The First of Many Firsts

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You pretend you didn't notice how his arm brushed against yours. You ignore how your knees touched under the table. He was polite and a gentleman, laughing at the right times and was witty and intelligent. You glimpsed this boy's depth and you are curious.

But that night your curiosity got the best of you.

You try to keep a straight, impassive face when he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, and how his hand lingered just next to your cheek, hovering as if deciding whether to touch you there. But he draws back, a sweet, warm smile on his face, his eyes intensely brown.

He drives you home and you thought the night would end at your porch, when he said goodbye so softly you almost didn't want it to end. You thought you really wanted to, but you were scared as hell because you've never done it before, but he looked at you almost expectantly, his gaze intense. So you do it and stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek.

Just enough for a first date. Not too little, not too much. You have always been so reserved and conservative, and your parents could come home any second...

You start to pull away, your lips tingling, your insides warm and fuzzy. He smiles gratefully, but there's a strange look on his face.

Something that tells you he wants more.

Fear and anticipation claw in you. Should you give him more? How did the other girls do it? How do you end a first date?

Just when he says goodbye again and tells you he will text you, you open the door and squeeze the words out of your mouth.

"Would you like to come inside? Maybe stay for some tea?" You say.

He turns around and grins. Does that mean you did the right thing? He nods and steps inside your house.

You decide you trust him enough to let him into your home. It's not as if he's some criminal, you think.

You gesture for him to sit on the sofa as you boil water for your tea. You nervously look at the clock and you immediately realize your parents won't be home until an hour or so.

You are completely alone with this boy.

You shake off the last bits of fear. Your parents approved of him, at least thought he deserved a chance to go on a date with you. You are being kind and courteous. He paid for dinner even when you insisted to split the bill. Tea is the least you can do to make up for it.

The silence between you is comfortable while you prepare the tea. He takes the cup and flashes you that smile again. Your hands touch, but however briefly, the tension between you hardens, thick and palpable. If he feels it, he doesn't show it. He blows the tea and sips.

"Hmm," he regards thoughtfully. "Green tea with mint. What's your favorite?" He asks. An innocent question, yet his gaze is deep and makes your stomach flutter for the hundredth time that night.

"Black," you reply.

"I like that too," he says, sipping again, peering up at you with a gaze that can melt the coldest of hearts.

He's starting to get to yours.

"Honest? What if you're only saying that so you can get to me?" You joke.

His expression softens, but his eyes, oh his eyes, are glazed over in the dim light and burn into your soul. "I know enough about you to know I like you," he says, his voice low. "And yeah, I do like black tea. Cross my heart." He grins, the serious expression gone.

You realize you've been holding your breath and slowly release it through your lips.

"Your parents aren't home?" He asks.

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