A Staged Romance

"How now Isis!" we called, shoving angry patrons off a few barstools.

With a smile, she filled a pitcher of Moosehead. It is our favorite beer, despite the fact that the name suggests the act of performing fellatio on a moose.

She put the pitcher in front of us and handed us three glasses. Mel lost the round of rock, paper, scissors and she dutifully slapped her money on the bar, which Isis promptly collected.

Isis was in good mood that night.

A full bar meant plenty of tips, and everyone knows that at the end of the night, it's the tips that pay the rent — not the salary. She was downright joyful until Seth walked in.

He is a fine looking man, she admitted to herself. To a hormone stricken teenager, that manly swagger and dimpled smile would be incredibly appealing. It was too bad he was such a jerk.

Since it was a bar they were in, and she was the bartender, it was no surprise when he put himself right in her face.

"Good evening fair lady!" he announced, smiling wide.

"Whatever," she said irritably. "What can I get you? A beer?"

"Actually, I hear your specialty is fruity drinks. Lemme try one."

Isis stared at him for a second as she handed a Guinness to one of the bar's regulars, and then, with a shrug, she took a pull on her water bottle and went through the motions of mixing the girly drink he requested. She stuck a paper umbrella in a cherry, added a slice of lemon and put the glass in front of him.

"That'll be six fifty," she said.

"Taste it first," Seth said.

"What the hell for?"

"I want to make sure you didn't poison me," he replied.

"You son of a bitch!" she hissed, but refusing to cause a scene, she took a sip, smiled to prove it was satisfactory, and held out her hand for the money.

Instead, Seth pushed the drink aside, and before she could stop him, took hold of her wrist, pulled her across the bar and kissed her.

He had to groan in appreciation.

Isis was sweet — a combination of pineapple, rum, and the taste that was uniquely her. When she gasped in what he guessed was a mix of shock and outrage, he slid his tongue between her lips, seeking more of that addictive flavor unwittingly seducing him like a drug. Seth kissed her just long enough to feel her muscles relax, her sharp inhale, and her mouth give in to the pressure of his. He held on just long enough to feel her return the embrace, and then, grinning smugly in a way he knew would infuriate, he released her and slapped a ten spot into her waiting palm.

"O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again," he said softly, leaning for another taste.

Isis stopped him by slapping her free hand against his chest.

"Try that again, and I'll break your legs," she gasped with what she hoped was outrage.

"What ere ye say, dear lady. Keep the change," he smiled, and taking his drink, he saluted her and went to join his friends.

At Seth's performance, we three lifted our pints and saluted him.

The boy was learning.

At three thirty in the morning, long after the bar had closed, Isis was on her living room floor, cursing and swearing as she did push ups to kill the arousal. She had to give it to Seth Draven; he was an excellent kisser, and he smelled incredible. A mixture of pine and soft musk. As he released her from that kiss, Isis realized to her surprise that her nipples were hard and the muscles in her inner thighs were lax and aching. It was stupid to be so turned on by something so insultingly audacious, but her body thought otherwise, and she burned with its demand.

She cursed its disobedience, and forming her hands into fists, she did the rest of her push-ups on her knuckles, knowing full well that the evening's events were going to cost her an otherwise perfect night's sleep.

"Rough night?" Ike asked, squatting in front of her face as she rose and fell.

"Your brother's an asshole!" she puffed.

"And you're going to be a mess unless you get to sleep,"

"You sound like my mother!"

"Well I'm not your mother," Ike frowned, "but I have enough experience to know that pushing away at the ground isn't going to kill whatever you're feeling — unless you've got someone underneath you," he grinned.

"Sometimes I wonder how you and that idiot brother of yours could possibly be related and then you crack a joke like that and the resemblance comes shining through!" she grunted.

Ike cocked a brow. "Where do you think he got his charm?"

"Oh bugger off!" she retorted.

Instead, Ike grabbed her by the arms, ignoring her struggles — and the painful fist in the ribs — and threw her over his shoulder, walking towards her room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" she demanded.

"You need your beauty sleep. You've been way too cranky lately," he said, dumping her on the bed.

"I'm going to kill you!"

