First Kiss Flash Fiction!

I have a confession to make. I’m a flash fiction virgin. Before I got invited to participate in this blog hop I’d never written flash fiction before and had only read one or two. The premise—write a short piece based on the First Kiss video that went viral last month (click here if you happened to miss it)—was too tempting. Even though the video was later revealed to be part an advertisement, I loved the idea behind it. Strangers meeting for the first time, getting paired together to kiss on camera? Sounds good to me. I’m a sucker for a first kiss. First kisses are among my favorite scenes to write (and among my favorite personal memories). When you’re done watching Oliver and Abbey share their first kiss don’t forget to click on the above logo so you can check out the amazing list of super-talented authors participating in this hop!

First Kiss Flash Fic…

Oliver’s Twist

I should be nervous but all I can think about is how the Altoid the short blonde girl handed me in the ladies room is burning a hole through my tongue. Curiously strong my ass. I’m not curious. I’m horrified. I also don’t see a trash can. What am I going to do with this thing? My eyes are starting to water. That’s not going to look good on camera. And no one’s going to want to kiss the crying girl. Fuck. All I wanted was fresh breath. Now I’ve got a mint coup going on in my mouth. The mouth I’ll need to use in less than five minutes if the giant clock above the sign-in desk is correct.

“Number eight.” The tall skinny guy who took my head shot at check-in is tapping me on the shoulder.

Tucking the mint into my cheek I turn toward him. “Yes.”

“We need you over here. Your partner’s ready.”

Partner. Oh God.  Now I’m nervous. And my mouth is still in the minty version of hell. I follow Skinny Guy, keeping an eye on his dark green Chucks so I don’t lose him as we weave past other people. Still no trash can in sight. How can there not be a trash can? He stops and I can see the guy he’s standing next to. His back is turned. Dark hair. White T-shirt. Thin but muscled. Great arms. Not too big but well defined. Narrow hips in classic faded jeans that look like they were made to be worn by him. And an index card in his hand with the number eight on it. My number. That’s my guy.

There’s no other option. I pretend it’s a Valium and swallow the killer Altoid. An icy streak tumbles down my throat and I swear I can feel it radiating its freakishly cool heat inside my stomach. But maybe that’s just more nerves. Number Eight has turned around and is scanning the crowd.

Skinny Guy points to me. “There she is. Okay. You two stay here. Everyone else is partnered up. Let me check that the crew is ready and we’ll shoot.”

Number Eight’s eyes meet mine and for a second I can’t breathe. Blue eyes are not my thing. But these blue eyes? I’ve never seen anything like them. Silver grey flecks and swirls inside the deepest, clearest royal blue. Like Murano glass. I didn’t know eyes could look like that. I can’t look away.

“Eight?” He tilts his head to read the paper in my hand as he waggles his card between his fingers. Long, strong fingers. Those are my thing. I love men with expressive hands and long fingers are always a plus. Now I’m doubly mesmerized. Eyes. Hands. And the burn in my mouth has finally begun to fade. A little. Now it’s just a cool whisper every time I inhale, which I’m not doing much because I’m barely breathing at all.

“Yeah. I’m eight.” That’s what I’m opening with? Not my name or ‘how’s it going?’ or anything else semi-intelligent or friendly. No. I announce I’m eight like I’m a third grader who’s just been approached on the playground rather than a grown woman about to kiss the handsome stranger with perfect gemstone eyes and gorgeous hands and hair. Oh God. He’s got really nice hair. My fingers rake through my own messy brown locks before I can stop them. It’s my nervous tic. Only this time it doesn’t calm me, it makes me want to run my fingers through his hair. It’s black and shiny and just long enough that I wonder what it looks like when he gets out of bed…. But I don’t dwell on that because Skinny Guy is now talking really loud and everyone else has gone silent.

“Okay folks, we’re ready. There’s a crew set up in each corner of the room. We’ll start with couples one, five and eight. The crew will do a countdown so you know they’re rolling and the rest is up to you. Questions?”

Nothing I can ask out loud.

