Page 65 of Prince Charmless
One snaps a picture. They’re both wearing camo-print baseball caps. I can hear the discussion of the fashion choice in my head.Hey bro, look at these cool hats I bought, we’ll be totally invisible!
Taylor closes his eyes and shakes his head like he barely has the energy to do it.
“Could you give us a quote?” one of them calls.
He cups his hands around his mouth. “I don’t give quotes to fools who hide in bushes!”
“Should we tell someone about them?” I ask him.
“Probably.”
“Or at least a nice pic of you and your new girlfriend!” the photographer yells. “A kiss or something!”
The guy beside him shouts something in French.
“You guys are pervs!” Taylor shouts. “Et occupe-toi de tes oignons!”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I called them perverts.”
I throw my head back. “God, Taylor, the second part.”
I think the alcohol has officially hit.
“Oh. I told them to mind their own onions.”
“Huh?”
“Like ‘mind your own business’. Lotta French expressions are food-related.”
Taylor is giving me lots of interesting factoids today, from penguin sex to French idioms.
The peanut gallery becomes relentless with their hollering, so I lean up and give Taylor a sneaky peck on the cheek, too quick for them to take a picture and too gentle for my lips to make much contact. Taylor doesn’t flinch, his focus rather on the photographers who have now started to boo.
“What are they doing?” he asks.
“They’re booing because that was the most pathetic kiss of all time. Wait, am I going to turn into a frog? I don’t remember how the story goes.”
“Worse than Noah’s?”
“Yeah, but I technically gave them what they wanted.”
Taylor hums. “I’m sick of the booing. Can I try something less pathetic?”
The “sure” falls out of my lips. I don’t even think about it.
After wrapping his hands around my back and waist, the rest happens so fast. He lunges, I dip backwards, his lips plant on mine.
I’m being kissed.
My grip goes to his neck for balance as his jacket falls off my shoulders. The photographers shout something, but I’m too busy focusing on Taylor’s face attached to my own. I’ve never beendippedbefore. I thought this maneuver was only logistically possible in movies and staged wedding pictures. He’s so theatrical. And strong. Though all my weight is in his arms, he makes me feel light as a feather.
The kiss is lasting, like enough-to-take-a-picture lasting. And right now, I couldn’t care less. As soon as I part my lips to go deeper, Taylor swings me back up and yells, “Now get out of here before I call security!”
The two men sprint off into the night. I’m guessing they got what they wanted.
“You’re drunk,” I tell him and myself.
