by Celia Loren
I take a smaller drag of the cigarette and glance back toward the yawning darkness at the rear of the backyard. A twig breaking by the house snaps my focus back. In the dim light spilling out of the windows, I see West making his way out toward me, walking slowly. I can only see the outline of his body, but know it’s him. He has about fifteen pounds and three inches on my father already, and I don’t even think he’s done growing yet.
Shit, I think to myself, What do I do? I try to slow my heartbeat, which has already spiked. I aim to look casual, and immediately feel tenser. I nervously run my hand through my hair as West ambles up to me. At least I’m wearing my short jean cut-offs and a cute tank. Could be worse.
“Hey there, Tiny,” he says by way of greeting. I swallow hard as I feel him stop next to me. This far from the light of the house, I can’t even see his expression. His voice has gotten so deep. Raspy, with a hint of devil-may-care arrogance in it.
“No one calls me that anymore,” I reply, trying for brave but coming off whiny. Tiny is what my family always used to call me because I was so small for my age. But I grew an inch and a half this year, which puts me...well, still below average height, but at least not as far below.
“Oh, yeah? What do they call you now?” West asked, amused.
“Olive,” I say, “You know. My name.”
“Olive,” he repeats, tasting the word. I feel a little rush at the sound of my name on his lips. “Aren’t you a little young to be smoking, Olive?”
“I turned sixteen in March,” I reply, attempting to match his cool detachment.
“Sixteen, huh?” he murmurs. I feel his hand close around my wrist and gasp. He slowly but firmly draws my hand, and the cigarette in it, up towards his face. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I can feel my blood rushing loudly through my veins.
He brings my hand up to his mouth and takes a long drag of the cigarette. His thumb strokes the soft inside of my wrist as he breathes in. Time slows down to a crawl at his touch. Lowering my hand, he keeps the cigarette, my cigarette, cradled between his lips. He turns his head and drops the smoke from his mouth onto the dirt, quickly stomping it out with his boot.
“Hey! I don’t have many left!” I protest.
“Good,” he growls.
I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that he still has his hand wrapped around my wrist. I fall quiet at once as a long moment passes between us. In the dark, I feel safe with him beside me. I can feel his gaze on me, warm and lingering.
He tugs me gently toward him, closing the distance between us. I only come up to his chest, and can smell sweat and fresh air on him. He draws my arms around him, and I rest them on the small of his back. He runs a hand up my back. I can feel his fingers glance over the clasp of my bra underneath my shirt. My head feels light, and my knees begin to shake.
He brings his hand to my face, running his thumb over my lips. I can’t help but let them part. My head tilts into his palm as he cups my cheek. He leans down, and I feel like I’m watching the moment from outside my body. I’ve been kissed once before by this guy at school, but it was sloppy and rushed. And when my brother found out, the kid got a black eye and a broken rib. Or two. I can tell this kiss is going to be a whole different experience. A wonderful experience...
I breathe in sharply and close my eyes just before his firm lips touch mine. I feel his mouth open against mine, and I follow his lead. His tongue presses into my mouth, and my eyebrows raise at the sensation. I’m amazed how good it feels. I let my tongue glide against his, and feel my body heating up.
I forget any awkwardness and press my body tightly against his. To my surprise, he lets out a low groan, pulling me sharply toward him with both arms. My body lights up where our torsos press against each other and I bury my fingers in his shaggy brown hair. His hands slide down my back, and I gasp as he cups my ass and pulls me roughly against his crotch.
Whoa, is the only thought I can form.
“Hey West! Where’d you go, man?” calls Stick from the front of the house.
West drops his arms and backs away from me. His quick retreat is jarring after feeling him so intimately against me. I feel like I’m emerging from underwater, and the cold air is a shock to my system.
“Be right there!” West calls back.
We look at each other for a moment. West runs his hand through his hair. “I...” he begins. He glances toward the house and Stick, then back at me. After a moment, he turns toward the house and walks away.
Fuck. I watch his retreating figure, an inky blot against the light of the house. I turn and kick the dirt in frustration.
Stick is so ridiculously overprotective of me. Sometimes he acts more like my dad than my older brother. Maybe that’s because my dad isn’t really much of a dad, but still. Stick shouldn’t interfere so much. No boys have so much as asked to borrow a pencil from me at school, ever since Stick beat up the kid who gave me my first kiss.
My anger at Stick recedes, and I remember the good part of what just happened. I smile and touch my lips with my fingertips. West just kissed me. West just kissed me! And it was good. Really good. And I know he enjoyed it, too, by the rise I felt in his jeans when he pulled me against him.
I take a deep breath to compose myself and brush my hands through my hair. With a smile still plastered on my face, I head back toward the yellow lights of the house.
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