Free The First Last Kiss by Ali Harris

reply snitchily.
    He raises an eyebrow and his crystal-blue eyes sparkle mischievously as he folds his arms and gazes at me. ‘No, you’re not.’ He pauses and grins. ‘Well, not yet,’ he says, and he closes the door behind him again.
    I turn and grab a couple of dark, checked flannel shirts hanging on the rail and thrust my hand through the door, turning my face away but not before I get a glimpse of his smooth, tanned chest once more. ‘Here, try these. Wear them open over a T-shirt for a more grungy look and hopefully it’ll stop you looking like such an Essex boy. No offence.’
    ‘None taken.’
    I feel his hand brush mine as he takes them and a volt of longing shoots through my body. ‘I know you love me just the way I am.’
    I tut and turn away, hoping he didn’t notice that I didn’t correct him.
    Half an hour later we’re sitting in a café just off the High Street. I feel like pinching myself to check this is really happening. So I do.
    ‘Ow!’
    Holy shit. It is.
    ‘Are you OK?’ Ryan asks.
    ‘Oh, um, yep, just, you know, banged my ankle on the table.’ I suck in my breath and rub my leg. He looks under the table at it and winks.
    ‘Can I help with that?’
    I blush. Pull yourself together, Molly Carter! Emily Davison did not throw herself in front of the winner of the Epsom Derby so you can sit here simpering at a boy .
    ‘No. I’m fine,’ I answer primly. ‘Now what were we talking about?’
    ‘You were telling me about your parents,’ he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.
    Somehow he’s managed to make me tell him things that I never imagined revealing to anyone other than my diary. He seems to have this knack of asking the right questions, like he already knows the answers. Maybe it’s because at seventeen he’s nearly two whole years older than me. He’s much more mature than boys my age. I love how he listens so intently, with his head slightly tilted to one side so his sandy curtains flop into his eyes, his cheek resting against his knuckle so his eyelashes brush against it and his lips parted slightly as if to offer soothing words of encouragement at any moment.
    ‘Can I ask you something?’ I say, swirling my straw around in my Coca-Cola. I don’t do hot drinks.
    ‘Shoot.’ Ryan blows on his hot chocolate before taking a sip and a cloud of froth lands on his upper lip. I resist the overwhelming urge to lick it off. Control yourself, Molly!
    ‘Why do you act like such a macho prick when you’re actually really sensitive?’ I look up and see him grinning at me.
    ‘I’ll answer if you explain why you dress like you’re ugly when you’re actually really beautiful.’ He leans forward and gently removes my glasses.
    I snatch them back in case he realizes that they’re fake lenses. ‘You are a giant cheeseball, Ryan Cooper!’
    ‘I just want to look at you without anything between us.’
    I crack up laughing and bang my hand on the table, my silver moonstone rings clatter on it satisfyingly loudly. ‘That’s the worst line ever . Where did you steal it from? Some terrible eighties romcom?’
    ‘What if I did?’ He leans back and puts his arm across the leather banquette. ‘Can I tell you a secret, Molly Carter?’ He leans forward across the table so his lips are inches from mine. ‘But you have to promise not to tell anyone.’ I raise a pencilled eyebrow expectantly.
    He takes a deep breath and looks around furtively. ‘I am a romcom addict,’ he whispers dramatically, his eyes glimmering mischievously.
    I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
    He looks at me with mock offence. ‘Hey, this is serious. No one can know though, OK?’ he whispers, looking around again.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I’d have thought that was obvious!’
    ‘No,’ I laugh, ‘ why do you love them?’
    ‘You really wanna know why I like them? I like that you know how it’s all going to end, that there aren’t any big surprises. People follow their hearts and