Page 1 of Ghoul Kisses

“I’m not going!” I shout, flopping across the end of my bed.

“Of course you are! Getting hired at one of the top hospitals in the country is cause for a celebration!” Vanessa, my best friend of six years, thinks we should celebrate every accomplishment in our lives. She just wants to go out and get shitfaced. Well, I can’t. I have to be at orientation at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Showing up at the hospital reeking of alcohol gives the wrong impression to the boss. I accepted a job at the University of Washington Medical Center as an oncologist, treating people who suffer from cancer. As a survivor myself, I want to help others survive this devastating disease.

Vanessa ambles to my closet and begins searching through my clothes. She is dressed in her backless maxi dress and open-toe high heels; her brown sugar hair is pushed up in a bun. Vanessa is naturally pretty, requiring no makeup to look glamorous. Sometimes, I am jealous of how beautiful she is.

“If I go, will you leave me the hell alone?” I sigh.

“Pinkie promise,” she answers sweetly.

She holds up a crimson cocktail dress. I drag myself out of bed, tossing my sweatshirt and leggings on the white carpet. Standing in my purple lace panties and bra, I want to wipe that smirk off her face for forcing me to go out. Annoyed, I snatch the dress out of her hand and slide it over my body. Vanessa motions me to the chair in front of my vanity. I watch her in the mirror as she dabs nude gloss on my lips and glides eyeliner around my bright green eyes. Nessa works mousse into my black, curly hair to make it more defined and then looks me over, nodding in approval. When Vanessa glams me up, she does a good job. Standing, I reluctantly step into my red heels. High heels are not my forte. I prefer to wear flats; they don’t hurt my feet. The only reason why I am wearing these ridiculous shoes is because I don’t want to hear Nessa bitch about it. Nessa and I are complete opposites when it comes to fashion. She keeps up with the latest runway shows and often drags me along. She prefers dresses and elegant clothing; I prefer jeans, T-shirts, and gym clothes. She is a registered nurse, and I often wonder why she never chose to major in fashion or work in the clothing field.

I collect my old, rusty key necklace with the initials C.R.R. from the nightstand and toss it in my brown Michael Kors purse. My mom gave me the necklace, before she passed away. She told me to keep it with me, for good luck. Never believed in luck, but I keep it because it’s the only item I have that belonged to her.

She glances at me in the mirror and claps her hands together.

“You look amazing!” Surprise tinges her voice.

“I hope you know you owe me,” I say through tight lips. She ignores my comment and grabs my hand.

“Come on, let’s go show off our hot bodies.”

The Uber driver drops us off in front of a nightclub. Music seeps through the building, causing the ground to vibrate. The weather is lovely for July; it’s not warm enough to wear shorts, but it’s not cold enough to wear a jacket. The air feels nice and inviting to my skin.

Vanessa bites her nails as she glances at a cluster of people standing at the edge of the curb. Why is she nervous? She sashays up to a muscular guy with a short blonde haircut, blue eyes, and pale complexion. He wearing a long-sleeved, collared shirt with black pants, and is holding a bouquet of fresh white lilies. He doesn’t look like the type I would be interested in. They shake hands, speak to each other, and make their way back to me. He gawks at me like I’m eye candy and clears his throat before speaking.

“I’m Pete. You must be Sarah, right?” His voice is husky. I don’t respond, instead choosing to stare down Nessa.

“This is your date, Pete,” she says meekly. My cheeks heat up as my anger begins to grow. She could have given me a heads-up before dragging me out here, so I wouldn’t look stupid, not knowing what the hell I am getting myself into! I yank her to the side, making sure we are out of earshot of Pete.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were setting me up on a blind date?” I whisper-hiss. She gives me an apologetic look before answering.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t agree to it.” She pauses for a moment, searching for the right words to say. “You need to date. Having one night stands isn’t going to cut it, and it’s not going to fill the void from the loss of Jessie.” Her hazel eyes fill with sadness. “It’s time to let go of the past.” I fight back the lump in the back of my throat, which is the size of a golf ball. The truth hurts, especially when it comes from a person you love. I understand her concerns, but she has no right to try to decide what is right for me. Guilt constricts my chest as I think about Jessie’s death. My sister should be living right now, not me. She donated a portion of her liver to me so I could survive cancer, yet she died. Sometimes, life is a cold-hearted bitch. If I want to sleep around and not have a romantic relationship, then it’s my choice. Nessa means well, but sometimes she is overbearing.

“Don’t pull this shit again,” I threaten. Vanessa smiles as she leads me to Pete. Pete hands Vanessa the flowers to take to my condo.

Vanessa gets into the Uber car, and it drives off. I couldn’t stand the poor guy up, so I’ll suck it up, deal with it, and go on this date.

“Let’s ditch the club and go to a restaurant,” Pete suggests, looping his arm with mine. It feels weird, because I haven’t been on a date since my senior year at Seattle University.

“I made us a reservation at Salty’s,” he says with a wink.

An Uber comes to the curb, he opens the car door, and I slide in.

“That’s my favorite restaurant,” I blurt, surprised and pleased.

“Yeah, Vanessa hinted it to me when I met her at the grocery store. She went on and on about how amazing you are.” I blush at his comment.

“What else did she tell you about me?” I ask, strapping the seatbelt over my shoulder.

“You’re an oncologist, and you just got a new job, and she wants you to celebrate with me.” I hear the nervousness in his voice.

Minutes later, the car stops, and we step onto the curb of the street.

We stroll to the front entrance of the restaurant, and the host shows us to a table overlooking the Alki beach. The briny air hits my nostrils as I am seated across from Pete. The waitress comes and hands us our menus. Usually, I’ll order the smoked half chicken. But since we are celebrating my new job, I order the fresh lobster with a glass of red wine. Pete orders a beer. The waitress jots our order down, collects the menus and leaves.

“You’re not hungry?” I ask, trying to make conversation.

“No,” he murmurs. The night is inky blue, the buildings of Seattle lit up in red, white, and green. We sit, not speaking, chatter filling the atmosphere.

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