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“Yeeeees,” my wife groans, before blowing a happy raspberry on our baby’s head. “You always make them better than I do.”
“Well, I could teach you.”
We’ve always liked private lessons.
But Lane pretends to think about it, then reaches over to flick my hip. “No, I don’t think so. I like it whenyoumake them for me.”
Works for me. Jesus Christ, does that work for me.
I twirl a lock of blonde hair around my knuckle.
* * *
Thanks for reading Kissing Lessons! I hope you liked it. :)
For Eden’s story, check out Tongue Tied!I’m on the college debate team. I’m good at talking. But when the head gardener looks at me, I can barely make a squeak…
And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy of Ride or Die.She’s sweet and innocent—and that’s like catnip in this strip club. It’s okay, though. I won’t let the pretty bartender out of my sight.
Happy reading!
Cassie xxx
Teaser: Tongue Tied
One month ago
The walk to the greenhouse is cold. All across campus, the wind howls and rattles the college windows. It’s that time of year when winter grapples with spring, and either season could come up victorious for the next week. Choppy steel-gray waves headbutt the shore in the distance, while new blossom buds cling to tree branches, shivering too hard to open yet.
The sunshine is pale and watery. Bundled up in all my winter layers, my warm breath mists against my scarf, and my fingers are toasty-warm inside gloves. My boots thud across campus, along the coast path, and up the stone steps to where the greenhouse glass dome perches on the cliff side.
By halfway up the stone steps, I’m sweating, tugging my scarf loose and carrying it instead. When I reach the top, the wind blows clean through my clothes, and I’m frozen again, my sweat chilled against my skin.
Shading my eyes against the bright sunshine, I turn in a slow circle, taking in the view. Long grass ripples across the clifftop, combed by the wind, while out at sea, the waves foam at the mouth. Sunlight glints on the water, and seabirds screech as they play on air currents high above, while the town of Kephart spreads down below on land, spooning the college campus.
It’s all so small down there, like a model town. I moved here from my identi-kit suburb two years ago, and still, every day this small town makes my heart thump faster.
But no sight hitches my breath like the Kephart greenhouse. Looming above the town on the clifftop, its glass walls sparkle in the sunshine, with a whole miniature rainforest shadowed inside.
I’m early. Of course I am.Two whole years, I’ve waited for my placement in this greenhouse, and today is my first day. As a Botany major… this is it. The promised land.
Tugging my gloves off with my teeth, I stuff them in my jacket pockets as I wander to the entrance. The heavy glass door is closed, but when I tug on the handle, it swings open with a sigh of hot air.
Inside, when I push through the heavy strips of plastic dangling down, it’s another planet. A stream trickles somewhere nearby, hidden for the moment by the tangle of foliage. Everything is bigger in here: the trees stretching up toward the clouds, visible through the glass ceiling; the waxy green leaves, some the size of small canoes; the flowers; the jewel-toned butterflies that flit from plant to plant. It’s hot and humid, and birds chatter up in the canopy.
“Hello?” The door swings shut behind me. Shrugging my backpack off, I stuff it with my scarf while peering through the tropical shrubs. “Is anyone there?”
The door was open, but should I not have come in? This greenhouse is the college’s masterpiece, after all, and they don’t even let tourists in, though selling tickets could make good money. It’s all about thesciencehere, science and conservation, and no one is allowed in the greenhouse without an invitation and a supervisor.
“H-hello?” I try again, wincing at the faint stammer. It’s been a long time since I struggled to speak clearly as a kid, and my old speech impediment hardly ever comes back to haunt me. Only when I’m super stressed or excited—and right now, I’m both. “Can anyone h-hear me?”
After freakingyearsof speech therapy, here I am still tripping over my words—and normally that makes my chest clench tight, but this morning, I’ll give myself some grace. This greenhouse is the reason I picked Kephart College, after all, and I’ve spent two whole years down on that campus, staring longingly up at this clifftop. Of course I’m jittery right now.
Leaves rustle a short way down a winding stone path, and for a crazy moment, I think of tigers and giant snakes: creatures that hide in the jungle, then strike like lightning, snatching their prey—
But of course it’s a human man that steps onto the path, dressed in faded jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with the Kephart College logo. His shoulder length bronze hair is half pulled back, and a short beard clings to his square jaw.
“Hey!” he calls, smiling wide. “Be right with you.”
