A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 58 | unholy bathroom affair

This was the least romantic place to kiss.

It was dimly lit, the moonlight casting shadows, and the night breeze tugging our clothes.

It was the clichéd kiss setting in movies where people held hands, yet something was odd about a bathroom kiss.

My lips touched Dwain's lips.

I should have been very happy, but there was nothing to be excited about.

I waited for the electric spark, confetti, balloons, and the other good stuff to pop up somewhere at the back of my head, but they just never came.

No life to it, the kiss was mushy, lacking in chemistry, and plain.

It was more of two lips hiding, instead of touching passionately and breathing heavily.

Neither was it a cute peck, which would have worked just great if things didn't get awkward.

It wasn't a real kiss.

No tongues were involved.

No movements or lip fights.

Not even the exchange of saliva.

My mind worked overtime, rolling her eyes at the failed attempt to make this kiss romantic, while the butterflies in my stomach miraculously vanished.

Maybe at the perfect time, there will be a spark.

I was in my head instead of being present for the kiss, wishing I'd waited for the perfect time to connect our lips.

I should have hyperventilated.

After all, it was still a kiss.

But my pulse won't quicken, nor do my cheeks turn a dazzling shade of red.

Worst of all, we were eyeballing each other like strangers, praying for some sort of righteous relief.

I didn't know if it was just me or both of us who felt embarrassed.

I sincerely wanted to melt.

Moreover, I didn't avoid Dwain's gaze, but he dared look away.

What an anomaly.

Our lips were still locked together for crying out loud, what went through his head?

Something was wrong.

My flair had sensed it.

If my fist went through his gut at that instant it won't have been murder, it would be me doing him a big favor.

My hands were around his neck, quickly tugging.

I lured his attention to my furrowed brows and took a step back, but forgot to let go of his neck.

What a strong and thick neck.

"I kissed you and you aren't reacting, why is that?"

He went cold like iced tea was shoved up his manly pair of ass.

There was darkness and gloom, the color of midnight in his eyes.

I hated the emotions that coursed through me when he steadied my feet on the tiles and kept his silence.

I felt rejected.

The rejection brought back the day my family threw me out and shut their doors.

Those raw emotions pulsed through my veins when my heartbeat skipped a pattern and walked through the memory.

My eyes were elated with fur.

I wondered why Dwain stood like a rock instead of being excited about our kiss.