First Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page B

lamppost, as if daring me to look
out at it or pretending to be part of the lamppost. But I have sat in that
window a long time, I know what the shape of the
lamppost is.
    My heart is racing as I open my window more and lean out into
the cool air. The wind is there, but it doesn’t smell like Rosie. It's
something else.
    I almost slam the window shut when the figure walks toward me,
but when I recognize him, I’m more worried about hiding my fleece pajamas than
I am him harming me. I duck in the window and whisper harshly
with only my face poking out. "What are you doing?"
    Bash shakes his head and whispers back, "I had a bad
feeling. I was falling asleep and then suddenly I saw you. You were crying and
hurting, and I had to see you."
    I cock an eyebrow, "You’re psychic?" I regret asking
it right away.
    "No, were you screaming and hurting?" He looks
confused. “I had to be sure. I couldn’t go back to sleep.”
    How do I answer that? I shake my head, "I'm fine, so you can go." My stomach’s freaking out. Does he have
visions, like a preacher? Did he see me getting my ass kicked by the mean old
lady who I have four months, three days, and eleven hours left with?
    He hops over my fence and stumbles into the yard through the
weeds and dead grass. We truly do have the worst yard in the whole town. I
accidentally giggle, watching him trip and cuss about the state of the yard. He
is making an awful racket. I glance back at the door to my room. If Mary comes
in, she’ll beat the hell out of me . . . in front of him. I wave my hands,
"Please go."
    He jumps onto the porch and climbs with ease to the roof, to
where my window is. I gasp and notice how cold the air is suddenly.
    I should scream and push him off. I don’t even know him. Hell,
Brandon doesn’t even know him. But something about him makes me feel like I
remember secrets about myself that I like. Even when he was glaring at me, I
felt like he knew me.
    He climbs right to me, boldly. He grabs the frame of the window
and smiles at me. He is forceful and in my space, but I’m not afraid of him. It
is like my sanity flew right out with the breeze.
    "Hi," he whispers, like he has done something he
does every night—like it's no big deal. He looks around, "This is a
nice house you have here." His sarcasm is duly noted.
    I laugh and cover my face to muffle the noise. I turn and
tiptoe to the door and lock it. I slide my chair up against it and under the
knob, just in case, and creep back to him. “You shouldn’t be here, this is
super creepy. No offense, but it is.”
    "None taken. I agree. Why are you limping?" he
notices.
    My eyes widen as I struggle with my exhausted brain for an
answer, "I twisted my ankle on the way up the stairs." I whisper my
lie. I've done it for so long, I don’t even know how to tell anyone the truth.
    He reaches in the window and grabs my hand, "Your
face." He brushes a warm hand against my cheek. I don’t even have a
response for that. I stand there, frozen. His warm hand against my cheek is the
most amazing feeling. I should push him off of the roof but I don’t.
    When the shock leaves, I shake my head. My eyes must look
dreadful because he shakes his head, "I won't say anything to anyone. Just
tell me who."
    I glance back at the door nervously, "She doesn’t mean
it. She's old and scared."
    He frowns, "Of what? You're a small girl. Do you fight
back?"
    I bite my lip and sit on the window seat, “I don’t want to
talk about it. Why are you here?”
    He’s so close, I can almost taste him
in the air. His smell is refreshing and makes my heart swirl and flutter about
in my chest. Those stormy-grey eyes have me in their clutches. “Do you fight
back?”
    I sigh, shaking my head and whisper, "I deserve it."
I've never told anyone that before, and I don’t know why I told him.
    He looks pained, like he had earlier. He brushes his warm hand
across my cheek again, "Never say that again. No one deserves to be hurt
by the person who is