“I… it doesn’t matter.”
In one move, he grabs my chin in his right hand, bringing it up to hold my gaze.
“You just eavesdropped on a private conversation about sensitive, private information that no one in this town beside a few people know,” he starts, emerald green orbs pouring into me. “You know that my brother is in there. You know he has Down syndrome. But what you don’t know is that my brothers are the most important people in my life and I will always protect them against anyone and anything that tries to so much as attempt to threaten them in any way or form.”
Like a deer in headlights, I stare up at him, his fingers digging into my chin.
“Now, what’s your name?”
So, his anger is wrapped up in family matters, huh? He cares for his brother. He looks protective, alpha, and strong. I dare not deny him anything now.
“Mia.”
He waits, silently, eyes boring into me, taking all my secrets, my truths, maybe even my soul. Because a name isn’t just a name. It’s your identity, your past and present and right now that he’s about to know, it’s my future.
“Mia Montague.”
“Mia,” he says my name like he’s been saying it all his life in a prayer, in his sleep, and during the day. He says it like it means something to him and I want him to say it again, but he doesn’t.
“Why are you here?” he echoes the same question he asked before.
“That’s none of your business.” I try to move away from him, but he doesn’t let my chin go.
“It is my business, especially if I find out that you’re just some girl about to attend my school and you want to come in rolling as the queen bee, knowing a secret about my family that will only harm you.”
That angers me all over again. The fact that this asshole feels entitled to everything and everyone is not only off-putting, it’s disgusting.
I’m the daughter of a prima ballerina with enough sass to teach seasoned divas new tricks, and my father is a lawyer who lets me read his law journals and does mock court trials with me. I don’t take shit from anyone and I sure as hell won’t be belittled like this.
“Listen here, asshole,” I start, my voice low and deadly. “I don’t know who you are but clearly you’re quite insecure about your identity. Is that because you have daddy issues or is it because you’re alone in here, caring about your brother that’s making you an ornery ass with self-entitlement written all over you?”
I hold his stare, not backing away. I know it’s a bitch move to bring up his family but he did say I’m a little bitch before so this shouldn’t surprise him. And who the hell does he think he is?
“Careful with your next words, they might hurt you in the long run,” he warns, his voice low, gaze hooded and narrowed now.
I snort, shaking my head as I get up and start packing up the first-aid kit. He stands up as well, watching me like he wants to devour me.
“I’m sorry about what you must be going through, I really am, but that doesn’t give you the right to assume that I have any ill intentions about you or your family. Hell, I don’t even know who you are and…”
Before I can finish that, he snakes a hand in my hair and fists it, pulling me to him and then…he’s kissing me.
I freeze.
I don’t dare breathe as my virgin lips are taken by a rough, angry bad boy in a hospital hallway.
The kiss is awkward at first, our lips locking with a fiery hesitation, his hot breath making my lips tingle.
Of all the fantasies and dreams I’ve had about my first kiss, this isn’t anywhere near one of those romantic, candle flickering in the background, kisses I imagined. This is, in so many ways, much better and so damn scary, as the need to feel something other than the icy chill within, blooms in my chest with an intensity that should embarrass me.
I want to feel him, to taste him. Maybe this kiss will heal something seriously broken inside of me. Maybe this is the kiss that will repair my lack of sympathy for other people or it will tame the monster inside that my mother always warns me about.
Coaxing my lips with a gentleness that disarms me, his tongue probes, licks, and caresses until I have no choice but to open my mouth to a burst of sensation I’ve never felt before. My eyes flutter closed. I feel light and a bit euphoric. It’s happening!
The moment our tongues join, I feel like I’ve just been zapped by electricity. It travels through my body until all I can do is lean in closer, melting into his hard chest.
And the next thing I know, he pulls away, his eyes dilated a bit. Breathless, my eyes fly open. I can hear the almost violent whooshing of blood rushing through my veins. My heart is pounding so hard, my ears are ringing.
It’s like he just tattooed half his soul to all of mine through that kiss. Like he just gave me half of himself, like I don’t deserve the rest.
Is this what kisses do?
Do they fry one’s brain to a crisp like mine is right now? Then why do I feel like doing it again?
But as I stare up at him, the euphoria I was beginning to feel starts to die down as I notice the impassive look on his face. His jaw locks, and he looks like he felt…nothing.
Like the kiss we just had, was nothing to him. I suck in a deep breath, my lips still tingling.
His eyes are dead, watching me back like he’s regretting placing his lips over mine.
Fear grips me by the throat, the ringing in my ears growing louder.
I know what he’s thinking of me. That I’m cold and dead inside. I’ve heard it so often in middle school, but I wasn’t expecting it to be transferred through a kiss with a stranger.
“You kissed me,” I whisper then groan. Way to go pointing out the obvious, dumb head. I risk looking up at him and regret it immediately. I can see the battle in his eyes so clearly, it punctures my heart.
He regrets kissing me.
Common sense seems to slam into both of us, it’s then that I realize what that was.
“You kissed me,” I repeat.
Kismet with a stranger, which in our case, is really the kiss of death.
The kiss that broke my heart.
He steps away, leaving me an almost hyperventilating mess. We stare at each other, but don’t say a word. I want him to say something. I want him to let me know that I’m not cold. That I’m wanted. That he cares, even though I don’t know his name.
I want him to tell me that he wants to kiss me again.
“There,” he whispers instead, watching me like he would a rock in his way. Disinterested, bored and maybe even annoyed. He looks away from me. “Now you can go tell your sick mother that you kissed a jerk like me with problems downstairs that I don’t have for your own information. And make sure to tell her that you loved it.”
I gasp, shocked by the way he just brushes me off and brought up my mother like an insult.
“What?” I’m so confused, I think my head is starting to spin. Hurt and unease unfurl in the pit of my stomach, it’s like I’ve been drenched in ice-cold water.
“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” he snaps the question like he wants me gone. “Wasn’t it?”
He’s so cavalier about it, like he’s amused but he really doesn’t care.
“It wasn’t…” I lie, blinking so fast. What’s happening? “You know your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”