Free Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) by Elle Brooks Page B

you can hear your own heartbeat thumping in your ears. Yet you embrace it, wandering blindly into the unknown with nothing but hopes.
    Our kiss isn’t even a timely affair. Nor is it a carnal, hunger-fueled, passionate collision of our mouths. It’s a brief moment; a magical instance where time stands still and the earth stops spinning for the shortest of seconds. The only thing between us is the enchanting stir of anticipation as his face leans in close to mine. The weight of his lips is gone all too soon. Our eyes open as we pull apart and the air around us crackles. This one intensely perfect moment is over, and what should be the beginning, feels like the end. Realization sets in—where we are and what we’re doing. And that old saying has never rung truer: Never start what you can’t finish.
    Maybe this is why we kiss and dream with our eyes closed? The purest things in life are not meant to last. His kiss wasn’t supposed to make me want another. He’s not the object of my desire, I tell myself as I lie awake in my bed staring at his number in my cell. He’s not Ethan, and I’m running out of time.
    Sleep avoids me for the next few nights as I overanalyze the one quick kiss that I shared with Lucas, and then analyze my over-analysis. In all truth, I’m just one hot mess. It was supposed to be a chaste kiss goodbye; one of those, It was great to meet you; let’s get together sometime , things.
    Except it wasn’t.
    It was too slow and calculated.
    He put his number into my cell and made me promise to call him. We’d only had a half hour of getting to know each other but it was easy, free-flowing conversation, streaked with little hints of flirting. And I loved every second of it.
    I keep catching myself thinking, why could it not be like this with Ethan ? Then I instantly feel like a bitch for comparing the two of them. Lucas was hardly ambiguous with his admission of liking me. You’d have to be a special brand of stupid to not notice how hot he his, and how genuine he comes across. So why am I hung up on a boy who doesn’t really even know I exist? I could refocus my attention and have some fun while I have the opportunity, but even the thought sends an ache across my chest. I feel like I’m mourning the lost love of a boy who has never been mine.
    I pull my pillow over my face and groan in frustration as I lie in bed with my journal open to my bucket list—mocking me that I’m taking too long. Stupid list!
    My cell vibrates on the nightstand and I reach over, pillow still in place, and fumble around, patting my hand along the cold wooden surface until it reaches its target. I peep from under the pillow and open up the text I just received. I bolt upright, the pillow dropping unceremoniously to the floor as I stare down at the message.
     
    From: Lucas
    A guy can only play it cool for so long before his ego takes a huge nose-dive. You didn’t call? I feel like I’ve violated some unspoken guy code by contacting you first ;)
     
    The message has my pulse racing and my fingers tingling as I wrack my brain, trying to think of an appropriate reply. I want it to be funny, but not at his expense; witty, but not sarcastic; flirty, without coming off like a giant whore.
    One minute passes.
    Two minutes.
    Five minutes.
    Seven minutes.
    Screw it! Texting is overrated. I hit the call button and then instantly panic. What if he picks up? Or worse, what if he doesn’t? I’ll have to leave a voice message. “Shit,” I curse and, of course, that’s when the call connects.
    “Wow, is that how you greet everyone you call?” I can hear the smile behind his words as my cheeks ignite. Thank goodness he can’t see me.
    “Sorry, no … I um, I wasn’t expecting you to pick up so fast,” I admit.
    “I’m not going to lie. I thought you’d blown me off and ignored my text.”
    “You want the truth?” I ask, being careful to make my voice sound cheery rather than nervous as hell.
    “Always.”
    “I’ve