"No, you won't. I'll make it up to you, Isis, and besides you need me to help with the rent," he returned, kissing her quickly on the cheek. "Goodnight my dear," he said, closing the door behind him.

To his surprise, she didn't run after him. He walked into her room moments later only to find her, fully clothed, and deeply asleep.

The land of dreams is where the human subconscious has the most fun. It can show us what we fear, what we dread, and what we need. It is a place that can show us what we've always known and what we've always wanted, and every once in a while, with a little help, it can send glimpses of the future yet to come.

That night, Isis had vivid dreams. She was against a wall with no means of escape, and though she felt trapped, there was also a kind of awed arousal. A hand of the person holding her slid over her cheek, her neck, her collarbone, her breast, her stomach, her hip... The other hand was pressed against the wall beside her. Though her eyes were closed, her neck arched in unwitting submission, she could a feel a mouth lowering to hers; feel the soft breath against her lips. The touch was distinctly male, as was the scent — an intoxicating combination of pine and soft musk.

Her captor's identity hit her like a ton of bricks. She wanted to escape! She needed to, but Isis' body wouldn't obey. It liked this dream, savoring the lips, teeth, and tongue of its captor; willingly surrendering to hands that unbound her clothes and lay her backward on a soft bed. Then she was tearing at his clothes, desperate to touch, feel, and taste.

Then Isis was in a forest, listening to the soft sounds of crickets and birds, and seeing the air shimmer with multi colored lightning bugs. She laid on a blanket at the base of a tree, wrapped in strong arms, her face against a solid, furred chest. Though she and the man beneath her were in open air, she felt warm, safe, and loved; the sense of peace was nearly overwhelming.

Isis awoke that morning having felt for the first time in a long time that she'd had a perfect night's sleep. It didn't matter that she dreamed of hot sweaty sex with Seth. Isis, skeptic that she was, dismissed dreams as flights of fancy. A vision created by a subconscious taking all sorts of sensory information and reassembling it just to see what the overall picture would look like. Isis believed that in the waking hours your brain realigned itself.

It didn't matter that this dream was a recurring one. Isis just happens to be one of the most stubborn people we have ever dealt with.

Day in and day out, we watched her come in looking relaxed and rested, and still treat poor Seth with indifference and derision.

It was time to take action.

As luck would have it, Isis's dismissal was causing problems in rehearsal. Though no one doubted that on stage she was Juliet, Isis couldn't bring herself to kiss her Romeo. Every time Seth moved in for the kiss, her reflexes took over and she slapped him hard across the face.

"Isis!" Professor Burbage bellowed. "Might I remind you that this is Romeo and Juliet and not Taming of the Shrew?"

"I know, professor," she said. The shame was all over her face.

"Clearly you do not!" the professor returned, throwing her head back with aristocratic indignation. "I am only going to say this once, Isis Friedan: you get over this kissing problem or you are out, do you understand?"

"I do," Isis replied, lowering her eyes.

"You have twenty four hours."

"Yes professor."

"In the mean time I suggest you apologize to Mr. Draven. This is the fifth time you've slapped him this week."

It was at that moment that the teacher opted to put an end to rehearsal. As two students held up Professor Burbage's coat, she slipped one arm in the sleeves and used the other to jab a finger as Isis and Seth. "You two are expected at the costume office within the hour. Everyone has gone for their measurements except you two. Don't be late!"

"Yes ma'am," they replied in unison, and then realizing they'd spoken at the same time, exchanged a stare. They waited until the professor had left before each grabbing their coats and heading down to Minerva's workshop.

The office was Minerva's pride and joy.

The building out of which the school operated had once been a hotel, so her workshop came complete with its own bathroom. It was everything one would want in an office, including the fact that you needed a key to lock it from the inside or out.

Isis and Seth arrived at the office early, put their coats and bags down, and waited patiently as Minerva moved around them with tape measures and a notepad.

"I'm not going to be wearing tights am I?" Seth asked, jumping slightly when Minerva measured his inseam. Isis couldn't quite stifle a laugh.

"Of course not!" Minerva answered. "They'll be more like leggings."

Minerva scribbled a few notes on a pad of paper, and then excused herself on the pretense of needing coffee. She took a key from the pocket of her apron and carefully locked the door.

