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Hannahlily
They kissed for so long that her lips hurt.
It was a good hurt.
Tucker could be as forceful as their shared passion permitted; but mostly he was gentle. Talented. Considerate.
Perfect.
The night and the storm had wrapped themselves around the house, but the old timbers kept them safe; and the fire and their closeness kept them warm. Hannahlily kept waiting for the moment when Tucker would make the inevitable guy move. At first she thought that was what she wanted, that if it was what he wanted, she would agree.
As the night moved slowly into the depth of the storm, she began dreading it.
The change was subtle.
Never once before in her life had she wanted anyone as much as she wanted Tucker. He was it. All of it. Everything on her checklist. Everything she knew she would ever want. A dream factory.
Which made her begin to wonder if she was simply being stupid.
Was that it? Was she being a girl? No, that was wrong. It really wasn’t a girl thing, and her female pride raised its head and shook off that kind of thinking.
No.
This wasn’t really about her being female. This was about her wondering if she was mature enough to evaluate Tucker. To read him and make the right guesses about who he really was.
Hannahlily wasn’t even entirely sure that was an age thing. Her aunt Sis was no judge of men. And both of her brothers, Johnny and Al, were fools for any kind of woman, no matter how badly they were treated. Aunt Sis was thirty-two, and her siblings were forty and forty-four.
No. Maybe it was a human thing.
Tucker appeared to be everything that was right about guys. Decent, honest, gorgeous, patient, respectful.
But at the same time she knew—with no possibility of error—that he wanted her. That he wanted to sleep with her.
The question was whether he wanted to hook up with her or make love to her.
For Hannahlily that was the big difference. Every other boy she’d ever dated might as well have had ‘?”hookup” tattooed on their foreheads. Tucker didn’t seem to be like that, but why not?
Was it something about her?
Was it something about him?
Could a guy—especially a seventeen-year-old guy—actually have enough self- control and respect to be able to control his urges?
That sounded as likely as pink unicorns traipsing through the yard.
Maybe less likely.
Guys, after all, were guys. Hannahlily had learned all about the biology of it in health class. The sex drive was a hardwired biochemical impulse to procreate. It was tied to the lizard brain’s basic species survival drive. And guys got reinforcement about sexual conquests in everything from rap songs to commercials for Ford pickup trucks. Her aunt Sis said that even the most civilized man was only a grunt and a short step away from a Neanderthal, especially when they thought they could get some action from a female.
So what was Tucker’s deal?
They held each other, and they kissed, and they touched, but they kept their clothes on, and things never got past a certain point.
Hannahlily was grateful.
Hannahlily was also mildly annoyed.
Didn’t he like her?
