Page 30 of When We Were Younger

"I think our mouths were fused together for the majority of our high school years,” he smiles. My stomach somersaults at the memories of all those kisses. When life was simple, and we'd steal any moment to hold each other close.

"Maybe it's like riding a bike?" My voice tips up, and he traces a line from my lip down to my chin before cupping my chin with his large, calloused hand. The space between us vanishes in an instant, and my breath hitches as he leans down, brushing his mouth against mine. Not quite a kiss, but not nothing either. He’s handing me the reins, letting me decide if I want to take this further. He was always so good about putting the power in my hands and being patient while I made my decisions.

I lean forward, pressing his lips to mine and time slows down. I feel the tingles spread everywhere, down my neck, in my stomach, through my fingertips, and I lean into him. My hands find their way from my sides and to his chest. The cotton of his t-shirt and the heat of his skin underneath warms my palms as we sink further into his kiss. He groans against my mouth, a deep, animalistic, needy sound that makes me gasp. Now that I’ve given him the permission, made the final move to press ourmouths together, he takes over. He takes advantage of my parting lips, sliding his tongue in massaging it against my own. I whimper, and my knees knock together.

It's been so long since I've been kissed like this. Kissed with meaning, with purpose. This kiss that is so many things at once. It's familiar, the feel of his lips and the wintergreen taste of him. It's new, the way his grown man stubble scratches at my skin and the way he takes the lead like a man trying to make love to my mouth, instead of the eager teenage boy I remember. My hands find purchase around his neck, and his move to my waist, absentmindedly holding me steady as I swoon, making me want him.

Want. Want. Want.

The word thrums in my chest along with my heartbeat. I want him. I need him. I want to be consumed by him.

I moan wantonly when his fingertips brush along the bare skin between my hoodie and the waistband of jeans. I fall forward, eating up the minimal space between our bodies. I don't want space or air. I want to crawl inside of him, morph us together and never let go. I press my hips in, trying to find some kind of friction to stave off the overwhelming need pulsing through me and I'm rewarded with the length of him, hot and hard against me.

He's the first to break for air, pulling away from my mouth slowly, like it agonizes him the same way it agonizes me. Our lips separate, but our bodies stayglued together. We both gasp for breath as he presses his forehead against mine.

"Damn, Dorothea," he breathes, and I sigh. His lips hit mine again, not kissing but caressing all the same. "Exactly like riding a bike. The most fun bike I've ever ridden."

The only bike I've ever riddenI think, but don't say out loud. Not now. The moment is too perfect, and it's not necessarily true. I've kissed other men.

It just never felt like this.

I tangle my fingers in the roots of hair, tugging lightly at the pulled back tresses. I try to pull him back into me, back into a full kiss, but his lips travel. They trace up my cheek, over the bridge of my nose, and land on my forehead. He squeezes my hips, and he kisses my head, one long press followed by a few small, quick pecks.

"I'll see you around,” he says as he takes one step back, and then another. His fingers stay on me until he can no longer reach, and only then does he turn, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking down the driveway to his truck.

I watch him go with one hand on my heart, feeling it beating wildly in my chest. I know when I open this door, there will be three men and my best friend waiting on the other side of it, wanting to know what the heck is going on and all the sordid details, so I wait on this side for another moment, taking deep breaths and reliving the perfect fairytale moment I thought I'd left in my past.

Stephen

Good morning, Dorothea. Daisy May was wondering if you wanted to join us for our Saturday hike at Whispering Ridge Trail?

Isn't Whispering Ridge the place where those guys were running an illegal boxing ring in the clearing?

Also, good morning? That's all you have to say after kissing me and then leaving me to the firing squad? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have four McKenna's breathing down your neck, trying to get information out of you when you yourself have no idea what's going on?

What is going on? We kissed, Stephen.

Stephen

Believe it or not, Fox Hole has spruced itself up since you've been off in La La Land. The boxing ring with its six logs strung together with old jump ropes is long gone, as are the participants. Whispering Ridge is a nice, quiet place now, completely devoid of debauchery.

Insufferable.The man is insufferable.

That doesn't answer my question.

Stephen

Sure it does. Whispering Ridge was once the home of the illegal boxing ring but is now free of unseemliness.

Unless you count you and I sneaking off the trail to make out behind a tree as unseemly, in which case, I must admit I'm hoping for some unseemliness.

You're avoiding my question again! And you're assuming that I want to make out with you.

Stephen

Not assuming, just hopeful. We kissed last night. I'm hoping we kiss again soon. That's what's going on.

That is an infuriatingly vague answer, and you know it.

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