The Afternoon of Passionate Kisses

Photo by Devon Divine on Unsplash

The Night Series continued.


Do I want too much?
Am I going overboard to want that touch?
I shout it out to the night
Give me what I deserve ’cause it’s my right

Passionate Kisses by Lucinda Williams, sung by Mary Chapin Carpenter

There’s one bit of advice that’s not provided in the owner booklets for new puppies: avoid women in white pants.

I have just finished apologizing one hundred times to the once meticulous gray-haired woman, offered to pay for the cleaning of her once very white pants, and am trying to stop the wriggling puppy at the end of the leash from inflicting further damage when I notice a man in the bushes. It’s not just any man. It’s a Rossi man and the Damien one at that.

Shandy, sensing an adventure, follows me as we sneak up. I’m half-afraid to see what he’s doing in the bushes and begin to think better of just appearing, but Shandy doesn’t do anything halfway and darts to the end of the leash and grabs the cuff of his jeans.

“What the f . . .” Damien mutters, glances from Shandy who has a good grip on his jeans to me. “Figures.”

I scoff. “Nothing figures, except for you hiding in the bushes. And, why is that exactly?”

He raises his index finger in a silencing motion and then shows me his camera.

Oooh, I think. Stakeout. I push into the bushes and try to see what’s through them when I notice that there are two men and their attention is very much directed our way. “Ummm, Damien?”

“Crap,” Damien says and then the next thing I know we are kissing and my body is plastered against his.

This is nothing like that first kiss, when I thought he was Dominic. There’s no taste of cigarettes. His tongue isn’t diving toward Antarctica. It’s nice and I sigh and push closer, which almost makes him lose his fight with the azalea.

He pulls away slowly. I feel like my eyes are glazed. We are both breathing hard and I think I’d like to pursue this exploration a bit further, but he comes to his senses, unfortunately, and glances around.

“They’re gone,” he says. “Dammit.”

“Who are they? This is work stuff?”

“No. It’s personal. They’re the ones responsible for my best friend’s death.”

On that sobering note, I nod, my libido squashed. “I’m sorry.”

He nods. “Who’s your friend?”


“That’s a mouthful.”


“That too can be a mouthful.”


“Clever retort as always, Red. Glad to see you never let me down.”

“I’m leaving now. Bye.” Frustrating man.

“Hey, let me treat you to lunch.”

“It’s almost five o’clock.”

“Huh. Dinner then? And maybe we could practice that diversion tactic again.”


“The kiss, Red.”

“Dinner first. And then we’ll talk diversion.”

“Talking wasn’t what I had in mind.”

end 9/20/2016 (2)

Sascha Darlington

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