Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“I’m in a glass case of emotion!”

— Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004)

In a single instant, I replayed the events at Henri’s office, forcing myself to look at and hear them without the filter of fear and confusion clouding my senses. The size and shape of the man in black when he’d stood. How his shoulders had risen and fallen like my presence was a surprising, frustrating, infuriating complication. How he’d saved me from getting shot—twice—carried me down the hall, and beat the shit out of everyone but me, even after I’d tried to kick him in the face.

And then I heard his voice, Des’s voice, in my memory say⁠—

Stay here!

Are you okay? Where are you hurt?

Are you shot?

Sue. Get us the fuck out of here. Now!

Staring up at him now, the bottom half of his face concealed by a mask, the dark sunglasses hiding eyes I knew were electric blue, the room tilted to one side. Then it spun.

“Are you going to faint again? Breathe,” Sue said in my ear, sounding a little aggravated. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t fucking faint.”

I nodded and forced myself to breathe, my head engaging in a riot, neurotransmitter storefronts on fire, gray matter spray-painted with anarchy symbols, cars overturned near my frontal lobe.

A chant of I’m going to kill him overlayed with What the fuck is going on?

“Ava? Are you okay?” Sue asked as my vision cleared. The riot in my brain made a cold lump form in my stomach.

I had so many questions, all of which I wanted to scream. I was mad and I was sad and I was confused and I was hungry and my feelings were hurt. In a rush, I concluded confronting Des now would be a bad idea if I didn’t want to end up bursting into tears.

Nodding tightly, I rasped out, “I’m fine.” Breathing in through my nose, my gaze lowered to Des’s chest, and I lifted my arms. “Go ahead. Frisk me.”

Gradually, he let go, allowing me to stand on my own. I felt him study me. Meanwhile, I stood still, careful not to put weight on my injured foot. Clamping my mouth shut, I focused only on being mad. And, boy oh boy, was I ever mad. More like furious.

I’d been so scared. I’d thought Raziel/Des was going to hurt me. I’d been terrified of him. And he’d let me be scared? He could’ve revealed his identity at any point. He could’ve asked me anything and I would’ve told him. If his identity as this Raziel person was a secret, I would’ve kept it.

I would do anything for him. How could he not know that?

Allowing my fury to eclipse every other feeling—including hurt, curiosity, and embarrassment—I glared at him. Now that I knew I was truly safe, the only other feeling present besides anger was exhaustion. Furious and tired, that’s what I was.

Des’s chest rose and fell, like he was bracing himself, but he made no move to touch me again. Asshole.

“This will go faster if you tell us where it is,” Sue said, pulling me out of fantasies related to Des’s torture.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sue.” Given my state of mind, I shouldn’t have been surprised that defiance erupted out of me.

“The thumb drive.” She sounded tired. “Give it to him and then you can go home.”

“I never said I had it on me.” Leaving my arms outstretched, I cocked my head to the side and lifted my glare to Des’s sunglasses. “But if you insist, go ahead.”

You know what? I wasn’t going to murder him. I would tell Uncle Dan or Aunt Sandra about this and they would murder him. And I’d watch.

Des hesitated. Sue said nothing, maybe at a loss for words.

But then he finally whispered, “Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” Dropping my arms, I tapped my chin with my index finger. “Where could it possibly be?” I pretended to ponder, my tone at max sarcasm.

A small voice reminded me that just because we’d known each other before didn’t mean I knew him now, or that he wasn’t dangerous. I already knew Des could fight. He’d been gifted in martial arts as a child. I’d seen what he was capable of today, which included injuring and maiming without hesitation.

But then a louder voice, one with more authority, told me, All those guards he fought seemed alive and moving. Des would never hurt you on purpose.

Given all the evidence against this last assertion and our history together, I should’ve listened to the first, smaller voice. But I was too angry. I didn’t want to be cautious. I wanted to punish him.

