The next year passed…uneventfully. I whittled away the hours, married to a job I hated, while my limited blocks of playtime lent themselves to bar hopping and frog kissing. All I had to show for it was a borderline anxiety disorder, an occasional hangover, and a prince who was still at large.

Something had to give.

I sat in an Irish pub, diving into my third tumbler of Rum and Coke and swimming in the warm, murky sensation that flooded my arms and legs. My good sense was barely staying afloat, which was fine by me since I had every intention of obliterating all memory of the previous 12 hours that had constituted a workday from hell.

Fishing a cherry out of the brownish liquid set before me, I popped it into my mouth, hoping I didn’t appear desperate sitting at the bar all alone. I wondered what was taking my date so long. A quick glance at my watch confirmed that he was already half an hour late.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He was a corporate bigwig who worked in the office building adjacent to mine. We ran into each other most mornings, grabbing coffee at the local Starbucks. He always acknowledged me with a tilt of the chin and a crooked grin that offered just the slightest peek at his pearly whites. Each time they glinted, my cheeks would ignite into flames.

There was no denying he was handsome, but it was his boyish charm and that lopsided smile that reduced me to a puddle of goo. He was a slice of Mickey Rourke circa Nine and a Half Weeks with a large helping of Bruce Willis from his Moonlighting days.

Just. My. Type.

Though we crossed paths often, we didn’t speak much until two mornings ago, when I nearly bowled him over in my mad dash for a caffeine fix. He was milling outside the entrance to Starbucks with an extra coffee in hand…for me. After catching my breath, I accepted it graciously while he complimented me on my business attire. And then he popped the big question.

“Are you free Friday night?”

My nerves shot through the roof, and instead of giving him a straight answer, I jibber jabbered something about the weather and the price of gasoline before finally blurting out…

“Yes.”

Despite my Nervous Nellie impersonation, he forged ahead with his plans, choosing a time and location for our date. So now, as I waited with bated breath for him to make his grand entrance at the pub, I prayed that the gods of dating karma would have mercy on me and leave all my faculties in tact.

The minutes grew heavy, crawling by painfully…slow, their weight topped off by a sinking feeling that my night was destined to end the way it had begun—with me, all by my lonesome. But I decided to stick around for one more drink before cutting my losses and heading home. I no sooner signaled the bartender when I felt a pair of eyes on me.

A slight twist of my barstool brought me face to face with Mr. Moonlighting himself. Though I was a nervous wreck on the inside, I tried to appear collected, offering a cheeky smile while taking a long, languid sip from my tumbler. But the cherry bobbing and weaving around my mouth had other plans, wiping out my bid for ladylike composure. It plunged inside and slid to the back of my throat, dancing dangerously close to my windpipe. I coughed like a seal for what seemed like an eternity before hurling the red blob into my cocktail napkin. Mortified, I lifted my gaze, convinced my uncouth behavior would have set-off a string of excuses on his part, beginning with the ever popular, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Yet, to my surprise, there he sat, looking at me with a hint of laughter in his eyes—and I smiled. And then he smiled back. Damn.

I was smitten times a million.

Before long, my nerves melted away into conversation and I was surprised by how easy he was to talk to. We discussed everything from mundane topics to the world’s most pressing political issues. And then he mentioned his diehard devotion to all things Coldplay, and I just knew…it was kismet.

But as comfortable as I felt around him, I had a hard time controlling the flutter in my belly that escalated each time he took a swig from his beer mug. I watched in fascination as he swallowed, the bulge in his neck rising up and then down again between gulps. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I was falling in serious like…and lust…and who-knows-what-else.

And I couldn’t help but notice the way he studied me as we talked, with eyes warm yet intense as they held mine, occasionally breaking contact to rove over the length of my hair before stopping on my lips. Naturally, that prompted me to fixate on his lips, which in turn caused my mind to wander to impure places.

As if sensing our growing need for privacy, the inebriated and boisterous pub crowd burst into a terribly off-key rendition of Fisherman’s Blues. We exchanged a quick look while raising our brows in unison—conveying our readiness to leave the pub in our dust.

He rose from his barstool and held out a hand to me. “Let’s go for a walk.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

I placed my hand in his and we left the clatter of the pub behind, eager to embrace the tranquility that only came with a summer night such as this. The air was intoxicating, mildly humid and breezy with a trace of the Atlantic’s fragrant sea. Hand-in-hand, we walked and talked, meandering lazily yet fluidly for several blocks before happening upon a park consisting of nothing but large, billowing weeping willows and acres upon acres of the lushest looking grass I’d ever seen.

The place was completely deserted, wide open and inviting. I couldn’t resist the childlike impulse to run. Giggling, I broke into a sprint, feeling him hot on my trail and kicking my adrenaline into overdrive. I picked up more speed, but he gained on me instantly, grabbing me around the waist and sending us tumbling into the thick lawn below.

Despite my obvious amusement, his eyes grew wide with concern. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Oh, I was more than okay.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” I assured him as I struggled to stifle my laughter.

“Thank God,” he said, reaching out to tuck a curl behind my ear…and I stopped laughing. The simple, gentle graze of his fingers emanated all the way to my feet, curling my toes.

Suddenly, our lighthearted fun was replaced with a stillness that amplified the sound of my beating heart. I became inertly aware of every ounce of nature…the sway of the tall blades of grass as the wind carried them to and fro, the crickets gracing us with their romantic serenade, the rustling of the willows as they danced under the stars. And we simply sat there for a moment, watching each other. I had to remind myself to breathe.

All I could think about was touching my lips to his. Needing to feel…needing to taste. But I wasn’t confident enough to make the first move. So, I resorted to mental telepathy.

“Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me dammit,” I chanted inside my head.

When that didn’t work, I pulled out the big guns, narrowing my eyes at him for full effect as I called upon God to throw me a favor of successful thought transference. “Pleeeeaaassseee…if you don’t kiss me right now I will die!”

That one did it.

And in a move that nearly made my heart leap out of my chest, he pulled me astride his lap. Before I could even prepare for what was about to happen, he pressed his lips to mine. Instinctively, I locked my arms around his neck and melted into his kiss, our lips sliding over one another’s as if they had finally found their way home. And when my mouth parted and he slipped his tongue inside, I became overwhelmed by the current that pulsed through me. It was physical, chemical…an internal combustion. And yet it was something more…connection.

My head swam with thoughts of wild orchids and passion fruit and fireworks and unicorns jumping over rainbows. It was a kiss so off the charts I couldn’t help but wonder about…other things. And the way his hard on was nudging me through his Dockers indicated he had been swimming in the very same thoughts.

But despite our increasing arousal, we didn’t take it any further than kissing. His lips, the heat of his breath, and the wetness of his tongue…they were all I could feel, all that I needed. As our connection intensified, so did our courage as we teased, sucked, and bit at each other’s mouths. We drew out moans as we took turns running our tongues along each other’s necks. We kissed for hours, our mouths finding one another over and over again, unable to get enough. It was the single most erotic experience of my life. And he never even laid a hand on me. He didn’t have to.

It was in the kiss.

Copyright © S. A. Healey

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