Call Me Love Ch. 01

Turns out, she's already got me sorted without needing to ask if I can bum a smoke. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a little metal case with a purple heart and this heart-shaped star-looking symbol. It takes a second of staring at it before I can place it; it's the logo for H.I.M., that goth metal group from Finland, I think. Knew plenty of girls back in school who had crushes on the singer. Guess she's a fan of love metal too. Puts two smokes between her lips, and she sparks 'em up before passing one to me. That electric jolt zaps me again as I take it. Inhaling deeply, that's better. I notice her lip prints staining the cig -- not some regular red or pink, more like a berry shade. I'm just staring at her for a moment, wondering just who this girl is.

"So, what's your name? Can't keep calling you 'love.'"

She bites her lip again; she's gonna bite clean through it if she keeps that up. Always wondered why girls do that. Well, not entirely -- girls are cleverer than us blokes, and they know it drives us mad.

Where do you look when a girl's chatting you up? If you're attentive, her eyes; if you're smitten, her lips; and if you're not quite there, maybe a bit lower, hoping for a glance back up before you get caught.

"Sounds nice when you say it," she replies before extending her hand. "You can call me... Kit." She sounds unsure, like she just plucked it out of the air but I roll with it. Kit? Blimey, Kit? Better keep jokes about banging on my kit to meself, not sure how great her sense of humor is.

I shake her hand, being the gentleman my mum raised me to be, although I might look like one, the thoughts in my head are anything but gentlemanly. "Like a drum kit?"

"Yeah, like a drum kit," She smirks and gives a nod with a look on her face that says, 'You're adorable.'

"Don't trust me with a real name?" I'm only teasing; I know it's a thing most girls do, can't be telling some bloke you just met everything; some guys are creeps. She's got her wits about her, I like that. My eyes linger a bit too much on how her lips handle the fag and that tiny 'O' they form when she blows out a cloud of smoke, while taking a puff on mine.

"Of course not. I mean, you're smokin' hot, but who knows, you could be a total psycho." I can't help but chuckle. A girl with a sense of humor gets bonus points in my book.

"Ben."

"Ben..." I like the way she says my name. "Cute."

"Ta, darlin'."

"I meant your name." Now she's taking the mickey, and I'm grinning like a proper muppet. This girl's got jokes, eh?

"Oi, reckon you're a smart one, yeah?"

She puts on this act, playing all innocent, then drops, "I think I'm adorable."

That she is, that she is. No doubt there, either.

Ever get that feeling like someone's checking you out, giving you the 'come hither' eyes? But then, you realize they ain't actually looking at you but checking out someone behind or beside you? Well, that's not the case here. This girl's locked on me, and it ain't my face she's after. Nah, I've seen that look before -- the full-body scan, like she's deciding whether to dive into something wild. You know the one. And that's exactly how she's eyeing me, right down to my belt. Gotta admit, I'd be a tad self-conscious if I didn't have a bit of a buzz going on.

Now, I ain't Mr. Vanity, and I know I ain't the top looker in the joint, but I scrub up alright. Between years of banging those drums and spare time in a boxing ring, I've kept myself in decent shape. I ain't no gym rat, but I got some lean muscle going on.

"Snap a pic, love, it'll last longer," It's just a joke, I'm not bothered by her ogling at all, she can stare all she likes. Honestly, I've been watching her from the get-go, so it's only fair play.

This cheeky bird, she actually whips out her phone and snaps a picture of me. I was just having a laugh, but the fact that she bothered to grab her phone must mean I'm working some charm on her. She just shrugs, completely unapologetic.

"What? It's only fair, right?" Alright, she's got a point there, probably caught me checking her out earlier.

"Dunno what you're on about, darlin'," I play it cool, but the look she's giving me says she knows I'm talking nonsense.

"Oh, come on, you're no saint." Hitting the nail on the head. I let out a laugh, finishing up my cig. "I saw you looking at me."

I exhale my last puff of smoke; her banter's razor-sharp, and this girl's mouth might just do me in. Wasn't planning on being so upfront, but she swung the door wide open. Can't whinge when I walk right through.

"Alright, darlin', let's get one thing straight. Gorgeous girls strutting their stuff in those short skirts are gonna turn heads. It's just the way it goes,"

"You think I'm gorgeous?" Walked right into that one, didn't I?

