Nate took a step back. Looking at him I could not help but feel this overwhelming insignificance. The gap between his physical beauty and mine, an abyss. If I had considered myself a nobody in a world full of somebodies, comparing me to him only assured my status as a big-fat-zero. Then again--and I gave myself some credit by allowing this thought to enter me--he seemed to be somewhat interested in me. Didn’t he?
A breeze sent leaves tumbling across the graveyard; the lucky ones attached themselves to his jeans, while others merely rocketed and plunged tenderly around him. It soothed me a little until he released my hand. I realized I had been the one holding it fast.
Don’t leave!, my thoughts begged him, but nothing came out of my mouth. I was immobile. Stupified. The masochist in me loved every second of this torture. But the seconds ticked and he was starting to look confused. Speak to him!
Nate bent down to grab what looked like a red snake on the green grass. My scarf. "You dropped this," he finally said.
Still nothing. Hello? Will I ever speak again?
Finally some movement. My hand came up to my head as though I physically massage my brain into giving me the words. I was about to part my lips and say...something, when he neared my scarf to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled. A deep inhale. With his lids closed and the sun hitting him just so, he looked like the angel in my dreams. I imagined him like this. This close to me. This beautiful. Until now, all I’d had was the hope of something amazing. And now, amazing stared at me with his fire-eyes as he walked toward me with my scarf in his hands, extended forward as though it were an offering of peace.
“Come here,” he said. And he looked at me.
I should have put on a diaper before leaving the house. Was he saying those words, or was I imagining them?
“I...” Would it be ridiculous to ask him to pinch me or slap me.
He placed the scarf around my neck. My knees almost gave out and so did my heart.
“Nate,” I whispered. Wow. My voice worked. I cleared my throat to try to mask that ridiculous quiver in my voice.
“Yes?” he asked. Oh, he knew his effect on me. That little smirk. That little beautiful smile between those lips.
His hands played with my scarf for just a second before his touch melted on my face as hot as the sun itself, yet a wave of cold hit my face. His breath, it was so cold, and it caressed me with each breath he took. But no matter how used I was getting to his closeness, nothing could have prepared me for the way I felt when his rockstar lips rushed into mine, playing it's own guitar solo in my mouth. And, as though my arms were entities of their own, they suddenly wrapped around his neck.
Victor who? First kiss what?
This was it. The kiss to judge all other kisses upon. His cold tongue danced a mouth-watering ballet, while I gasped for air during the interludes. The guitar solo in its crescendo.
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