Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“You gotta remind me to write a thank-you note,” I whisper.
He leans into me. “Huh? Thank-you note?”
“To Chase Holt,” I say back, then turn to look at him.
He’s so close. Threateningly close. Those eyes in the dark, how the distant glow of the silver screen sparkles in them like my only sign of life in an ocean of darkness, the beacon I embrace. His lips part as if to say something, but he doesn’t.
I elaborate. “He’s what brought us together.”
After a moment’s reflection, he smiles. “Right.”
“I’m having a lot of fun with you tonight.”
“Me too,” he whispers back.
“I seriously don’t want tonight to end.”
“Me neither.”
“And I have no idea what’s going on in this movie.”
“Neither do I.”
“And I don’t care.”
My eyes float to his lips. It’s no surprise that our popcorn has gone completely ignored, except for the one or two initial bites we took at the concession stand itself.
And the boxes of candy? What candy?
All I know are his lips and his sparkling eyes …
And …
And the words that finally trouble their way off my tongue. “I really … really wanna kiss you right now.”
“You sure?” he whispers, and his eyes are on my lips, too.
What a gentleman. Asking if I’m sure. Giving me this chance to change my mind, despite the obvious desire on his face for the very same thing I’m craving.
It only takes the slightest lean of my head.
Our shoulders press together.
Then our lips.
Chapter 10.
Chase
I’m not Chase Holt.
I’m just Austin, a guy who used to pine after his crushes in the back of a classroom, scribbling super bad poetry on the back pages of algebra books.
Young Austin used to dream of kisses like this.
He didn’t have a career or a following or crowds of screaming admirers. He had a backpack lined with sewn-on patches, a jacket two sizes too big, and an old hand-me-down pickup to get him to and from school that broke down more times than it didn’t.
And he’d walk the halls of his school with a lonely heart no one ever paid any mind to, keeping so many dreams inside it that it kept him awake night after night, aching with longing.
And that young Austin dreamed of kisses like this.
Kisses he thought he would never know.
Surely not in the back of a movie theater in a town he’d never stepped foot in until tonight.
With a guy as special, as caring, and as unfathomably perfect as Timothy.
Someone I might’ve needed back then.
Someone I didn’t realize I need now.
These are just the tip of my iceberg brain as I feel Timothy’s soft lips playing against mine, kissing me with just the right force, hungry enough, yet careful, not wanting to spook me.
He can’t spook me.
Not even if he tried to devour me.
If that isn’t, in some way, what he’s already doing.
He pulls away first, like something scared him. And when my eyes pop open, I find him staring back with a thousand questions in his eyes.
I want to tell him. So fucking badly, I want to tell him.
I’m Chase Holt. I’m the guy on the stage you never saw. I’m who you ran into in that hallway. I’m who you just kissed.
I want him to know all of that.
But isn’t it also kind of a lie?
Aren’t I, in so many ways, not Chase Holt?
I can sing a dozen love songs a night, but if I’m not living it, if I’m not feeling it like I am right here in this creaky movie theater seat with this guy I can’t peel my eyes off of, then how dare I sing a single fucking lyric about love?
I think I’m more the real me right now than I’ve ever been.
With the snake skin of Chase Holt shed off.
“Can I …?” Timothy starts to ask, then stops himself, like he’s too afraid to ask.
“Yes, please,” I answer for him.
Our lips reunite.
This time, the passion grows. He stirs in his seat, restless. I do, too, turning my legs to get better leverage. Our big tub of popcorn goes all over the floor. Neither of us care. My hands rise to caress his face, to keep it in front of mine. He puts his hands on me, too, on my chest and one of my shoulders, holding me there. I tilt my head for better purchase as the kiss deepens.
It’s incredible, how encouraging the sound of mere breath is.
You’re doing this right, it seems to whisper at me. More, it goes on, pulling and pushing. You can never take too much from me, just keep going, don’t stop, it goes on, waves crashing against the shore, pulling back in. That’s him pulling me in, deeper and deeper.
One second, it’s not enough and will never be enough.
The very next, it’s too much, and I have my hands on his chest and retreat from his lips. “Timothy …” I gasp.