Never Been Kissed

t to his condo and he ordered pizza. We argued over toppings and then Van said screw it and ordered two pizzas after a lengthy discussion of the possibility of cross-contamination of pepperoni and a white pizza with broccoli. We ended up swapping slices hand feeding each other on his leather sofa while Spiderman Homecoming played on his movie sized screen.

Now I’m standing in his bathroom having brushed my teeth and scrubbed off pizza grease from my face. I’m wearing one of his college t-shirts and lacey boy-shorts with my knees knocking together. No expectations, right? Except for the ones in my head and the hornets’ nest in my belly.

Nerves.

That’s all it is and I push them away. Van said we’d cuddle, but I don’t know if that’s code word for something else. Those pesky butterflies fluttering in my tummy spar off with the murder hornets in a knock down fight for the title of most anxious woman in the upper east side.

“Laurel, you coming out before the New Year ball drops?”

“Ha, Ha. Super funny!” I heave a deep cleansing breath before I chicken out all the way back to Brooklyn.

“Careful, I might have a birthday before you come out.”

I stomp out of the bathroom. “Your birthday is in December.”

“So is Christmas and the supposed coming of Christ. You coming to bed or what?” He teases pulling up the comforter for me to join him.

“Coming.” I huff into the dim lighting of the bedroom.

“Clearly, not yet.” He mumbles as he punches pillows and makes room for me to slide in between in the covers next to him.

I settle in expecting him to pounce on me, but he doesn’t. We lay awkwardly side by side for a moment before I garner the guts to turn my face and look at him. He’s smiling and it melts away the self-conscious worry.

“I just want to hold you.” He snakes his thick bicep around my middle and pulls me back toward his chest. He’s bare, but still wearing sweat pants. My nerves can’t decide if they want to ratchet higher or mellow out. His hand roams under my t-shirt, but stays on my belly tracing slow circles around my button making me shiver.

“Relax. I’ll sleep on the sofa if you want me too, but I want you in my bed.”

I shift in his arms so I’m facing him.

“No. I want to be here, it’s just...”

“New. I get that. I keep telling you I don’t want to rush things. Maybe this is rushing things.” He starts to release his hold on me and I scramble closer.

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to miss a single minute.” I kiss him and encourage his hands to roam further. I swear his hands remind me of large hot paws grasping at my butt and trailing warm caresses up and down my back molding me closer to him. I manage to kick my panties off. Van goes exploring, kissing, spelunking if you will under the covers making me giggle and squirm until I’m moaning and pulling his head up by his hair to kiss me again.

The night doesn’t end until the sun peeks through his curtains. I’m sore in the most delicious way and deliriously in love. Van gets up to make breakfast spoiling me. Full on eggs and bacon with mouthwatering blueberry pancakes. We fool around making Bloody Mary’s and end up doing shots of peppered vodka before noon. We make plans to visit the museum and while the thought of staying in bed all day slightly drunk is glorious, we’d rather explore our city and check off a few things on our never been list together.

Life will never be the same again, but I’ll have this man by my side and a lifetime of love.

Excerpt from Love Under Construction

Looking for a romantic comedy? Try my Love By Design series, starting with: Love Under Construction.

CHAPTER ONE

HUNTER

“This is it?” Following the GPS, I made the turn, trusting the crisp British woman named something like Sally or Margaret to guide me since my passenger was enraptured with looking out the window. Her slim profile was mostly hidden by her loose pale blond hair while her delicate nose pressed against the fogged glass. Perfecting my poker face driving down the street, I waited for a shimmery ghost to appear and ward us off the property. At the least, I expected Freddie Kruger to slice my tires and Jason to run out of the woods donning a hockey mask and chanting, “cha-cha-cha.” God Save the Queen and my new truck from the pitfalls over cliffs and best friends with big ideas.

My foot pressed the brake, pulling up next to a grey two-story Victorian era house in a depressed block of homes that looked haunted and fresh off the set of The Conjuring. You know, the kind that has wooden siding falling off it, complete with creaking uneven doors and cobwebs thick as wool crowding the window corners, or so I imagined. Looking at it made the shaved hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I would never admit that to anyone even if I were captured by hostiles and water boarded. It didn’t matter that I spent the bulk of my Marine career with the Corps of Engineers; a haunted house was not getting to me.

This house, and I was being generous calling it that, had to be the worst of the lot. A dilapidated structure beyond that must have been a garage of some sort or a place to hide the bodies in winter. If you were looking for the Bates Motel, this could be it, circa the 1890s.

Overgrown shrubs and grass blocked much of the front yard and a large tree had fallen over what I assumed was a gravel driveway from at least fifty years ago. It was a landscaper’s nightmare project between the barren looking grasses and dead shit everywhere. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they didn’t dig up a body somewhere on the property. Tall columns framed the front porch or what was left of it. All I could see from my vantage point inside the truck was a set of rotten wooden steps and a goodly sized hole in the porch veranda. A swinging chair that looked like it had one time been a perfect spot for sipping sweet tea hung precariously by one chain, the rest dragging down on wooden planks. The varnish had easily chipped away a quarter century ago.

A sigh filled the truck from the passenger seat next to me. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Confused, I looked back at my best friend of ten years, wondering what crazy ideas that fancy design school in Brooklyn had given her. Naked women with hands full of tits were gorgeous, but this… this building looked like it should be condemned from the structural damage alone, forget about how ugly it was. She needed her eyes and maybe her head examined, but I kept those opinions to myself, merely responding with a grunt in reply to her question.