Champagne
Short Story
Author: Daphne owner of:"Of Ritchie Neville and Other Fine Arts"(on links page)
"Can I kiss you?"
Ritchie's words broke the stillness of the night and echoed its way around the car and into her head. A shiver ran through her as he edged closer, carelessly brushing away the dark hair that fell on his face. Or perhaps it was just the cold. Her mind raced with thoughts: They were friends, best friends. Wasn't that it? He had Hannah, and perhaps she had mistaken her adoration for him as love. And yet he'd never looked at her quite like this before. Ritchie Neville wanted to kiss her.
"I mean, would you mind?"
She snapped back to reality. He had already unbuckled his seat belt and was staring at her with his stone cold eyes. Stone cold. Then she realized he was drunk. She had to laugh at herself; she hadn't noticed all night. She could smell the champagne on his breath although the window was open, and the wind was just beginning to pick up, swirling about his face. It was a sharp wind, cutting her right through, just like his steel blue eyes. Can I kiss you, it whispered. No. Yes. And suddenly, they were the same words. Would you mind?
Almost relunctantly, she shook her head. No, Ritchie, I don't mind. The wind was stronger now, and it blew into her ears, roaring. She closed her eyes. Go away, wind. His lips touched hers, soft, and everything was gone except for the bittersweet taste of the champagne on his lips and then on hers. He was drunk, and she didn't care.
The wind raged against her, numbing her against the feel of his hand on her cheek, the gentle brush of his leather jacket against her bare arms. Just as she was out of breath, he turned away, biting his lip. The smell of champagne was faintly there. Almost not there at all. It couldn't be there forever. He couldn't be drunk forever. Frustrated, she wanted to slap him then, because for a moment there, she felt he knew her soul and certainly didn't care. But she could only look at him now and wonder what the hell he thought he was doing. Cool, calm Ritchie was fumbling.
They mumbled good-byes, or rather he coughed it, and she stepped out of the car. She turned to look at him one last time, just barely catching his lost glance, before he sped off like he always did, except this time, he wouldn't remember it tomorrow. Tomorrow, it would be Ritchie and Hannah again. Tomorrow, he would smile and say hello and nothing more.
He disappeared around that familiar corner even before she could take another breath. He was always one for speed. And just as the wind finally died down to a still, cold night, she began to sob.
