Orange You Glad I Said Kiss

By David Connor

Sex is easy to come by for Eli. His friend with benefits, Casey, is always ready, willing, and oh so very able. With a certain February holiday approaching, Eli has a pang in his heart for more, though.

The week of Valentine’s Day, it seems as if things are about to change. Poetry and sweet nothings abound, but the one they come from is a bit of shock. By the time February 14th arrives, Eli finds himself with more than one suitor, a possible marriage proposal, and a big decision to make.

Who will Eli choose, and how will he deal with rejecting someone and breaking their heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685501464

Book preview

Chapter 1

"Banana…

"Ba-na-na…

Baaaaa-naaaa-na…

Elijah Wentworth held one up for Eddie, the chimpanzee. Banana. He said it half a dozen more times—banana, banana, banana—signing it each time by holding up his index finger and peeling it with his other hand. Banana, Eddie. Ba-na-na. Ba-na-na. Ba-na-na.

Nothing.

Eli sighed. Three hours in on his first day, Eddie wasn’t doing terribly well at the task at hand—or maybe Eli wasn’t. He opened his satchel for a midmorning snack. Knock, knock, he said. Who’s there? Orange. Eli held it up. Orange who? Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?

The chimp actually grinned. He started jumping up and down, reached out.

Want some? Eli asked.

Eddie the chimp made his move. He didn’t want some; he wanted the whole thing. And he took it.

As Eddie sat there devouring Eli’s morning dose of vitamin C—who knew chimpanzees liked oranges?—Eli decided from that day forward, he’d always carry a spare.

He’d nicknamed Eddie Eddie Orange by day three, because of how excited the primate got whenever he saw one, and also because the furry dude seemed so human he needed a surname. By day twenty-five, a Friday, Eli grew sad as he watched Eddie peel his twenty-fifth orange. The next week together would be their last. Eli Wentworth was going to miss Eddie Orange.

Eli came from money. He could live off his trust fund forever with good investments. At age thirty-four, he hardly ever dipped into it, though. He’d rather work. Granted, both his dwelling and his wheels were supplied by the Wentworth family business, as was a credit card. He wasn’t really living by his own means, but he felt like he was—sometimes. Those oranges he bought every morning for himself and Eddie, he paid cold hard cash for them, the kind earned from teaching chimpanzees sign language at Fleckman, Underhill, Cooper, and Ushinger Laboratories, or some other interesting vocation. Eli had been a waiter, a mailman, a nude model for an art class, a hospital aide, and a convenience store clerk, all in an effort to put himself in social settings he might not otherwise experience.

Eli’d first learned to sign at age eight, just because rich kids got to sign up for anything they wanted. He stuck with it, became fluent enough to counsel at a deaf camp, and kept up with the latest advances into adulthood. Signing came in handy at almost every job.

The most touching event occurred at the hospital. The distraught son of a patient brought into the ER was frantic. It seemed as if he had no idea what was happening to his mother as her doctors and nurses ran around shouting at each other. Eli was the first to realize the man was hearing impaired. He more than consoled the guy—he was invaluable, relaying information between medical staff and the patient’s son.

Thank you, the relieved man had signed. I’m glad you were here.

It was fate, Eli had replied. Eli believed in fate—Fate: Follow Always Toward Eventuality. The universe guides me. What will be will be. He’d heard that once…somewhere, and tried to remember it whenever he got caught up thinking too much.

The hospital hired an actual communications liaison after that night, and not long after that, Eli moved on to the convenience store. There was another incident there. A hearing-impaired customer came up short on his tab. When he tried to say Be right back so he could go to his car for more cash, the other cashier—a forty-year-old throwback hippie stoner—threatened to call the cops, accusing the guy of stealing, because he couldn’t understand what the customer was saying. Eli intervened, ponying up the buck fifty. He received a handshake and a smile from the burly, bearded patron, along with the dollar and two quarters, within eight seconds. Eli gave the cashier a piece