A Different Slice

2- Navel Oranges (Kieran)

The ceiling's pot lights illuminated the condo as Kieran stepped inside. He tossed his keys in the wooden bowl on the simple black table near the door, tucked his boots out of sight, and hung up his leather jacket in the closet alongside the ones Jake had organized by colour. Kieran had half a mind to stick his chestnut one in the middle of the tan collection to piss Jake off but left it on his own side instead. The temporary satisfaction wouldn't outweigh the lecture.

A string of curses echoed from the office, so Kieran took his time wandering through their living room and toward the kitchen. Bags and bags of oranges covered the dark, speckled counter. Were those there earlier tonight? Perhaps Jake was getting into a juice craze or he was testing new features on his most recent app. Kieran shook off the question and filled a glass of cold water from the stainless steel fridge.

He had consumed little alcohol since taking shots with the tall, hot pizza chick at the bar, but he'd drunk enough before meeting her to make it easier to flirt with Brinny, although it had backfired despite their closeness. He smiled, picturing the earlier part of the night.

All the details seared into his memory: the softness of her blond hair between his fingertips, the intoxicating scent of strawberries that wafted from her neck, her gentle caressing hand on his beard. Her lips, so close he could have tasted them. Her crochet crop top driving him wild, his fingers rejoicing against her bare shoulders and stomach as they danced together, and the plunging neckline exciting him every time he glanced down.

Her simple questions had unravelled their connection. 

"What are we doing, Kier?" 

He'd wished it were a coy question, a lead-up to a night he'd longed for as long as they'd known each other, but her eyes searched his like she hadn't been flirting up to this moment.

"What I've wanted to do for two years."

She pulled back. "But what does that mean for us?"

Us. 

His throat choked despite the countless times he'd imagined this conversation. It had been three years since that word had real significance in his life. His throat grew tighter.

Later, he devised half a dozen replies that would have impressed her, but in the moment, he chose, "Let's get a drink, and we'll talk about it. Whiskey sour?"

Her forced smile, the way she'd picked at the skin on her thumb, and that far-off look in her eyes all flashed like warning signs in his memory, but he'd chalked it up to her nerves matching his. She'd also stayed behind. When he returned with their drinks to find her sitting at a tall table, she was texting. He slid her drink to her and took a seat on the tiny, uncomfortable bar stool. 

"So uh... us?" He sipped his Jack and Coke, hoping the alcohol would loosen his tongue.

"It was a stupid question. Forget I asked." 

Her phone buzzed, and Cole's name appeared on the screen. When had she changed it to that from Lying Dick?

"Cole's in the city and wants to talk. So, I'll set you free." She smiled, but it seemed forced. "The club is your oyster, Kier. No shortage of women who want commitment-less fun."  

She'd sipped her drink long enough for a smarter man to challenge her or reel her back in, but it stung too much that she hadn't even waited for his response before agreeing to see an ex who'd treated her like shit. 

"Text me if you need anything."

She shook her head and shuffled off, her flowy, flowered skirt swaying in her wake.

Someday he'd learn, but not today.

While he hadn't found anyone to bring home, he had met Pizza Chick, and she was chill for a person who hated sex or never wanted it or whatever she'd said. As unexpected as she was, he'd enjoyed their conversation and wished it hadn't ended so quickly.