Also, how dare he make me have a crush on him. And now that I was on the topic, how dare he look so incredibly sexy in this man-in-black getup. Raziel had only looked scary. But now that I knew it was Des? Hot.

His chest rose and fell again, and then his hands were on me and they were both professional and perfunctory, sliding over my hips, my butt, down my legs. I watched him, feeling indignantly amused by his systematic search.

Tugging one side of the rope, Des unraveled it from my knees and calves. He pushed it away and, flicking his fingers, encouraged me to spread my legs. Using the back of his gloved hands, he patted the inside of my thighs, pushing my skirt up until the bands of my stockings were revealed.

Des cleared his throat, using disinterested fingers to check the stocking bands, the straps of the garter belt. Finding nothing, he righted my skirt. I heard him clear his throat again as he stood.

Guiding me a step away from the bed, he continued the search, now checking under my arms and, almost gently, encouraging me to lift my arms again. Checking my back, he paid special attention to where my bra met between my shoulder blades, then—after a real, tangible moment of hesitation paired with a giant, seething-sounding sigh that made me smirk—he moved his gloved hands to my breasts.

Movements mechanical, like that one time I got felt up by an agent named Maria at Newark Airport, he used two fingers of each hand to check for bumps in the silhouette of my bra, which made me want to laugh, at him, at myself, but also at the situation.

Des had just made it to second base with me and we weren’t even dating. How ironic.

“Where. Is. It?” he asked, his whisper impatient.

“Do you work for the TSA part-time? I did not expect you to be such a gentleman.” The smirkiness of my smirk increased and I made my voice husky, like I was flirting with him.

“You—” He stopped himself, paused for a moment, huffed, then whispered angrily, “You’re not this stupid.”

“How would you know whether I’m stupid?” I smiled sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes and trying not to laugh. I was still furious though. So. Furious.

He had no answer to that. Or if he did, he didn’t share it. Instead, he demanded, “Tell me where it is.” His fingers wrapped around my arms just above my elbows.

“It’s where you think it is,” I said, singsong style, and then laughed delightedly, making no attempt to reduce my grin.

His hands spasmed and I could feel his frustration. Even masked and behind sunglasses, I sensed Des was at his wit’s end. He was breathing hard now, like I’d given him a workout.

“Stop smiling,” he snapped, no longer whispering.

“Okay.” I bit my bottom lip, still smiling.

Growling, and with one swift movement, he turned me so I faced the hospital bed. Des kicked my feet apart in a very police procedural TV show move. I leaned forward and braced my hands on the mattress which caused my backside to hit him in the groin. His hands tightened on my hips and his movements stalled.

“Hang up,” he said roughly, confusing me for a second. Was he talking to me? Then he added, “And turn off the camera.”

A mournful-sounding sigh was followed by Sue’s voice in my ear saying, “Fine.” I heard a click, the line going dead, then silence. I’d forgotten she was there, listening, and probably watching.

Seconds passed, me leaning forward, hands on the bed, Des behind me, hands on my hips, my backside pressed to his front side. My mind was blank, the situation was so absurd. He was considering his options, that much was clear. And since he was so smart, he’d likely already deduced that I’d figured it out. Raziel was Des.

“Ava,” he said, using his regular voice and therefore confirming my suspicion.

He knew that I knew. Good. Asshole.

“Yes, Des?” I asked with a smile.

“Why are you doing this? Why won’t you give me the thumb drive?”

“If you want it, you’re going to have to get it yourself.” I wiggled my bottom and his grip on me firmed, trying to hold me still. After a prolonged moment, I thought I heard him swallow.

Now the question was, what would he do next? Would he confront me? Demand to know how long I’d known he was Raziel? Demand I keep his secret? Or would he apologize and explain? He had to, right? What else⁠—

“Fine.”

Sliding his gloved hands over my skirt and down the outside of my legs, he stepped back and brought me with him until I was bent over almost at a ninety-degree angle. He then removed his hands, and I sensed him remove himself.

