His laugh is carefree and full of fun, and my heart flutters. Then he answers, “His name is Batman,” and the deep rich tone of his voice sends shock waves through me.
Oh. My. God. He’s Zane Lockhart.
My heart begins to pound and I catch the breath that escaped when he spoke. It has been since middle school, but I would know that voice anywhere.
She asks him, “Is it safe to pet him?”
And I hear the voice of my first love again.
He answers, “He’s safe. You can pet him.”
I take a deep breath to try to calm myself as memories of us swarm my mind.
Zane lived in the house next door. I was thirteen when we moved in, and he was fourteen. We were two kids from dysfunctional households, struggling to survive our toxic environments, finding solace in each other.
The first time we met, I was waiting in the rain for the school bus. I’ll never forget it. I didn’t have an umbrella, just a jacket thrown over my head, but I stood on the sidewalk to wait rather than be inside during the argument my mom and her new husband were having.
Zane came outside with an umbrella and just stood next to me, shielding me from the rain. We didn’t speak. I smiled to show my thanks and he smiled in return as if to say you’re welcome. When the bus arrived, he went to sit in the back with his friends, and I sat in the front alone.
He didn’t ride the bus home, so it was after dinner before I saw him again. I sat in my room watching for his tall, slender frame to appear. A car pulled up to the curb, and he got out. Three steps toward his house, he looked up at my window. Our eyes connected, and we shared a moment. Then he walked inside.
I lay in bed that night thinking about him. He was cute, with shoulder-length black hair, and pure blue eyes that looked into your soul. He was my first crush.
The next morning, I went out early again to wait for the bus. Not because of an argument, but because I wanted to meet him. When he came out, he walked over and introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Zane.”
“Hi, Zane. I’m Laura.”
From that day on, Zane and I talked. We talked about everything. How nuts our parents were. How we couldn’t wait to escape. How he loved basketball. How I wanted to be a dancer. We talked every morning before school, and on the weekends, if we didn’t see each other before bed, we would meet in our backyards, and hangout along our shared fence. We were best friends, but I was his secret. We never spoke away from the house. He was a jock at school, and I was nobody. I didn’t mind that. I preferred it actually. He was cocky, brash, and arrogant. I was shy, timid, and reserved. His public personality was too much for me, and he was too good-looking to ever be caught dead with a nerd like me.
I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t skinny. My brown hair was unruly, wavy, and bushy. I had no idea how to tame it, and my mother would not let me cut it.
I reach up and run my fingers through my soft, silky, curls. I love my hair now, but back then, I hated it.
I watch Zane, knowing he won’t recognize me.
The girls pose on either side of him and his K9 and are all giggles.
The last time I saw him, I didn’t know it would be the last time. We were in the backyard, laughing about the Christmas assembly and how stupid the skit was that the cheerleaders did. Suddenly, he grabbed the top of the fence, and sprang over, landing lightly on his feet.
The shock on my face made him laugh, not at me, but with me when I stuttered a very nervous, “What are you doing?”
He produced a piece of mistletoe, hung it over head, and said, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Then he leaned down, closed his brilliant blue eyes, and puckered his perfect lips, waiting for me to meet him halfway.
I swallowed hard, but had no spit. I stared at his long dark lashes resting relaxed under angled brows on a smooth, healthy completion. Then I stared at his inviting lips hovering under a faint dusting of dark mustache hair, and my mouth watered.
I had never kissed a boy before, and although I had dreamed about doing more than kissing Zane, I had dreamed of kissing him thousands of time.
I took a step closer, rested my hand on his chest, then pushed my body up on my toes, and leaned in to touch my lips to his. As soon as the soft, moist, sensation hit me, the thrill that ran through my body, was intoxicating, and I knew I would be addicted to him forever. His lips parted as his hand holding the mistletoe settled into the nape of my neck, and his other hand reached around me and pulled my body against his. The breath that I was holding, slipped out of my nose, as his tongue entered my mouth. I didn’t know what to do. Should I suck it, or should I touch his tongue with my own? While I hesitated, I inhaled, and his masculine scent made my knees weak. A soft moan escaped my throat and I clamped down on his tongue and sucked. He tasted so good!
His fingers in my hair constricted, and he forced my willing face to accept his tongue fucking. We kissed for several minutes, lost in each other.
Then a harsh sound penetrated reality. His father was bellowing his name. “ZANE, get your ass home! NOW!”
We heard his back door slammed as we broke apart. We stared into each others eyes, breathing hard, and knowing the world had changed forever.
He didn’t say anything to me. He simply put his hands back on the top of the fence, and sprang over to the other side. I watched him walk up to his house and right before he entered, he glanced back, and I waved.
