Page 7 of The Kiss Keeper
“Get down,” he shot back, guiding her to the ground.
She crouched next to him, and their shoulders pressed together.
“They’re close. I can hear them,” she whispered.
“We’ll let them pass, and then we’ll go,” he whispered back as the footsteps drew closer and closer.
“Do you see anyone?” another male voice asked.
“Nah. It could have been a fox or a raccoon. I thought I caught something moving out of the corner of my eye.”
The men stopped on the other side of the blackberry bush, and Natalie held her breath.
“Let’s walk the main loop first, then head past the teen cabins. I’m as tired as fuck and want to get this patrol over.”
Nat relaxed as the men continued on. The teen cabins were on the periphery of the property, while the main loop would take the men back toward the heart of the camp.
They had time to get to their cabins—not much—but enough if they hurried.
Her kiss keeper came to the same realization. After the sound of the patrollers’ steps disappeared, he was back, whispering in her ear.
“I can get you to your cabin. We’ve got a couple of minutes. Are you ready?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
“Okay, just let me know if there are any rocks or tree roots to step over. I don’t want to fall.”
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t let you fall.”
She wished she could see his face—see if what she saw in his eyes matched what she felt in her heart.
He gave her hand another squeeze, then led her through the forest. He was smart to stay off the path, and within what felt like both seconds and days, he came to a stop.
“We’re here. Put out your hand.”
She reached forward with the hand not holding his and felt the scratch of the screened-in windows.
“Thank—” she began, but before she could finish, lips pressed down on hers, silencing her, capturing her.
Her kiss keeper’s lips.
Her first kiss.
She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, and his hand returned to rest on her shoulder. His thumb brushed over her collarbone in sweet, gentle strokes as she parted her lips and dared to allow her tongue to peek out.
“Wow!” he breathed, sounding caught off guard as his tongue met hers.
French kissing.
She was French kissing the sweetest guy on the planet.
Tidal waves and fireworks collided with a great surge of energy, sending her pulse into overdrive and igniting a strange, delicious stirring deep within her belly. She wanted to be closer to this boy. She wanted to kiss him until the sun came up—maybe longer. Everything seemed possible with his lips pressed to hers until the unmistakable snort of her counselor rang out. Her kiss keeper pulled back, but he stood there as still as the night.
Was he looking at her? Was he grossed out? Did she do it wrong? It didn’t feel wrong!
“That kiss was better than sailing across the lake,” he said as wonder wove its way through his words.
But before she could reply, he released her hand and ran off into the night.
Amped up on hormones, fear, and excitement, she forced herself to count to thirty before pulling off the blindfold and staring out into the inky darkness.
