Her earlier words replay in my mind, There is nothing you can say or do that will make me feel better about this.
I take those words as a challenge. I know I can find a way to make Maria smile. She just needs a little pick-me-up, that’s all.
I slide a CD into my stereo, and a few seconds later, the band KISS is playing. The song is “I Was Made for Lovin’ You,” and normally, Maria bobs her head along to the beat and sings along with all the do-do-do’s.
“Seriously? Gene Simmons is not ideal for a time like this, Remy,” she grumbles and lets out an aggravated sigh. Her eyes stay fixated on the windshield, even though, with the car still parked, the scenery isn’t changing.
I grin. Okay, fine. No KISS.
Truthfully, songs from this band have a bit of a history. One that Maria utilizes every time she’s trying to get me to kiss her. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m the one who isn’t ready for our first official kiss.
Well, I am ready. Trust me, I’m ready. But I just want to make sure she’s ready. She’s a little younger than me, and I don’t know…she’s not like any of the other girls I’ve dated.
She’s different. Special. I don’t want to fuck any of it up.
And Gene Simmons and his band have spurred a game of “kiss” between the two of us. Maria puts on one of their songs, trying to get me to kiss her, and I kiss every part of her face but her lips.
It drives her nuts. But man, it’s kind of amazing at the same time. Although it’s probably also dangerous because it drives me nuts too. So nuts, in fact, that by the end of the night, I have to throw my ass in a cold shower when I get home. Let me tell you, blue balls aren’t a myth. They are the real deal.
I slide in another CD, but this time, the new song doesn’t cause a volatile reaction from Maria. It doesn’t exactly make her turn all happy either, but still, it’s progress.
It’s a Supremes greatest hits CD, and the song currently playing is called “Baby Love.”
I start to sing the lyrics out loud, giving my best Diana Ross impression. I even do a few doo-wop-style dance moves from the driver’s seat. But all I get is the side-eye from the pretty girl beside me.
Okay. Yeah. It’s time to bring out the big guns. The song Maria calls her “happy song.”
CD switched again, new song on, and Maria crosses her arms over her chest when the opening beats I know she knows like the back of her hand begin to play.
“Man, I love this song,” I say, and she refuses to look in my direction. “It always makes me happy. It’s almost like it’s my happy song, you know what I mean, Ria?”
When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “It’s too bad my favorite singing partner is mad at me. Marvin Gaye is feeling a little lost over here without his Tammi.”
“I’m not mad at you, Remy,” she says quietly but still loud enough for me to hear over the music. “I’m just mad in general.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I hold up an air microphone in front of my face and start to sing the opening lyrics.
Maria rolls her eyes, but it only takes another ten seconds before she’s watching me. And the more I sing, the more I notice her shoulders start to relax away from her ears.
“Was I being mean to you earlier?” she eventually asks me over the music, and I shrug.
“A little, maybe?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes with a small frown, and I hold out an air microphone toward her.
“Don’t worry, Tammi. I know just the way you can make it up to me.”
The hint of a smile starts to show on her lips.
“C’mon, Ria. You know you want to.”
Her smile is visible now, and she pretends to take the air microphone from my hands.
And then, we sing our hearts out. Eventually, both of us fall into it so much, we have to share the same air microphone.
Maria giggles when I really go nuts and start trying to mimic Marvin Gaye’s voice, and by the time it comes to an end, she can’t swipe that pretty smile from her lips.
Hell yeah. I knew I could cheer her up. Just call me the World’s Best Boyfriend.
“You just couldn’t let me be mad, could you?” she asks, turning her whole body to face me.
“Nope.” I smile. “Am I in trouble now?”
She searches my eyes for the longest moment, and when her gaze flits down to my mouth briefly, she looks back up at me with a mischievous-as-hell grin. “Only the good kind.”
“The good kind of trouble? What does that mean?”