Page 315 of Seasons of Love
With each pass of his tongue over my lips, I swear I lose a brain cell. Every time he sucks my lips between his, I see the pearly gates of heaven. When his tongue seeks entry into my mouth—spoiler alert, I let it in—I’m sure somewhere there’s a headstone with my name on it.
Here lies Bubble. He lived a good life. Died young, but that kiss was so worth it.
Have I ever dreamed of kissing Coach? Duh.
Have I ever thought it would actually happen? Hell no.
Which is why even though he’s kissing me, his tongue exploring mine, I still can’t get out of my head.
Why am I the one freaking out?
Though not enough to stop the kiss. Stupid, I am not.
His big, strong hands on my ass hold me in place, and I wonder if he can tell what I’m wearing under my yoga pants. We move until I feel something rough against my back. A tree.
My lips must be three sizes bigger already from the way he’s sucking them like I’m his favorite flavor of lollipop, but I can’t stop kissing him. Or letting him kiss me. At this point, I’m not sure who’s in charge here.
He moans, and I open my eyes. His are on me. Dark orbs, laser-focused but also filled with something. Questions? Desire? Who is this man?
Since I’m trapped between him and the tree, and I’m using my super thighs, he releases my butt. His hands cradle my face, and it’s the first time he breaks the kiss.
My breathing is labored, and I’m terrified this is the moment something bad will happen.
“You’re not dumb, Curtis. You’re amazing, beautiful, free, graceful, creative, generous, and you make me feel things I’ve never felt before in my life. That’s why I run. Because I don’t know how to deal with all the feelings that constantly ping-pong around my body. Since the day you came into the school with your cheerful and upbeat mood and a box filled with cake, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah right.”
He shuts me up with another kiss, and I catalog all the stupid shit I can say for him to shut me up this way. Oh hell, I can have an encyclopedia before dinner.
I break the kiss. “Oh shit. Dinner.”
“Huh?”
Coach stares at my swollen lips, dazed, as he runs his hand over his mouth.
“Dinner is ready,” I say.
“Right. Yes, of course.”
He puts me on the ground but takes a moment before he releases me.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“We can talk about what happened later.”
He nods.
I take his hand and pull him toward the cabin. Having just explored the back of my throat like he was looking for gold, he better not get funny about holding my hand.
“Do you want to grab a shower while I finish the vegetables?” I ask when we get in.
It’s clear he’s processing what happened. Hell, I’m processing what happened.
Although I’m sure we’re processing it in very different ways.
When Coach goes into the bathroom, I lean against the kitchen counter and stare out the window. It didn’t snow the whole time we were outside, but there are a few flakes falling again, and it’s getting darker.