"Well, you're a sort, no denying that, but who knows, you could be a total nutter," I shoot back, playing her game. "Short skirts, are eye candy to us blokes, love." She flicks her cig end and squashes it under her boot. "Makes a fella have all kinds of naughty thoughts."

"Oh yeah? What kind of naughty thoughts?"

"The kinda stuff that'd get a guy slapped if he blurts it out," I say with a grin, feeling like we're vibing on the same frequency, the excitement simmering. I can't help but wonder where this might lead; maybe things will get a bit more cozy. "Do I get a pic of you?" She shrugs, but flashes me this mischievous grin, like she's daring me to go for it.

Don't play games of chicken with me; you'll lose every time. I'm as stubborn as they come. I dig into my pocket for my phone and snap a quick one. She's just leaning against the wall, looking way too good for such a casual pose. Now that I don't think she'll slap me, I steal a long glance at her, appreciating them curves she's got.

"Got a girl?" No beating around the bush, but she sure beat me to it. I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair.

"Nah, girls like the idea of dating a musician until they actually have to put up with it. Birds don't stick around much after that. It's not all rock shows and roses." 

She shoots me a pouty look, and her lips look like they're a treat to kiss. "Aw, poor you," she coos, and it gets me chuckling again, can't seem to keep a straight face around this one.

"How about you, love? Got a bloke?" If she's got a fella, I just might cry myself to sleep. 

"Nope." I can't believe it, but I'm plenty grateful.

"How does that happen? You own a mirror?" I tease, hoping to see her laugh again. She does, and that lip-biting thing she does is really driving me wild but I reckon she knows that.

"Guys are all talk, they say they want a wild girl until they have to deal with one," 

Blimey, that's a statement that will live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life.

"Is that right? You a wild girl?" Suddenly, I wish I had another fag to occupy my fidgety fingers, but then I remember my drumsticks. Those trusty drumsticks are like an old friend in my hands, keeping me grounded in the rhythm of things.

"According to my mom and the fancy private school that booted me out," She spills with a sly grin like she's proper chuffed about it. Oh, there's a story there and I'm all ears.

Brilliant, just when I thought this night couldn't get any more interesting -- or maybe complicated. Kicked out of a fancy private school? Aw, who cares? I'm no stranger to a reprimand from my school days, seen a few detentions and suspensions, never got the boot though, my mum would've had my hide.

"You're having a laugh, ain't ya, love?" I decide to cut to the chase. "You got any clue what's racing through my mind right now?" She lets out a chuckle, low and sultry, like a cat on the prowl.

"Why don't you share?" She challenges, leaning in closer. "Or maybe you should show me."

I blow out a breath and lean back, fingers laced behind my head. This night, mate, it's gonna be one to remember. This girl, she's something else. Absolutely gorgeous, killer smile, sharp as they come, and a cheeky side that's got me reeling.

"Where's your turf?" I ask, trying to ease the tension. She shoots me a look that's all confusion with a cute little head tilt, looks like I might've lost her, with a laugh I try again. "Whereabouts you from, love?"

"Seattle,"

I look around, it's not raining cats and dogs yet, but it's off to a fine start, you don't come to London to get away from the rain that's for sure. "So, you swapped the Seattle drizzle for the London pour, did you?"

"Excuse me, but I like the rain and Seattle has the distinction of being the birthplace of the kings and queens of Grunge." Oh, she's a grunge girl, huh? Oh, now I can work with that. In fact, I see a spot for a bit of teasing.

"Well, it ain't the stomping ground of the Clash or the Who, or even Queen, but who are the rulers of grunge, huh? Just Kurt Cobain for you lot?" The gobsmacked expression on her mug tells me I've hit a nerve, but she's taking it in good spirits. I'm clued up on Kurt Cobain and a few other names in the grunge scene -- love the stuff. But you can suss out a lot about a bird by the headbangers she's into.

"Whoa, whoa now! Being a hottie doesn't excuse ignorance, baby. You're talking about the legacy bequeathed to us, the misunderstood youth, by musical legends like Lane Staley, Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder, Courtney Love, Kim Gordon, Tad Doyle, and Kat Bjelland."

So, I'm a hottie, huh? Alright. I can roll with that. Those are some good names, she's got some good taste, and seems I've met an equal, full of fire and I get the feeling stepping on the toes of her heroes might see me tossed into traffic. I like a girl who knows her tunes. 

"Yeah, alright, fair enough, not bad for American music."

