10 Years (Time for Love 5)

“Yes!” I answered a little too enthusiastically.

Brad chuckled and replied, “Great, I’m glad.” Then he did the most bizarre thing… He reached up and pushed my hair back, out of my face, and tucked it behind my ear. On one hand, I was surprised by his familiarity. I didn’t think he even knew my name. On the other, I was a little giddy at the feel of his hand, and pleased by the attention.

“You know, you’re the prettiest girl here, Gwen.”

His words wrapped around my alcohol-numbed brain like a hug.

“Thanks,” I said, suddenly shy. I knew I was okay to look at, but I’d never had a guy compliment me on my looks. I liked it. He made me feel special.

“Can I get you another drink?” Brad asked, gesturing to my now-empty cup.

“Sure, these are really good.”

“They’re my specialty,” he said with another sparkly grin. “Be right back.”

I stood there, suddenly flushed, nervous, and unsure what to do with my hands.

Did he like me? Was I finally going to have a guy I’d crushed on return my feelings? Was I about to have my first kiss?

“You’re crazy,” I whispered to myself. Then chastised myself for speaking out loud. If Brad heard me, he would think I was crazy.

I suddenly wished for a mint, or a piece of gum. What if Brad kissed me and my breath was bad… That would be horrible!

I looked up at a noise and saw Dave standing in the doorway staring at me. I was about to wave, but then noticed the weird look on his face, and suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Here you go,” Brad said as he walked by Dave and said something to him so quietly that I couldn’t hear, causing Dave to walk away.

“Thanks,” I said as he handed me a fresh cup, then I nodded toward the doorway. “What was up with Dave?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Brad assured me with a grin. “I told him to take a hike.”

He put his arm around my shoulder, and although my first instinct was to shift away, I remembered Craig and that girl from the kitchen, and decided it was time for me to open myself up to new possibilities. So, instead of moving away, I snuggled in closer.

We chatted about movies for a while as I drank, and I didn’t even notice until later that he wasn’t drinking at all. In fact, looking back, I’d guess that he was stone-cold sober.

After a while he asked if I wanted a tour of the house, to which I said yes. We walked down the hall, then up the stairs, and he maneuvered me down the hall to the last door on the right.

“This is my room,” he said as he walked in after me.

I walked around, looking at the numerous trophies he had around the room, then paused in front of the dresser he had lined with pictures. They were of him. Different ages, wearing different uniforms.

I picked one up. He was about eight, wearing an orange soccer jersey, his foot propped up on a ball.

“You were so cute.”

“You don’t think I’m still cute?” he asked from right behind me.

He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me, taking the frame out of my hand and placing it back on the dresser behind me.

I felt light-headed and nervous. I licked my lips and stared at his teeth as I responded quietly, “You’re still cute. For sure.”

He chuckled, bringing his hand up to the base of my neck, running it up and into my hair as he replied, “Good.” Then he leaned in and gave me my first kiss.

It was wet, weird, yet made me feel heady. Well, maybe it was the alcohol that did that, but I enjoyed the kiss. Really I did, it’s just that after that initial slow dance of his hands in my hair and his lips on mine, everything started to go really fast.

I registered that we were walking backward, his lips still on mine, and that his hands were roaming, but when I hit the bed and fell back, I was momentarily stunned. I didn’t have a chance to think or speak before his body covered mine. The kissing was nice, and my body felt warm, so I brought my hands up to his hair and ran my fingers through it. I remember how soft it was, and I was surprised because I thought he must put gel or something in it, to make it look so perfect all the time.

I don’t know why that’s what I always remembered, how soft his hair felt against my hands.