Page 30 of A Fighting Chance

“Yes.”

“Why?” I ask.

He takes another long pause to consider the question or his response or maybe both. “I don’t think I can adequately explain that,” he says.

“Try,” I say.

He stares off into the flickering flames. “I almost want to call it a thirst, but when you’re thirsty, any water will do, and I don’t want to kiss just anyone.” A pause and then, “Maybe it’s a hunger, but it’s more like a craving. Like nothing else will do. No other lips. No other kiss. I just want to taste yours.” He grows quiet after that, not saying anything else.

I can only hear his steady breathing as the fire warms my face. But I’m warm all over. Everywhere. Head to toe. My body is buzzing. I’m not sure anyone has ever spoken to me like this in my entire life

“Damn,” I say.

Gentry laughs. “Yeah. Damn.”

I sit there in our shared silence for a moment. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Dare,” I say boldly, attempting to stifle any hesitation in my voice.

His eyes shoot to me and I can tell he’s considering it, but he shakes his head. “I dare you to open your heart.”

My face quickly sobers, but he continues.

“I know you can’t fulfill that dare right here and now. I just mean…when you’re ready to,” he says.

I swallow hard. I’m not really sure my heart ever opened back up after my parents died. I stopped letting people in. It was the only way I could survive at the time. A coping mechanism. I’ve just never made any attempt to wean it off. I nod slowly.

“Truth or dare?” I ask him.

“Dare,” he says.

I take a deep, steadying breath. “I dare you to kiss me.” My voice is low and quiet, my words slow and measured.

His expression changes from light and smiling to somber and serious. His lips soften to a line. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. His hesitation is making me start to regret the dare.

Until he pulls himself forward slowly in his chair, and I do the same. We both sit at the edge of our bean bags, legs woven together, knees nearly knocking. As we inch closer, I can feel the intensity and heat in the space increasing. I can feel him even though he isn’t touching me.

He tucks loose strands of my hair behind my ears and then trails his fingers from my earlobe to my chin along my jawline. Then his index and middle finger trail from my chin down the front of my throat and he places his hand over my heart.

I can feel it thumping hard and I release my lips from my teeth. His face inches closer to mine until he’s only a whisper away. I close my eyes and surrender my face, lifting my chin slightly, parting my lips. I wait. And wait. Until finally, I feel it.

I feel his top lip hover and then meet mine as his tongue and bottom lip follow. I feel his need, his hunger, thecravingas he called it. He presses his lips deeper against mine and inhales against my mouth. I inhale sharply myself, granting permission to his tongue, meeting it with my own each time it explores my mouth. I feel his hand slide from the front of my neck around to the back, his fingers in my hair. His kiss grows urgent; it feels necessary.

My hand finds his collarbone and wraps around his neck, my fingers finding a home in his hair now, my thumb caressing the edge of his jaw.

I don’t know how long the kiss lasts before he pulls away, but when he does, he presses his forehead against mine, planting light pecks on my lips, cheeks, and eyelids as he holds me by my hair.

All I can do is focus on catching my breath. Our chests are heaving in unison, our breaths ragged and uneven.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

Eleven

Lyla

His expletive is mutual.I wholly agree.

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