The office was soundproofed to save students from the perpetual hum of sewing machines, and Minerva had already taken care of the restroom door.

The two lovebirds would have no means of escape.

In our experience, nothing brings out one's baser instincts quite like closed quarters.

"Goddamn it! Let us out!" Isis bellowed, slamming on the door. The perceptive young lady that she is, she realized instantly what we had done.

"You're wasting your time you know. That door is soundproof," Seth said, lying lazily on the office's only couch.

"The bathroom has a separate entrance!" Isis said, running towards it.

"Care to bet it's locked?"

Isis turned and glared at him, hating that he was so calm at the possibility of spending the night in here.

"You wouldn't happen to have a cell phone would you?" she asked.

Seth raised himself up on one shoulder and stared at her in surprise.

"Are you asking me for help?"

"What if I am?"

"You don't really expect me to help you after every time you've slapped me do you?"

"You want an apology?"

"Since my jaw has yet to realign itself, an apology would be a start," he said.

"Fine, I'm sorry for slapping you in the face," she said with obvious reluctance.

"Not exactly on your knees but it'll do. I don't have a cell phone,"

Isis could feel herself twitching with the urge to slug him. Seth looked totally relaxed. He sat up momentarily and pulled his sweatshirt off, his back arching.

"What the hell are you doing?" Isis demanded, swallowing slowly as she took in the muscles of his back. Against her better judgment, her mouth watered.

"It's hot in here," Seth replied, lying back on the couch. He had to hand it to Minerva; she sure knew how to pick furniture.

"How the hell can you be so calm about this?"

"It's all a matter of perception my dear," Seth replied, sitting up. "You see the present situation as being trapped with someone you hate for what could be an entire evening. I see this as an opportunity to get over this problem of yours."

"I do not have a problem!" she said stubbornly.

"Yes, you do," he began, rising from his seat. There was determination in his hazel eyes, and though pride told her to stare him down, Isis's nerves got the better of her and she grabbed the silver flask and took a healthy swig.

"You had no problem kissing me at the bar..."

"Now wait just one minute!" she said, cutting him off. "You kissed me, not the other way 'round!"

"Yeah, but you kissed me back," he said calmly, taking a step towards her.

"No I didn't!" Isis insisted, unconsciously backing away. As she needed something to do with her hands, she screwed the cap back on the flask.

"You have your version, I have mine. What I don't get is why you can't kiss me." As he spoke, Seth continued moving towards her.

Though pride commanded that she stand her ground, Isis unwittingly moved away from him. He was a fine specimen of man, she admitted to herself, taking another step backward. Seth was tall, had a nice face, and those eyes, she swallowed slowly, they were fixed on her, and not in the taunting, obnoxious way she was used to.

She came up short when her back hit the wall.

Calm as ever, he took the flask from her hands, took a sip, and tossed it aside.

With that same look of determination, he planted one hand on the wall beside her head and set the other dangerously close to her hip, caging her. Seth was so close she had to tilt her head back; she knew she could easily slip out of his grasp, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Was it arousal, or genuine interest that kept her rooted to the spot?

Isis didn't know.

Her senses were overloaded with the man in front of her, and at the moment, she could think of nothing else.

Now, one might argue that her instincts were being manipulated by the contents of the flask.

We hate to break it to all skeptics but aphrodisiacs, love potions, and the like, don't work that way. The basic ones merely suppress inhibitions. The concoctions are only effective on someone who already has feelings, be they romantic, lustful, or otherwise, for someone else.

Isis would not react to Seth if there was not a shred of interest. As there was more than a shred, we simply gave her something to counteract the inhibitions that kept her from seeing Seth as he was — a man who wanted her deeply and desperately.

"What are you doing?" Isis said at last, feeling Seth's soft breath against her lips.

"Curing you," he said, laying a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Curing me of what?" she asked, her eyes closing as he worked his way down to her jaw.

"Of your inability to kiss me," he said against her throat.

"And how is this supposed to help?" she asked shakily.

Seth raised his head and gently rubbed his lips against hers.

"Do you want to kiss me?" he asked.

Lost in the hardness of his body, his scent, and those lips rubbing gently against hers, Isis swallowed slowly, her lips parting of their own volition.

