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For a split second she didn’t react. Then she rolled her eyes. “Very funny. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a lobster fisherman.”
“Really?” She fiddled with the neckline of her dress. Her finger ran back and forth, back and forth, distracting me. Math might preoccupy her, but that wasn’t what did it for me. It was her curvy little body, teasing me.
“I thought that was something they invented for Discovery Channel fake reality TV shows,” she added.
That amused me. “How do you think the pot gets filled at your daddy’s lobster boils? Someone’s gotta get that fucker out of the water.”
“I thought it would be corporations.”
What the hell? “That’s the first dumb thing I’ve heard you say.” I had no idea what she was even envisioning. “What do you think, there is a corporate submarine with a vacuum system?”
“I don’t know. Okay, so I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Clearly.” I nudged her knee with mine. “Don’t quit math, kid.”
She laughed outright, a hearty, melodic laugh that kicked me in the gut. Her laugh was free, beautiful. It was like for a split second she stopped thinking so hard and just enjoyed. God, maybe we weren’t that different. I thought too much too, a cyclone of stormy thoughts that spun me around and around, held up in the air, feet dangling far above solid ground.
“You’re very beautiful,” I told her, dropping my hand back onto her knee, wanting to feel her warm skin. “And I’m going to kiss you.”
Her laugh cut off and her eyes widened. “Okay.”
I spun her stool so she was facing me directly. Then I dragged it across the floor with a scrape, wanting her closer. She held on to the edges of the stool and waited, her pink, sweet lips parting. I cupped her cheeks with my rough hands, hands that have hauled too many traps, and pulled too many lines, adding hard layers of life onto my skin. She was soft, amazingly so. Smooth like silk, yet warm, and when I lowered my mouth and took hers, she gave the most amazing little moan in the back of her throat.
There really is nothing like a first kiss. That moment when everything is hopeful, before everything turns to shit and hate and fuck-yous in the hallway. Before the cheating, the fights, the betrayal, and heartbreak. The first kiss is pure optimism and desire, not crowded and smothered with feelings, expectations, hurts. It’s just questing, curious. The precursor to passion.
It was a light kiss, easy, a quick, teasing taste, to show her what was to come. Her kiss wasn’t inexperienced. She knew how to move her head, how to open her lips for me, and how to kiss me in return.
She tasted sweet, like the whiskey and the sour apple pucker, and I drank her in, wanting more, just like I did with liquor.
