Page 1 of Kiss Me Softly

Prologue – Frankie

It’s funny how your life can change in an instant. Like one day you’re a dinosaur enjoying a tasty plant or hunting for a smaller dinosaur and bam! Here comes an asteroid. That’s how I felt the first time I met Aurora. Like I’d been hit by a giant heap of space junk, changing me forever.

It was my senior year of college at Eastern Illinois University, and I was hanging out at Bubbles & Brews, a combination bar and laundromat that was one of the most popular places in the small town that was home to our school. It was kind of a dump, and at any given time one or more machines were out of order, but the ability to have a beer while your clothes tumbled in the dryer was a draw few college students could resist. Having a bartender who didn’t look too closely at fake IDs was another draw.

I was sitting on a stool at the bar, kicking my short legs back and forth while I drank a Miller Lite and watched a rerun ofJudge Judyon the television across the bar. Judge Judy was giving someone a lecture about not ditching their kids when someone cleared their throat.

“Excuse me, but the change machine isn’t working.”

My head swiveled to follow the sweet voice coming from behind me. And there she was. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in person. She was a vision. Blonde. Perky. And wearing an EIU cheerleading outfit for some reason. As far as I was aware, there were no sports teams playing here in the area between the bar and the washing machines. Her legs were a mile long and her breasts looked spectacular in her form-fitting shirt, but there was no doubt she looked out of place. Even in her uniform she had the air of someone who came from money.

The girl smirked as I drew her attention, but the smirk fell from her face as our eyes met. I felt the oddest sensation. Like every cell in my body was being pulled apart and then put back together again. Or like I’d been hit by an asteroid.

I’d never believed in love at first sight before, but that day, I knew it was real. She wasn’t my type. I didn’t even know her name. But I still knew in what could only be called a moment of prescient clarity that this blonde cheerleader was my soulmate.

“Did you get lost on the way to the stadium?” I asked, nodding at her cheerleading outfit.

“All my clothes are dirty,” she said, her voice suddenly less strong than it had been when she first walked up. “And now the change machine is broken. I just need to get quarters to do my laundry.”

She held up a five dollar bill and looked at the bartender. “Can you make change please?”

Ralph, the grumpy old man who ran the place, just pointed to the sign above his head that read, “Bartender can’t make change.”

“But the machine is broken,” she repeated.

Ralph shrugged. He couldn’t care less about the problems of some random college girl.

“There’s a bank a few blocks up,” he growled, turning back to Judge Judy.

Her face fell.

“I might be able to help you. Let me see how much change I have left,” I said, dragging my backpack up onto the counter.

I dumped a bunch of change out of my change purse, then rooted around on the bottom of my bag, before finally searching my pockets. The cheerleader watched me avidly as I gathered all my quarters.

“I’ve got four seventy-five,” I announced after I’d counted it all up twice. “Will that do?”

“Yes!” She gave me a bright smile that made my nipples tighten, then she gave me the five dollar bill and started scooping up the change in her delicate looking hands. “Thank you so much. Let me get my laundry started and I’ll come back and buy you another beer.”

She sent an irritated look in Ralph’s direction. “Unless the bartender can’t break a twenty either.”

Ralph shrugged. “I can break a twenty, but I don’t got no quarters, missy.”

It was a lie. Not twenty minutes earlier I’d watched him empty all the change from the machines and lock it up in the safe underneath the bar. Not that I was going to say anything. If I got blackballed from this place I’d have to use the regular laundromat across town, the one that didn’t even have a Coke machine.

I turned in my chair, watching as the girl jammed two washing machines as full as she could, then added soap and fed the machines a few of the quarters I’d traded her for. Once she’d finished her task, she sashayed right back to me and hopped up on a chair, holding out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Aurora Marie Collins,” she said, her voice as formal as if she was meeting the president of the United States. “I’m a journalism major. How about you?”

I gave her an amused look. She was adorable.

“I’m Francesca Louise Haberman, but my friends call me Frankie.”

I held out a hand and when Aurora slid her fingers across my palm I couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped my mouth. Her big blue eyes fixed on our hands, like she was trying to figure out what was causing the jolts of electricity that were arcing between us. I’d never felt anything like this before.

“Hey. Aurora. There you are,” a deep voice grumbled from behind us. “I been looking all over for you.”

Aurora and I released each other’s hands as a giant bear of a man strode towards the bar, standing behind Aurora and throwing one beefy arm over her shoulder possessively. His eyes flicked over my small chest and then my face before he dismissed me. Clearly I wasn’t his type.

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