"Well, you know, when it comes to Queen, it's all about Freddie Mercury, right? That 'stache is legendary and it may as well be the best part of her majesty's greatest hits. And The Who, they're cool, but let's face it -- Pete Townshend's windmill moves look like something he practices in front of a mirror. Now, The Clash, they're rebellious and all, but Joe Strummer's voice is almost as rebellious as my mom when she catches me sneaking into the cookie jar. Love the classics, but let's not pretend they're immune to a bit of good-natured ribbing, yeah?"

Me jaws on the floor, drumsticks gripped tight, and the laughter bellowing from inside lets me know I'm the punchline of a gag. They might not grasp our chat, but the look of pure shock on my face says it all. Never been left completely gobsmacked until this moment. She's got cheek, firing back with that lip-licking sass, and the smug grin on her face tells me she thinks she's won this round.

"Now, now, careful there love, those are fighting words. Freddie's 'stache might be legendary, but let's not sleep on Roger Taylor's drumming magic with Queen -- bloke's the unsung hero, keeping that beat alive. And about The Who, fair play on the windmill dig, but Keith Moon's drumming antics could give Pete a run for his money any day -- he's the real show-stealer. Now, with The Clash, I get your point on Joe's voice, but let's not forget Topper Headon's rhythm skills -- the backbone of rebellion right there. Drummers deserve some love too, you know. Maybe they don't get the spotlight, but trust me, they're the secret sauce. So, how 'bout we give a nod to the beat keepers next time we're bantering about the classics, eh?"

"Oh! Touched a nerve did I?" She's grinning from ear to ear and it's hard to pretend to be anything other than amused.

"Think you're clever, do you? Mind how you go with that mouth love, might land you into a bit of a mess."

"Don't worry, in my experience my mouth is very good at getting me out of trouble too." I was right, she's got that sass on tap, giving me a run for my money. Gotta cool this down again between us. Time for a change in subject.

"What brings you to good ol' London, reckon you didn't come for the weather?"

"Aw, no snappy comebacks? Shame, was hoping I might see more of what that mouth can do." She gives a shrug and I'm in need of another cold brew, maybe a shower too. "My dad's British, hangs his hat here," 

Say what now?

"Wait, your pops a Brit?" Can't hide my surprise at that one, figured she'd be a student or just passin' through.

"Yeah, swept my mom off her feet with that accent too," Too? Guess, I made an impression. "Mom and I aren't exactly on the same wavelength, so I decided to give us both some breathing room and take my dad up on his offer to put down some new roots, dual citizenship and all."

Hang on, what?

"You're a Londoner?" I gesture to the ground, trying to wrap my head around this girl's story. She winks, and I'm glad the conversation is still rolling. "So, you pop back for a visit, what else? What's your gig? Uni? Work?" I throw in, arms crossed, drumsticks still in hand.

"Yeah, I don't sound it do I?" She gives me a little shrug, "Lived in the States with mom till recently, my dad's getting on in years and no time like the present, right?" Fine by me, could listen to her talk all night. "Got a job at my dads' bike shop and that's good enough for me, right now." 

She's like, 'Oh, I'm on the tools at my old man's garage.' Found me a girl who's a gearhead? This one ain't just a ten, she's up there in the high thirties. Should've been tuning in, but I was well gone, picturing her in them mucky overalls, splattered with grease and oil, outshining the other geezers. Blimey, she's still yapping away... What the heck is she on about again?

"Who has it all figured out in their twenties anyway? And what's the point? To slave away at some soul-sucking dead-end gig where your boss couldn't care less about who you are?" She shakes her head, like it's common knowledge. "Hard pass on that, thanks. That's not what your twenties are for." I couldn't agree more, I tell ya, the more she talks the more relaxed she gets. Like she's more herself, like she's comfortable.

"What are your twenties for?" 

"Staying up late, listening to tunes, hanging out with friends, traveling, talking about life, making mistakes, breaking hearts, riding fast bikes, having good sex that makes your toes curl, figuring out what you like." She pauses and it's like she's getting lost in her own thoughts, gotta say I wouldn't mind getting lost there with her. "Showing up to parties and hitting it off with smokin' hot drummers. I hear they're the secret sauce." 

No mistaking it now; the attraction's buzzing between us, loud and clear. Seems like the only move left is to take the plunge. Must've been on her mind too 'cause she don't waste a sec.

"You know, you never did explain those naughty thoughts guys have about girls in short skirts."

