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Change is Good
“I want to kiss you so bad … but if I kiss you, it will change everything,” he says in
that gravelly voice.
“Change is good,” I whisper.
Rolling to his side, his mouth is centimeters from mine. I can’t make myself move
although I’m aching with want. But I haven’t been kissed—ever. And I haven’t kissed
anyone since that time on the monkey bars in seventh grade when I stuck my tongue in
Brian Thomas’s mouth on a bet. I shocked the shit out of him, and he didn’t even kiss me
back. When the bell rang, he jerked back and hit his head hard, sending him to the nurse
for the rest of the afternoon. Not my finest moment.
“I don’t want to lose my best friend,” he tells me.
I bring up my other hand and run it over his jaw. “You’re not going to lose me. No
matter what. We’ll still be friends.”
“Relationships ruin friendships. We’ve seen enough of that.”
 I shiver with that truth. “True. But we’re different. We’ve been together since before
we were born. I can’t live without you, so I won’t hurt our friendship.”
Bringing our entwined hands up, he kisses my knuckles. “Me either. We’ll take it
slow, all right?”
“All right, my golden boy,” I whisper.
The effect of my words is instantaneous; the blue in his eyes intensifies to boiling.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine softly, “Denver,” he whispers against me. “I’ve
always wanted to make you mine. Ever since I understood what that meant. I’ve never
seen anyone but you.” And even though his eyes burn with passion, I hear a little tremor
in his voice. Now, him always putting off those girls makes a whole lot more sense.
“I thought we were taking it slow,” I chastise, but I delight in knowing that he feels
something more for me.
“I just want you to know that I don’t take this lightly. You’re the most important
person in my universe. And I’ll do anything to protect us.”
His declaration unleashes a torrent of need in me, and I no longer want him to kiss
me—I need him to kiss me. “Greer, will you shut up and kiss me, please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a laugh, and bringing one of his hands up, he cradles my
jaw and draws my lips to his. My free hand skims down to rest at his waist, his jeans
riding low on lean hips and exposing warm, bare skin. His lips are soft and explore mine
as I match his movements. I feel indulged—spoiled by his goodness. I try to savor how
tender and sweet he is even though I am impatient for more, so when I feel his lips part, I
follow suit. His tongue sweeps in, seeking and teasing. I hear myself moan. I’m almost
embarrassed by my eagerness, but when his moan echoes mine, I feel reassured.
He pulls back after a few more seconds and places a gentle kiss on my lips, then on
my nose. “Denver …” he breathes. My name packs a punch, and I feel it everywhere.
Keeping my eyes closed, I just nod and lick my lips, trying to savor every bit of him
and his sweet words.


Used Copyright by Lynetta Halat 2014. All rights reserved.