Page 2 of Stolen Kiss

Two years of her life wasted on someone who didn’t have the balls to break up with her face-to-face.

She drops a fork and it loudly echoes against the polished cement floor. Wrapping silverware is the least favorite part of her job at the Dragonfly Café, but it’s something that has to be done before she can call it a night.

Glancing up at the clock behind the bar, it’s no surprise to see it’s a quarter til midnight. The folks just kept piling in tonight and the host continued to seat them, even in sections that were already cleaned and closed off.

“You almost done?” Drew McKnight, the bartender calls out.

“Yeah, give me just a second to take this basket up to the front and to grab my purse.

“I’ll wait for you by the back door.”

If you’d told me a year ago I’d be waiting tables here, I’d have probably laughed. Austin and I frequented the Café often. In fact, he’d pick me up after school and we’d usually get here in time for a drink or two during happy-hour. If I even so much as thought about having an alcoholic beverage now, I may as well bring my blanket and pillow along because I’d be sound asleep the moment I was finished with it.

Yeah, I’m tired. As in something needs to drastically change within the next week or two or else I’m throwing in the towel. I can’t continue to do it. Just so I can have a decent place to live? Working at the school Monday thru Friday, the restaurant all weekend long, plus helping my aunt clean condos on Saturday mornings…it’s too much. I’m tempted to catch a nap in the car instead of driving home—that’s how exhausted I am. It’d be my luck the cops would drive by and I’d have to explain myself, and I don’t think that would go over too well.

“I’m off the rest of the weekend, but I’ll see you next Friday,” Drew says, crawling inside his car.

I flip my hand at him. “Must be nice.” I don’t mean that in a sarcastic way—Drew is a decent guy—but I’m envious of people who can dictate their schedules and take time off when they want to. I’d kill to have a weekend with no commitments. “Later.”

I lean my head against the headrest and watch Drew’s taillights as he pulls out of the parking lot. I don’t even care that he didn’t bother to make sure I was safely inside my car—I’m sure he’s just as anxious to get home as me.

After a few moments of peace and quiet—silence truly is golden—I press my finger against the start button. Click, click, click. The headlights flicker and a grinding noise echoes throughout my car. Of all the times for my car not to crank. Tears immediately pool in my eyes. Why? Why me?

“Peyton?” Mariah’s voice crackles into the phone. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” I swipe my hand across my cheek, catching a tear before it slips down the side of my face. Mariah knows I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t crucial.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she says as soon as I relay what’s going on with my car. “I’ll take you to your place and we can see about your car tomorrow.”

You mean later today? I don’t say that last part out loud, but it’s technically Saturday already. And in five hours, my aunt is expecting me to meet her at her place. I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.

“I could’ve called roadside assistance, but who knows how long that would take. Or I could’ve checked on a cab—” I’m a blubbering mess as soon as I slip into the front seat of Mariah’s car.

“Nonsense, Peyton. You did the right thing,” she assures me then slips her hand over to my leg. “I hate seeing you so worked up. You’re burning the candle at both ends and it’s not good for you.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Thank goodness it’s dark and she can’t see my smudged makeup.

“You do have a choice. Remember me telling you about this business my dad’s sister was doing now?”

I roll my eyes. Mariah’s aunt Mae, for lack of better words, was a ‘Jack of all trades.’ Literally, she’d done every kind of home-based work you could think of over the years, each one promising to be better than the last. I really didn’t want to hear about her latest get-rich-quick pyramid job, but I don’t think Mariah is going to let me off the hook so easily. Besides, she rescued me in the middle of the night, so I suppose it’s the least can do. To listen to her spiel, regardless of how ridiculous it is this time.

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask as soon as Mariah tells me the premise behind this Wife for Hire business. I’ve heard of some outlandish things, but this beats them all. “Is it even legal?”

“Of course, it’s legal. Why wouldn’t it be?”

I suppose she’s right, but who pays someone buttloads of money to find a temporary soul-mate? There’s got to be a catch to it.

“What kind of money are we talking about?” I’m intrigued now that she’s elaborated more, and my eyes open big when she announces the going rate.

“I really think you should try it, Peyton. You’ve already said you weren’t looking for another relationship anytime soon, and this would be ideal. Not to mention, you could cut back to working one job. You’d have time to rest—”

“No, I’d have to entertain some old geezer and I’m not the least bit interested in someone who’s my dad’s age.”

Mariah chuckles. “I’d have to agree with you on that, but seriously, it doesn’t work that way. Unless you select that you’re willing to ‘marry’ someone that much older.”

“You’re telling me that someone my own age uses a service like this? What’s wrong with them then? Do they have bad breath or something? I bet they have a wart on their you-know-what.”

Mariah pulls into the open parking spot in front of my unit then pulls a piece of paper down from her visor. “Here’s the website, so you can see for yourself. I’m serious, though. This could be the break you’re looking for.”

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