Blue Eyes has his hands tucked into his front pockets which makes his T-shirt bunch in a way that’s kind of adorable. It also accentuates how broad his shoulders are in comparison to his hips. He smiles, a little crooked, then makes a small laugh and glances down at the floor before meeting my eyes again. He’s as nervous as I am and it’s somehow comforting.

He takes a step closer to me and, like an idiot, I step back. I can’t help it. My instinct is to keep personal space between myself and people I don’t know. He chuckles. “Sorry,” I say and cover my face with my hands, raking my hair back again.

“It’s okay.” He reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

That’s when I hear the accent. He’s British. Thank you God. Thank you blonde in the bathroom. Thank you hellish Altoid. My stranger not only has sexy hair, eyes and hands, he’s got a beautiful voice. James Bond’s voice. Double Oh my God.

Skinny Guy’s voice booms and I can’t help but startle. “And ready in five, four, three.” He holds up two fingers then one and I know we’re being filmed. My heart switches places with my minty fresh stomach. “I’m Abbey.”

“Abbey.” My name coming out of his mouth sends a ripple of excitement through me. He steps closer and this time I don’t step back. He tucks my hair behind my ear again but this time his hand lingers at the base of my head, his fingers lightly stroking my neck. “I’m Oliver.”

My hands go to his chest and I can feel his muscles tense beneath the soft cotton. Nerves? Instinct? Attraction? His thumb makes gentle passes up and down my neck that make my eyelashes flutter. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

His eyes stay fixed on mine and their blue heat starts to melt something deep inside me. Inching closer I slide my hands toward his neck. His other hand cups my face and my pulse skips wildly. Thick dark lashes obscure the blue as he tilts my head. Full brows, razor thin nose, cheekbones—did I mention the cheekbones?—all blur together  as soft lips graze mine then pull away then touch again. His nose brushes mine then his head tips to the other side and his mouth closes in, firmer this time. Once. Twice. Then he does it again. That perfect nose edges mine as his head shifts back the first way and now he’s kissing like he means it.

My hands slide around his neck and he pulls me closer. He bends his knees as I go up on my tiptoes and our bodies align as we move in toward each other. Strong fingers trail down my spine to my waist, clutching at the fabric of my dress and making it ride up the back of my thigh just enough that I shiver from the tickling sensation.

His head shifts and this time his tongue flicks out against my lips. Just a teeny bit. Like a question. I smooth my hand up his neck to his chiseled jaw, tracing my fingertips over his features, so I can see him again in my mind. A second flick repeats the inquiry and my mouth springs open. Our tongues meet, warm and sweet, and I sink my fingers into his thick dark hair, which I now know is soft and silky. A small sigh rumbles in the back of my throat and I wonder if it made a sound anywhere but inside my head. Oliver presses against me harder and his fingers grip at my waist. His muscles bunch beneath his shirt and I know he heard me. Heard me and liked it.

Oliver twists once more, angling his mouth in a way that makes me dizzy and for a second I forget that he’s a stranger, that there are cameras watching, that we’ve never done this before. In that second it’s as natural as breathing and I fill my lungs with him. His tongue spirals slower and then he’s back to soft kisses, our lips barely brushing. He presses his forehead to mine as he stands upright, still holding me. My hands are still curled in his hair but I ease my grip and slide them down his chest as we inch apart.

“Lovely,” he says, looking into my eyes, lips curving into a devilish smile. His gaze darts to the ground before flickering back up to mine.

A giggle bubbles out of me and my cheeks heat as I replay the kiss in my mind. I guess he likes mint.

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6 Responses to First Kiss Flash Fiction!

  1. Audra North says:

    OMG the Altoid curse! Yes! I laughed so hard in the first paragraphs, and then swooned at the kiss. I adore how she steps back from him at first–that made it so much more real.

    I’d never have guessed you were a flash fiction virgin. You performed like a pro! :)

  2. Shari Slade says:

    There is altoid-strength sweetness packed into this flash. Love it!

  3. rube says:

    That last line! *swoons*

  4. Tracie says:

    Love. Love it. Written so well…I want to know what happens next, dammit. haha <3

  5. Lia Riley says:

    I love this with the same painful heat of an Altoid burn. Outta the park!

  6. Yay! I love that questioning tongue flick. Twice. Yum! Very nice.

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