First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

And that includes my own.

They all giggle and whisper for a few seconds before a blonde freshman in the back is brave enough to ask the final question, hopefully ever.

“We really just want to know what it’s like to kiss him.”

Did anyone else hear that record screech, and a hush fall across the crowd? No? Just me? Why am I so nice? I should have put an end to the Q&A session as soon as it started, instead of blathering on and on about that man for twenty minutes! You give teenagers an inch, and they take a mile…

“Yeah, we need to know what it’s like to kiss Quinn Bagley!”

“He’s so nice! I bet he kisses really nice, and gentle, and his lips are super soft.”

“Nope, he just grabs on tight and goes for it! Have you seen the muscles on him?”

“I heard my mom talking on the phone last night to her best friend, and she said she would totally take a hall pass for Quinn Bagley, and cheat on my dad. I mean, eeew! But also, yes, please!”

“Come on! Give us the details! He’s always chewing gum on camera. Does he taste like peppermint when he kisses?”

“Uhhh… I… ummm,” I stammer, stalling for time. It’s not like I can exactly wax poetic about kissing the guy, since I have no real experience with it.

Although, thanks to a bunch of teenagers, I now have plenty of visuals.

“Seriously, you can’t keep this kind of information from us, Ms. Flanagan!”

“Yeah, Ms. Flanagan, what’s it like to kiss him?” Wren asks with a wag of her eyebrows, egging the girls on.

“I’m going to punch you right in the throat,” I threaten her under my breath, while the girls just won’t let up. “It’s… uhhh, you know. It’s a kiss!”

I internally cringe at how dumb I sound, wondering what it would take to get the high school mascot changed from a wildcat to a damn badger.

Uuuggghhh, teenagers!

“Come on, Ms. Flanagan, you have to tell us! God, the boys around here kiss like dead fish. A kiss from Quinn Bagley has to be toe-curling, and we need all the deets!”

Yes, yes, I imagine it would be quite toe-curling, what with all those hard muscles, his soft lips kissing their way down my neck and across my collarbone as he pulls the front of my shirt down to—

“You’d know more about how I kiss, if you wouldn’t have failed at that dare.”

Fuck. Everything. Just burn my entire life to the ground so I can start over already.

Since I couldn’t differentiate between the giggling screams of the girls talking about kissing Quinn and the giggling screams of the girls when he walked out to the sidelines and up behind me, I slowly turn around when I hear the only voice in the world that can turn me on and make me shit my pants at the same time. And of course I’m greeted with a smirk on those damn soft lips that had my head in the clouds once again.

“I kiss really, really well, FYI,” Quinn whispers, his face only inches from mine, before he stands up to his full height and turns that panty-melting smile on the cheerleading squad, currently freaking out a few feet away. “Good evening, ladies. Looking great out there.”

Oh, flipping hell, how much did he hear? I need to start acting like I work for the CIA and never leave my back open. Son of a bitch!

“You really need to start wearing a bell,” I complain to Quinn as the girls all giggle and titter amongst themselves that the guy they were just talking about is standing right here.

If it weren’t for the fact that my mouth is completely dry after this man just had to make things worse by telling me how well he kisses, I’d probably be a giggling, tittering mess myself.

“And you need a whistle.” Quinn chuckles, the sound making my stomach do flip-flops. “Although that thing you do with your fingers is pretty hot. Never been able to master that myself.”

Wren finally jumps up from the bench, waves a little greeting to Quinn, and then gathers up all the squealing girls who are acting like typical teenagers in front of a gorgeous professional football player. She ushers them back to the middle of the field where they left their pom-poms and water bottles, so they can get started on their cooldown stretches to end practice.

“You’re a great coach,” Quinn tells me when everyone is far enough away that they can’t hang on our every word. “I was up in the stands watching for a little bit.”

Oh, thank the heavens above. He was way up in the stands, and I have one less thing to be completely mortified about. He didn’t hear anything.

“So, I smell like taking a hot shower in the cool, fresh mountain air, after chopping cedar, on a leather couch, next to a crackling fire?”