Kiss Me Like You Mean It
SOME GOOD KARMA
New York City could get extremely cold, especially in the middle of November, when winter was just starting to roll in. I could see the myriad snowflakes falling outside from the front window of the CD store I managed on West 21st Street, along with all the passersby scurrying past and nestling into their winter coats.
I was just in the middle of alphabetizing a section of the record collection towards the back of the store when the censor at the front door dinged to signal a customer entering. I’d been working at Sam Goody for over six years, since I’d turned sixteen, and with also living in the world’s most diverse place for my adult years, I’d gotten the chance to see just about all humanity had to offer; but the man that stepped into the shop then, just after two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, was a whole new level of attractive.
He was decorated in tattoos literally from head to toe, at least from what I could tell, but excluding his face. He had these large, round eyes with a look of childlike innocence in them that I swore I could’ve melted in. He was much taller than pretty much anyone I’d ever met with snugly fitting, faded, black jeans around his long legs and a thick, navy blue jumper on his torso. Shoulder-length locks of wavy, brown hair, parted a little off to the side, fell into his face as he stepped through the glass door and into the store.
I could’ve died from how beautiful he was.
He offered me a small smile as he stepped into the hip hop section. I returned the expression and offered him a cheery, “Hello.”
“Hello.” He was British—so British, in fact, that I was pretty sure I could swim in his sweet, sultry, low voice. I’d never heard anything like it before.
I gazed back down at the pile of 1970’s disco vinyls with nothing but clutter in my brain. It really wasn’t everyday that someone so damn attractive walked into a person’s life, especially when that person’s life was mine.
After about a minute of putting in a real, concerted effort to alphabetizing the vinyls before me, I glanced back at the customer. He hadn’t moved since I first saw him walk in, and he stood as still as a statue, aside from his teeth chewing on his thumb nail. From the looks of it—and putting forth my worst stereotyping generalizations—I was pretty sure he was lost.
I walked over to him after justifying my actions as simply being friendly and amongst the best in customer service. I wasn’t going to hit on him. “What brings you in today?”
He jumped almost half a foot back, clearly startled from my gesture. It took him about one second to bring his eyes back to normal size before he offered me a sheepish smile. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”
I grinned back at him, but I couldn’t stop my smile from fading once I saw the gold ring on his left hand as he pushed some hair out of his face. It was so typical that someone in his league would be taken—just my luck, really.
“I saw you with the records as I walked past,” he continued. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen any—I was curious to stop in.”
I continued to smile at him, but I didn’t need to sugar coat it so much anymore, being that he was taken and all. “Well just let me know if you need anything,” I offered him. “I’ll be by the vinyls.” I turned to leave, but his voice made me come full circle to face him once more.
“Um—actually there is something you can help me with.”
I waited for him to go on, and he quickly obliged. “Someone stole the radio in my car.” The smirk on his face seemed embarrassed, as if he was ashamed that someone had robbed him in New York City. “I’ve replaced it with the original—it was an upgrade I’d installed myself—but my only options for music now are the radio or CD’s, and I’m not much of a fan of the radio. Plus, I’m also not too familiar with the stations around here anyway.”
“New Yorkers are so loving sometimes.” We shared a chuckle at my sarcasm, but he meant business with finding some music for his car.
“I don’t want a CD with songs that I’ll have to skip,” he quickly added. “I want something I can listen to straight through, but quite frankly, I can’t think of an album I’m that fond of.”
I twisted my mouth from side to side while I thought about my favorite album. The first thing that came to mind was In Currents by The Early November, but I was also a pretty huge fan of Vessel by Twenty-One Pilots.
“Have you ever listened to The Early November or Twenty-One Pilots?” There was no point in suggesting the albums to him if he’d already heard them; and he struck me as the hipster type to know a million and one off-the-wall bands.
“I’ve heard of Twenty-One Pilots but never listened to them,” he answered. “I’m unfamiliar with The Early November, though.”
I grinned. “Follow me.”
I led him to the rock and alternative section, picked up my two favorite CD’s, and handed them to him. “If you don’t like The Early November after hearing it the first time, don’t bother trying with it; but definitely give Twenty-One Pilots a second or third chance if you don’t like them at first—they’ll grow on you.”
He took the CD’s with a small smile on his lips. “What if I don’t like either?”
“Well then you’re hopeless, and you should just drive in silence—or replace your stereo with whatever it was before your unfortunate incident.” We exchanged smirks.
“How much do I owe you then?” he asked.
“Consider it a gift.” Getting his car radio stolen seemed pretty shitty in and of itself. I could afford to buy him two CD’s. “If you like them, then you can come back and pay for more of my suggestions.”
He peered down at the CD cases in his hands, suddenly growing very serious as he studied the back of In Currents. “May I ask your name, then?”
I didn’t know why there was a sudden shift in his demeanor, but I quickly decided I didn’t like it. His smile was much prettier than the crease between his eyebrows.
“Violet,” I answered; “and you are...?”
He smiled once more, once again suddenly flipping back to jovial and happy-go-lucky. “Oliver. Why such a generous gift, Violet?”
I snorted in laughter, but I really liked his name. “A couple CD’s hardly counts as generous, dude, but I need some good karma on my side;” and that was definitely the truth. My life had turned to shit in the past six months, if I was being honest with myself.
He nodded pensively but remained silent for a long while. “You believe in karma, then?”
I shrugged. “It kind of seems to be legit. I do shitty things; shitty things happen to me. I do good things; I tend to notice good things a little more.”
