something to eat' and then she'd say…”
    Edison
picked up, "And she would say 'I'm hungry for you, baby' and you'd say
'Here I am, come and get it.'"
    They
laughed, but stopped abruptly when the door across the hall opened a crack and
one eye peeked out.
    Meet
Irma Kalandarishvili.  Irma
had black hair, black eyes, and an entire wardrobe of only black clothes.  Or
maybe she just had only one black outfit.  Jordan wasn't sure.  Irma was tall
and thin like a ballerina and her hair was slicked back in a severely lacquered
bun.  She never blinked.  Nobody had ever seen her blink.  She could've been
mistaken for a stick of licorice.
    Jordan
had gone out on a date with her two years ago.  The date was horrible but the
sex afterwards made up for it.  Irma and Jordan fulfilled a hunger in each
other that other people couldn't.  It wasn't based on banter or intellect or
common interests.  It was purely animalistic.  So, Jordan and Irma became
friends with benefits except they weren't really friends.  And when Irma showed
up one day needing a place to stay, Jordan rented her a spare bedroom.
    Irma
moved in and paid her rent on time with cash. Nobody knew where Irma was from –
Russia?  Germany?  Or one of those Slavickstan kind of countries?  Nobody knew
how she made her money or what she did behind the doors of her room.
    Ever
since Irma had moved in six months ago, Jordan had avoided her.  She didn't
want to have a physical relationship with somebody that lived under her own
roof.  It had been fine to be fuck-buddies when your buddy didn’t live with you
but now it was different.  Jordan reasoned that it was too much like that old
adage, "Don't shit on the hand that feeds you."  Or something like
that.  She’d told Irma that but Irma wasn't giving up so easily.
    Irma
eyed Jordan up and down and said in her thick accent that sounded like Natasha
from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show , "You are dressing for big
date?"
    Jordan
shrugged.  "Just a maybe date."
    Irma
leered at her.  "If maybe date is not what dreams are made, you come to
Irma and Irma will un-dress you and show things you never experiment in
wild dreams."
    Edison
said, "I think you mean experience in your wildest dreams."
    Irma
looked at her coldly.  "No.  Irma mean experiment in wild
dreams." She looked back to Jordan and smiled wickedly before she ducked
back inside and closed the door.
    "Someday
I'm going to scream in her face.  Just to see if she blinks," Edison said.
    Jordan
laughed.  "She won't.  I think her hair is so tight in that bun she can't
blink."
    Edison
laughed. "I don't get what you see in her."
    "We
had an arrangement, that's all.  It worked in both our favors."
    "What
an arrangement," Edison said with a huge eye-roll.  "If you two
aren't doing somebody else then you do each other."
    "Operative
word here is did. We no longer do . But I'm sure you could find
the same type of arrangement if you wanted."
    Edison
said in an imitation of Irma's accent, "Edison not want.  Edison want love
true not buddy fuck in experiment love."
    "You
don't really believe in true love, do you?"
    "Sure. 
Don't you?" Edison said, brushing a stray hair off Jordan’s shoulder.  She
straightened her collar.
    "Nope,"
Jordan said.
    "Nope?"
    "No." 
Jordan looked at herself in the mirror again.  "I believe the concept of
true love is just an illusion."
    Edison
looked at Jordan's face, at her reflection in the mirror, then back to Jordan. 
She imitated Irma's accent, "Edison think one of you is big fat
liar."

Happy Birthday to Me
     
    Jordan
paced back and forth in the small room.  There wasn't much to do or look at
while she

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