Was he—is he leaving?

I waited, still bent over, not knowing where he was. Straining my ears, I was about to look over my shoulder when I sensed a shift in the air followed by his bare fingers near my knees. He’d taken off the gloves.

Using his fingertips, he slowly lifted my skirt, up and over my backside, exposing me to the cold air of the room until the fabric was fully bunched at my waist.

I went completely still with shock, unable to even breathe, my heart taking off at a gallop. Fingers spread wide, his movements no longer perfunctory or disinterested, he placed his hot hands on the backs of my legs and slid them up until he palmed my butt cheeks. His hands moved up, then down, caressing me through my underwear. I choked on air.

Was he . . . ?

Was he simply searching for the pocket? For the drive? Or⁠—

I couldn’t think.

The fire of my earlier anger hadn’t diminished, but it had been joined by a new kind of heat, one that spread up my neck to my cheekbones and lower to my abdomen, swirling, twisting, foreign in its suddenness and severity.

Des leaned forward over me until his chest pressed against my back, his hands still between us on my ass, moving, touching me, his mouth next to my temple. He turned his face and I felt the lack of sunglasses and mask. He must’ve taken them off when he removed his gloves.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to stop.” Voice deep with promise, his nose nuzzled my ear. “But I’ll keep going if you don’t.”

I had to fist my hands in the blanket on the bed because too many things were happening, too fast. I was already on my tiptoes to avoid putting weight on my heel. But at the sound of his deep voice speaking those words, every muscle in my legs went taut, my back curving without me telling it to do so, pushing my backside more completely into his hands.

I must’ve been having an out-of-body experience. At the very least, I was out of my mind. I’d been locked in a weirdo’s office, unable to leave. I’d been shot at. I’d fainted six times. My foot was all cut up. I’d been frightened out of my wits. I hadn’t eaten all day and I’d missed Pizza Friday. The amount and severity of emotional upheaval I’d experienced in less than twelve hours would take me months to sort through in therapy.

And what the hell? What was I doing? Was I actually turned on?

I didn’t get a chance to question myself further because Des groaned. It sounded involuntary and it sent all higher-level reasoning from my brain. His hands moved, one coming around to brace his weight on the bed next to my waist and the other grabbing my hip. I felt him release a shuddering breath as his forehead came to my shoulder and pressed down, like he couldn’t hold his head up.

“Ava . . .” he said, my name sounding like so many things. A plea. A curse. A question. My eyes were wide and stared at nothing. Thoughts were slippery. I felt dazed. And I waited. My whole being waited, my mind free of thought, my body full of anticipation.

His chest expanded, pushing me deeper into the mattress. His groin aligned with my backside, I felt him through his pants. And when he spoke next, it was from between gritted teeth. “Just give me the fucking drive. Please, tell me to stop.”

I’d wanted him tortured. I’d succeeded. He sounded tortured. And worse, there was no denying why he sounded tortured.

And yet, perhaps as a defense mechanism, the Mary Sue silly side of my brain tried to minimize the situation by rushing to the conclusion of, Huh. Well. How about that? He must be attracted to me too.

But adult Ava, who had no patience for my Mary Sue silly brain, swooped in and adamantly clarified the situation. Not allowing me to escape reality, the memory of Des holding my hand and slowly kissing my cheek in the backyard of my parents’ house decided to queue up at precisely that moment.

That was no pity kiss.

And he wasn’t merely attracted to me. Des wanted me. Badly. The truth of it rung like an obnoxious bell between my ears, solidifying in my bones.

Some unidentified emotion swelled, making it hard to breathe and causing my eyes to sting. I bowed my back abruptly, bucking, forcing him to stand up and step back. Straightening from the ninety-degree angle, and with shaking hands, I reached inside the front of my underwear, unzipped the pocket, took out the thumb drive, and then rushed to straighten my skirt.