"That's not an answer, Isis," Seth said softly, passing lips gently over hers once more. "Do you or do you not want to kiss me?"

Unable to help herself, Isis nodded.

Seth was more than willing to oblige. He lowered his mouth to hers, slowly coaxing her lips with his own. Unable to do otherwise, Isis arched her neck and tilted her head to one side, parting her lips to the insisting pressure of his. Lost in his scent, his taste, she offered no resistance when his hand slid from the wall to her face, holding her closer as the kiss deepened and their tongues met. Her body was fully pressed against his. She felt everything, and knew that on some level he was just as involved in this embrace as she.

It was the most delicious, erotic experience she had ever had, and they were just kissing. In spite of all this, entangled with that all-powerful stubborn streak, was the notion that she and Seth were just acting. This unbelievably arousing move was just a method Seth was using to cure her of her problem, and with that thought in mind, she slipped from his grasp when he broke the kiss.

"You kiss by the book," she said, her voice sounding unusually high, "I think I'm cured, thank you."

Desperately in need of something to kill her arousal, she picked her flask off the floor and took a healthy swig.

Seth lowered his head to his chest, letting his longish hair fall into his eyes. The woman was driving him insane! At this rate, they were going to get blue!

He turned to his lady. She had her head buried in Minerva's small fridge. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Checking to see what kind of food Minerva's got in here. If she wants to lock us in, that's fine, but she's paying in sustenance," Isis said decidedly. "Aha!" she proclaimed, pulling two frozen pasta dishes, a half bag of salad, and a bottle of dressing from the fridge. "We feast after all!"

"Isis, I think we need to practice a little more."

Isis's spine stiffened. He saw her swallow slowly, and she turned to him, food packages in hand.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice ripe with cynicism, staring at him as though he'd grown a second head.

"I could just let you keep slapping me, and let one of our fellow students take over your part in the play..." He began.

"Over my dead body!" Isis said stubbornly.

"I thought you might say that — and the fact is, I have no desire to play Romeo for anyone else."

The food packages fell from Isis's hands. He was utterly serious. "What?" she asked dumbly.

"You heard me."

She felt color rush to her cheeks. She shook her head and went through the motions of jamming a pasta dish in the microwave — and prepping the salad. She felt Seth come up behind her, and her spine stiffened in awareness.

"This is crazy," she whispered. "You don't even like me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Seth asked, running his fingers through her hair. Though barely past her shoulders, it was soft as corn silk, and the color of mahogany.

"You pick on me all the time," she said, arching slightly as strong fingers massaged her scalp.

"Did you ever think that it was because I like you?"

"Why would a guy pick on a girl to get her attention?" she asked, tilting her head when he swept her hair to one side.

"The same reason a little boy pulls on the pigtails of the girl he likes."

"You're not a little boy, Seth."

"So glad you noticed."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, tilting her head heavenward in frustration.

"I want you to turn around and look at me. Really look at me."

Isis turned around so quickly she nearly head butted him, and quickly walked to other side of the room.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

Isis spine stiffened and she threw back her hair, staring him down like an angry war goddess. "I know your type. You're too good looking for your own good and everything you want is handed to you on a silver platter! Football didn't work out for you so you charmed your way into acting school. You decide you want a girl, and fifteen fall at your feet! I've dated your kind before; perfect white bread males who cheat on their girlfriends and ditch them when they might be getting too involved. Society's golden boys indeed; you sicken me!"

Anger rose, dark, and sharp, combining with frustration Seth had been carrying with him for over a year. "That's big talk from a forked tongue bitch!" he retorted.

Isis laughed bitterly. "Is that the best you've got?"

"That is so unfair. You're making all sorts of assumptions about me when you won't even give me the time of day! I've worked for everything I have and I don't have to justify myself to you!"

"Then why are you?" she demanded.

"Because I can't have everything I want! Did it ever occur to you that I only reason I bug you is to get you to look at me? Did you ever think that maybe I like it when you slap me because that's the only way to get you to touch me? Did you really think that I insist on crashing at my brother's place once a week because I like his cooking? I've been pining over you for over a year now and you dismiss every attempt I've made to get close as my teasing you!"