I motion for her to come closer with a playful finger, but she stays put, shaking her head with a hint of mischief. Leaning back against the balcony rail, she's all confidence, like she knows I'll give in eventually. And of course, I do. Closing the distance between us, I trap her against the rail with my arms, and she settles in like she's getting exactly what she wants.

"You're not going all shy school-boy on me, are you?" She teases, eyes full of mischief. I shake my head, getting in closer.

"Nah, ain't one to spill me fantasies for just anyone," I say, lips grazing her ear. 

I've got her hooked now.

I gently tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, tracing a finger down her cheek, stopping just short of her neck. Her skin feels like silk under my touch, and she smells incredible, like a lure drawing me in. But I've got my own tricks up my sleeve, and I start laying out the thoughts that have been brewing since I first laid eyes on her in that skirt of hers. Her eyes widen, and her face loses its playful demeanor, replaced by a raw desire and an electric tension between us. I'm sure everyone inside is watching, maybe even placing bets. But frankly, I couldn't care less. I haven't met a girl this captivating in ages.

And let me tell you, when she bites her lip, it's one thing. But when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, well, it's game over, mate.

"Yours or mine?"

Bloody hell. I'm well and truly done for.

"Let's make some music together."

I've locked lips with my fair share of girls, but maybe I've just not been kissing the right ones. Kit, she's different. She's all lips and tongue right from the start, and it's got my brain short-circuiting. A kiss can tell you a lot about a person, and with Kit, it's like she's setting my whole world on fire with just a simple kiss. She's got me in a spin, clouding my head, and making me forget my own name.

We've barely set foot inside my flat, and before I can even shut the door, she's already giving my clothes a good tug, like they've gone and ticked her off. I've just enough sense to give the door a good kick to slam it shut. Tonight's been a stroke of luck, hasn't it? If I hadn't let Jeff talk me into going to that party, I'd never have crossed paths with Kit. Who do I thank? Jeff or Lady Luck? I'm not the type of bloke who buys into soulmates or true love, but I might be having a bit of an epiphany with this girl. And I've got her all night. 

What a smashing party. I owe Jeff a drink.

I can't tell if she's aiming to kiss me or take a bite out of me, but frankly, I couldn't care less. I've totally underestimated Kit. She's not the type to sit back and let me do all the legwork. It's a relief because she's kissing me like she's on the clock. I can barely catch a breath between her lips, she's somewhere between 'I want you' and 'You're mine'.

The night ain't going anywhere, but she sure seems to be in a hurry to get us to wherever she's got in mind. It's been a hot minute since I've had a girl like this, almost forgot how to handle one. 

Almost.

"Easy there, love. If you keep kissing me like that, I'll start to think you've got somewhere else to be. Might hurt my feelings," She gives me a grin, taking my hint, slowing down a bit, kissing me like she's trying to taste me. That's more like it.

That plaid slips right off her shoulders once I've popped those buttons, won't be needing it where we're headed. This cheeky one ain't sporting much more than a teensy crop top, it's so faded it's almost see-through, and she's got some ink peeking out. You know, the usual girl stuff -- roses and thorns. But it suits her, curling around her ribs and down her hip. I wonder what else she's got tucked away.

"Bedroom?" she asks in between kisses, tugging my jacket off and letting it fall to the floor. I nod behind her, and we start making our way.

Never been happier that I bothered tidying up the place than I am right now. I can even brag that me bed's kinda sorted--nothing posh like them hotel bed-making wizards, but it at least gives off the impression that I'm not a total mess. I fumble for the light switch and dial it down a tad. What can I say? I've got a touch of the romantic in me. I know girls ain't exactly fans of having a spotlight on 'em.

We stumble toward the bed, not far at all, a right mess of limbs. She yanks my shirt over my head, and I catch that look she gives me, that lingering once-over. It never gets old how a girl looks at you like you're a snack they can't wait to get their hands on.

"Find something you fancy?"

I reckon she likes what she sees, judging by the way she grabs me by the belt with a solid tug bringing our hips together, and that's me done, right there. I love a girl who ain't shy about what she wants. Her lips are back on mine, and I can hear things hitting the floor -- keys, a phone maybe; hope it's still in one piece, but I can't be arsed to care. It's just noise. We nearly trip over one of her boots she's kicked off; one less thing to take off.

We finally land on the bed, snagging a spot on the edge and I pull her onto my lap. Her mouth's hungry against mine and she moans, and that's how you know you've kissed a girl just right -- they start making noises like that.