“Here.” I held my arm out, the thumb drive in my fingers, not turning to look at him. I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I might cry for some reason I hadn’t yet identified. And I wasn’t going to cry. Why would I cry? And what was this emotion? What was I feeling other than intense confusion?

DON’T. CRY.

He didn’t take the drive, so I shook it and huffed impatiently. “Take it.”

He did.

I swallowed, biting my lip to keep it from wobbling.

“Ava—”

“I can go, correct?”

I heard shuffling footsteps. “Yes,” he said, sounding farther away. “There’s hospital slippers, just there under the bed. And the door is—uh—unlocked. And there’s a car. For you. It’ll take you wherever you want.”

Easily finding the shoes, I slipped them on and turned to the door. I walked carefully to it, placing my weight fully on my one good foot and only on the front part of the other. I wasn’t going to think about any of this now. It had been a roller-coaster day and I needed a damn minute. I also found I needed to swipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt because my vision kept blurring. Eventually, I made it to the door. When I got home, I would cry in the bathtub. The last time I did that was when Des had left town and⁠—

“Wait.” My hand on the door handle, I stared at the gray metal, a suspicion forming in my mind. I turned and raised my index finger between us. “Under no circumstances are you to leave town without talking—no! Without both seeing and talking to me first. You will give me one—two—four hours. This week. With you. Alone. Not in a public place. My apar—a place of my choosing.” I made the list of requirements up as I went. “Do you understand?”

Des stood on the other side of the room. Features inscrutable, he nodded.

“Say it. Say, ‘Yes, I understand,’ and ‘Yes, I agree to your terms.’”

Hands on his hips, he continued regarding me impassively. “Do I have a choice?”

I lifted my chin, faking bravado. “Obviously not.” A bold-faced lie. Obviously, he did have a choice. He could just say no. What could I do?

Gaze moving over me, he nodded again, his voice quiet. “Then yes, I understand. And yes, I agree to your terms.”

I squinted at him. “Which are?”

“I will see you and talk to you before leaving town. I will give you four hours this week, alone, not in a public place, and of your choosing,” he recited flatly.

“Good.” Satisfied, I turned back to the door, placing my hand on the handle again. “That’s good,” I murmured, thinking through the list, wondering if I’d left any loopholes for him to sneak through. Fisting the handle, I stared at my hand, unable to bring myself to open the door. I felt rooted in place. And another thought occurred to me. He’d agreed too easily, too readily.

Turning again, but this time giving him just my profile, I asked, “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

He said nothing. I looked at him. His attention was on the floor.

“Des.”

He closed his eyes and mine blurred again.

I huffed a laugh devoid of humor and, not caring that my voice would betray my tears, said, “You know, you’re a real asshole.”

I watched his throat work with a swallow. “I know,” he said, low and quiet and accepting.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you?”

He didn’t respond.

I smiled because my heart hurt all over again, just as bad as when we were teenagers and he’d told me he didn’t want to know me, but now it hit different. He wanted me, but didn’t want to know me. Why?

The pain made it hard to breathe for a moment, but I pushed through it while I considered what to do next. I asked teenage Ava, from so many years ago, what she would’ve done if she’d been able to see Des one more time. What would she do?

Teenage Ava turned out to be of no help and her answer was stupid.

So I asked myself, adult Ava, even though I wasn’t ready for the question, even though the day had been traumatic. This is the last time I’ll see him no matter how many times I ask him not to leave again. Therefore, what do I want from Des in this moment?

The answer rung like a bell and resounded in my bones, much like the truth about his kiss in my parents’ backyard had earlier. If I was never going to see him again, it made no difference what I said or did in our last moments together.

“Well, if that’s the case . . .” Gathering my courage, I hobbled over to him.

At my approach, his eyes cut to mine, at first narrowed, but then grew wider with each of my steps. I didn’t stop. He straightened as my fingers twisted in the fabric of his upper sleeves and I pulled him forward, rising on the balls of both feet. Des’s hands gripped my waist, maybe the movement was automatic, maybe it was purposeful. I didn’t care. It made no difference.

