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All it takes is one single glance for my stomach muscles to tighten.
He looks away when our eyes connect. “Real mature.”
“If you have something to say, then spit it out.”
He doesn’t even pause before saying, “I dare you to kiss me.”
I blink twice before my lips start working. “What?”
“You heard me. I dare you to kiss me.” He pulls out his Swiss Army knife from his back pocket and draws a single strike diagonally across the four other vertical lines beneath the letter L that he carved into the plank years ago. Compared to the now five strikes underneath the L, his side has at least ten more, each carrying a fond memory of something I dared him to do.
My hands tremble against my lap. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as you are about going on this date.”
“But—”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he taunts with a smirk.
“I’m not scared.” I’m just…shocked. Cal has always kept things platonic between us.
It’s a kiss, not a proposal. Stop making such a big deal out of it.
“Fine.” I close my eyes and lean forward. My mouth softly brushes against his before I pull away. The kiss ended as quickly as it started, but my lips still tingle from the press of his against mine.
His eyes narrow. “Is that how you plan on kissing him?”
My cheeks heat, embarrassment quickly burning into anger. “What’s wrong with how—”
I’m cut off by his lips slamming against mine. The air between us crackles, sparks flying as our mouths mold together.
Everything about my first kiss is amazing. The buzz building in my lower belly. The slight shift in his breathing as my arms wrap around the back of his neck so I can pull him in closer. His fingers digging into my hair, trapping me as he kisses me like he spent his whole life dreaming about it.
Cal kisses like he is afraid that I might disappear at any second, so he wants to prolong it.
My fingers brush against the patch of skin between his hair and his shirt. He sucks in a breath, pausing our kiss to press his forehead against mine. “Lana.”
“Lana.” Cal’s voice sounds completely different.
Deeper. Rougher. Sexier.
“Hello, Lana,” he says, sharper.
Shit.
The memory disappears in a blink of an eye. I press a hand against my lips as I look up at Cal.
“Why did you want to save the plank?” His question comes out soft.
My gaze drops along with my self-esteem. “It was stupid.”
“Tell me,” he pushes.
My mouth opens, the truth lying on the tip of my tongue.
Because no matter what has changed between us, the memories tied to that piece of wood will always hold a special place in my heart.
Sharing what the plank meant to me feels like betraying myself and the anger I’ve spent years holding on to.