He bit down on his lip. “Well I think good things will come to you, Violet;” and with that, he held the CD’s up in a salute and offered me one last smile. “Cheers.”
I was just in the middle of alphabetizing a section of the record collection towards the back of the store when the censor at the front door dinged to signal a customer entering. I’d been working at Sam Goody for over six years, since I’d turned sixteen, and with also living in the world’s most diverse place for my adult years, I’d gotten the chance to see just about all humanity had to offer; but the man that stepped into the shop then, just after two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, was a whole new level of attractive.
He was decorated in tattoos literally from head to toe, at least from what I could tell, but excluding his face. He had these large, round eyes with a look of childlike innocence in them that I swore I could’ve melted in. He was much taller than pretty much anyone I’d ever met with snugly fitting, faded, black jeans around his long legs and a thick, navy blue jumper on his torso. Shoulder-length locks of wavy, brown hair, parted a little off to the side, fell into his face as he stepped through the glass door and into the store.
I could’ve died from how beautiful he was.
He offered me a small smile as he stepped into the hip hop section. I returned the expression and offered him a cheery, “Hello.”
“Hello.” He was British—so British, in fact, that I was pretty sure I could swim in his sweet, sultry, low voice. I’d never heard anything like it before.
I gazed back down at the pile of 1970’s disco vinyls with nothing but clutter in my brain. It really wasn’t everyday that someone so damn attractive walked into a person’s life, especially when that person’s life was mine.
After about a minute of putting in a real, concerted effort to alphabetizing the vinyls before me, I glanced back at the customer. He hadn’t moved since I first saw him walk in, and he stood as still as a statue, aside from his teeth chewing on his thumb nail. From the looks of it—and putting forth my worst stereotyping generalizations—I was pretty sure he was lost.
I walked over to him after justifying my actions as simply being friendly and amongst the best in customer service. I wasn’t going to hit on him. “What brings you in today?”
He jumped almost half a foot back, clearly startled from my gesture. It took him about one second to bring his eyes back to normal size before he offered me a sheepish smile. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”
I grinned back at him, but I couldn’t stop my smile from fading once I saw the gold ring on his left hand as he pushed some hair out of his face. It was so typical that someone in his league would be taken—just my luck, really.
“I saw you with the records as I walked past,” he continued. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen any—I was curious to stop in.”
I continued to smile at him, but I didn’t need to sugar coat it so much anymore, being that he was taken and all. “Well just let me know if you need anything,” I offered him. “I’ll be by the vinyls.” I turned to leave, but his voice made me come full circle to face him once more.
“Um—actually there is something you can help me with.”
I waited for him to go on, and he quickly obliged. “Someone stole the radio in my car.” The smirk on his face seemed embarrassed, as if he was ashamed that someone had robbed him in New York City. “I’ve replaced it with the original—it was an upgrade I’d installed myself—but my only options for music now are the radio or CD’s, and I’m not much of a fan of the radio. Plus, I’m also not too familiar with the stations around here anyway.”
“New Yorkers are so loving sometimes.” We shared a chuckle at my sarcasm, but he meant business with finding some music for his car.
“I don’t want a CD with songs that I’ll have to skip,” he quickly added. “I want something I can listen to straight through, but quite frankly, I can’t think of an album I’m that fond of.”
I twisted my mouth from side to side while I thought about my favorite album. The first thing that came to mind was In Currents by The Early November, but I was also a pretty huge fan of Vessel by Twenty-One Pilots.
“Have you ever listened to The Early November or Twenty-One Pilots?” There was no point in suggesting the albums to him if he’d already heard them; and he struck me as the hipster type to know a million and one off-the-wall bands.
“I’ve heard of Twenty-One Pilots but never listened to them,” he answered. “I’m unfamiliar with The Early November, though.”
I grinned. “Follow me.”
I led him to the rock and alternative section, picked up my two favorite CD’s, and handed them to him. “If you don’t like The Early November after hearing it the first time, don’t bother trying with it; but definitely give Twenty-One Pilots a second or third chance if you don’t like them at first—they’ll grow on you.”
He took the CD’s with a small smile on his lips. “What if I don’t like either?”
“Well then you’re hopeless, and you should just drive in silence—or replace your stereo with whatever it was before your unfortunate incident.” We exchanged smirks.
“How much do I owe you then?” he asked.
“Consider it a gift.” Getting his car radio stolen seemed pretty shitty in and of itself. I could afford to buy him two CD’s. “If you like them, then you can come back and pay for more of my suggestions.”
He peered down at the CD cases in his hands, suddenly growing very serious as he studied the back of In Currents. “May I ask your name, then?”
I didn’t know why there was a sudden shift in his demeanor, but I quickly decided I didn’t like it. His smile was much prettier than the crease between his eyebrows.
“Violet,” I answered; “and you are...?”
He smiled once more, once again suddenly flipping back to jovial and happy-go-lucky. “Oliver. Why such a generous gift, Violet?”
I snorted in laughter, but I really liked his name. “A couple CD’s hardly counts as generous, dude, but I need some good karma on my side;” and that was definitely the truth. My life had turned to shit in the past six months, if I was being honest with myself.
He nodded pensively but remained silent for a long while. “You believe in karma, then?”
I shrugged. “It kind of seems to be legit. I do shitty things; shitty things happen to me. I do good things; I tend to notice good things a little more.”
He bit down on his lip. “Well I think good things will come to you, Violet;” and with that, he held the CD’s up in a salute and offered me one last smile. “Cheers.”