Lifting my chin until just a few inches separated us, I took a moment to memorize his face. He’d been punched in the jaw, a bruise was blooming along his lower cheek and chin. He needed to ice it soon. I wondered where else he’d been injured. He must’ve been sore and aching everywhere. And somehow he’d gotten us out of there alive, with minimal damage. I couldn’t fathom it.

But none of that mattered now.

“Hey, dipshit,” I whispered, meeting his wary stare. With every ounce of feeling in me, I said, “Kiss me.”

I felt his body jolt. The involuntary movement echoed in his eyes, a flash of indecipherable emotions making them impossibly bright. Not giving myself another second to consider the matter, I closed the distance between us and pressed my mouth to his. Not hard. But soft.

His quick intake of air tickled my upper lip. I’d startled him, but I remained undeterred. This was my only chance. I knew Des wanted me even if he never wanted to see me again for some reason he didn’t see fit to share.

WHATEVER.

I tilted my head to the side and kissed him again, pressing our mouths more firmly together, careful to keep my lips soft and searching. He could push me away. I would be fine. I would survive. It’s not like he could hurt my feelings any more than he already had.

But he didn’t push me away. He surrendered. His hands at my waist slid around my back until I felt myself being surrounded by strong, steady arms. Des’s mouth moved, kissing me back, matching my tempo. His head also tilted, licking seductively at my bottom lip, pulling it between his. I shivered, my fingers releasing the fabric of his shirt to slide up his strong shoulders.

God. This felt so good. I felt good everywhere. When had kissing ever felt this good?

Never.

Warmth blossomed in my chest, a gentler version of the disorienting heat from earlier, climbing up my neck and over my cheekbones, a sinuous twisting low in my stomach. A little sound left his throat and he deepened the kiss, making my toes curl, lifting me off my feet and turning us until he gently pressed my back against the wall, his arms shielding me from the cold of the cement.

We kissed, exploring each other. Nothing frantic, but everything smooth and slow and savoring, caressing and careful. I felt our hearts beat in tandem where our bodies aligned, like they’d finally found each other, like they craved this too, and I marveled at the singularity of the moment. How could I feel so much pleasure in merely kissing someone? It felt like a miracle. He felt like magic.

But, like all things alive, we required oxygen—not magic—for survival. Giving myself one last second to be fully possessed, memorizing the feel of him surrounding me, I dipped my chin down and broke our kiss, pressing my forehead to his and gulping atmosphere into my lungs.

Des also inhaled and exhaled harshly. Apparently, I’d given him another workout.

Breathing each other’s air, I found myself smiling. An involuntary laugh slipped past my lips. I was so proud of myself, for being courageous in so many ways. I’d been a brave girl today. Like Sue had said, I’d worked hard. And now I had this kiss to remember for the rest of my life. If today wasn’t the best example of making lemonade out of a dumpster fire, I didn’t know what was.

However, it was also time to go. To let him go.

Tapping his shoulder, I rested the crown of my head on the wall behind me. “Okay. Let me down.”

Slowly, gradually, he did. His eyes were on me but didn’t seem quite able to focus. As I returned to my own feet, I cupped his face between my palms, wanting just one more second to memorize him. His hair was ruffled from my fingertips. His eyes were dazed and soft for once, rather than hard and enigmatic. His breaths quick and sharp, like he’d run miles. The slope of his nose, line of his tense jaw, the redness of his mouth where my lips had been. I’d taken what I wanted and it was time to say goodbye for good.

I let my hands drop and gave him a small smile. “Goodbye, Des. And thank you for the kiss. I hope you live a happy life. I think you’ll always be my favorite person, and I’ll never forget you.”

His eyes were glassy as they moved between mine and he appeared to be at a loss for words. That was okay. I hadn’t expected any.

Stepping around him, I hobbled once more to the door. This time, I opened it without hesitation, and I closed it without looking back.