chivalrous, and thoughtful, always opening the door for me and even stopping to help an older woman struggling to cross the street in between the theater and diner. He was obviously wel -traveled, and real y bright. He had only one flaw: He seemed too good to be true. In fact, he was so comfortable it made me wonder whether he’d been on tons of dates before.
We walked toward the diner door, and I wondered if I should cal my parents for a ride. After al , Michael hadn’t said anything about driving me home, and he did ask me to meet him at the movies. Maybe he didn’t have a car, and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.
I pul ed out my cel phone, and started to dial. He asked, “Who are you cal ing?”
“My parents.”
“Do you always cal them to report in midway through a date?” he said with a laugh.
“No. Wel , I don’t go on dates—” I turned bright red at my unintentional confession. “What I mean is I don’t have to ‘report in’ or anything—”
He laughed. “I’m only kidding, El ie. If you need to cal your parents for some reason, by al means, please do.”
“I just thought we were probably heading home and I should cal them for a ride.”
“A ride? I was hoping to drive you home myself.”
“You were?”
“Of course. If that’s al right with you?”
I nodded happily.
Michael was quiet as he helped me into his parents’ navy Prius and headed toward my house. I wondered if I’d done or said something wrong, and tried to fil the void with chatter. But Michael seemed perfectly content driving in near-silence, with one hand on the wheel and the other nearly touching mine.
He pul ed up in front of my house. Our little white Victorian, with its whimsical y painted Kel y green trim and wide front porch that my parents had resuscitated from demolition, looked especial y inviting. The warm lights coming from the kitchen were a sure sign that my parents were waiting up for me.
“Would you like to come in?” I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but it seemed the normal thing to do. Plus I was nervous. I’d never been on a date before—let alone kissed a guy—and I figured that might come next. Part of me hoped it would, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.
“Maybe it’d be better if I came in and saw your parents next time. I’d kind of like to keep you al to myself tonight.”
The words “next time” had such a sweet ring to me. They were a reassurance of sorts that he had enjoyed our evening, even if he’d grown quiet. I put my hand on the car door handle and said, “Until ‘next time,’ then.”
Michael reached across me and gently took my hand off the handle. “Are we done with ‘this time’ so soon?” If his voice hadn’t cracked when he asked the question, he might have seemed smooth, too smooth. Instead, he just seemed endearing.
I didn’t want the date to end either, even though I was anxious. I shook my head and looked down.
With his free hand, Michael traced my cheek and lips, and rested his hand at the back of my neck, lifting my face to his. He slipped his other hand around the smal of my back and drew me close. So close I could feel his breath on my skin.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I surrendered. His lips were soft and gentle at first, as gentle as he’d been with me al night. I responded intuitively, fol owing his lead as he grew more persistent.
Slowly, so slowly, he parted my lips with his tongue. The delicate, but powerful, motion took my breath away. I waited as he ran his tongue around the tip of my own and then along the ridge of my upper teeth with an al uring deliberation. The movement sent shivers down my spine.
I wanted to provoke the same reaction in him. Ten-tatively, I touched his tongue with the tip of mine and then sought out his upper teeth.
Mimicking his motions, I ran my tongue along the ridge, but it was razor-sharp. I cried out in pain, as my blood fil ed both of our mouths.
Instinct told me to pul back and I started to apologize, but Michael grabbed hold of me. Just like that, the intensity heightened. His kisses became more and more demanding, and I found myself swept away by his ardor and my own. My pain did nothing to lessen my desire. The feeling was so new . . . but the rush felt almost familiar. Like I was in one of my nightly dreams, flying high above the town below.
Panting, Michael broke away first. We looked into each other’s pale, pale eyes, and I saw a hunger in his matched only by my own. I never knew that kissing could be like this. Not even from the movies.
“I think we should stop,” he said.
I’d never dreamed of feeling so much, so quickly. I didn’t want it to stop. As if in a dream, I said, “No, I don’t want to.” And I reached for him.
“Yes, El ie.” He placed his hand on mine to keep me at bay.
Stil , I wanted more. “Please, Michael.” I pressed forward, against the pressure of his hand.
He pushed me back into my seat. Gently, but it was enough to break the spel .
What on earth had come over me? I was mortified at my aggressive behavior, and embarrassed by his rejection. I recoiled into the far corner of my seat, as far away from his spurning as I could get. But it wasn’t far enough. More than anything in the world, I wanted out of that car.
As I reached for the door handle, he grabbed my hand. “El ie, please believe me when I say that I’m stopping only because we are meant to be together. And this is just the beginning.”
I tried to wrench free of his grip. “Don’t bother letting me down easy, Michael. I may be inexperienced, but I
