Page 49 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

“You’ve got plenty of time,” he said.

“Jo Beth had already won the silver by my age.”

Frank showed me his chin dimple again. “So? The brightest stars always burn out first.”

The vodka had loosened my limbs and my tongue. I let my head rest against the couch cushion. “Great metaphor,” I said. That was a lie; I actually thought it was incredibly cliché and not particularly true. But he was sweet to try to make me feel better. “Hey, Frank, what’s your story? Why doesn’t a guy like you have a girlfriend?”

“What makes you think I don’t?” he asked.

I thought about it for a second. “I guess because you seem like you might want to kiss me,” I answered.

He nodded solemnly. “You guess I seem like I might want to kiss you?” He laughed. “Way to be definitive, Skylar. I’m no expert, but if you want to get into Cornell’s writing program, I’d work on strengthening your declarative statements.” He moved from his chair and sat on the edge of the couch, facing me. “Does it matter, though?”

“Does what matter?”

“If I have a girlfriend?”

I swooned. Whether it was from Frank’s hotness or from a lack of food combined with a lot of vodka and knee pain, I wasn’t sure. But I wanted him touching me. “I guess not,” I replied.

Frank leaned back, sizing me up. His confident magnetism was an elixir, erasing every single problem I thought I had from my brain. Those huge blue eyes staring at me, those sweet, parted pink lips, the steady rise and fall of his chest: they all combined into the most fabulous compliment I’d ever been paid, and his attention quickened my pulse. His large hands took my face and held it gently. He tilted his head, leaning in for a kiss I absolutely could not refuse. His lips were hard and searching yet his kisses were slow and drugging, and I was shocked at how soon my addiction set in. Then he took me in his arms and instinctively my body arched towards his. He must have carried me from the couch to his bed. He must have lightly removed my clothes, because I registered no pain or discomfort in the process of getting naked and lying beneath him. My only thoughts were don’t stop and I want more.

I dug my fingers into his shoulders, which I swear were a mile wide and carved from bronze. He lifted my leg with the injured knee and elevated it against his perfectly formed rear end, but it didn’t matter, because soon my body melted into his, delirium pulsed through me, and the bliss was so real, so explosive, I was unaware that I’d ever felt any pain.