Free Charlotte's Tangled Web: L.B. Pavlov by L. B. Pavlov Page A

and I turned and led her out of the party and to my truck.
    I turned her around when we got to the truck to look at her. “Are you OK? Are you hurt?” I asked in a panic.
    She looked down at her arm. It was purple and swollen where he had grabbed her. I felt my blood boil once again.
    “Are you OK?” she asked, concerned, and she grabbed my hand to see if it was hurt.
    “I’m fine, Charlotte. Are you kidding me? I’m not the one that was just assaulted. Let me see your arm,” I said, gently lifting it.
    “I’m fine, Daniel. It really doesn’t hurt that bad. Can we just go home?” she pleaded.
    I opened her door and assisted her into the truck. She turned to me and said, half laughing, “Daniel, I’m not broken, I can get in the truck.”
    I waited for her to buckle up, and we drove off. “Are you OK?” I said again cautiously.
    “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. What was that? What’s wrong with him?” she said, and her voice began to sound angry.
    “Do you want to cry because you’re upset about Blane? Or because you’re upset about the night?” I asked tentatively.
    “No. I don’t even know Blane. Obviously you were right about him being a douche cake, or whatever you call him.” We both started laughing as she continued, “But I’m sorry that he ruined a fun night because I had fun watching your game, and I was having fun at the party, and I certainly don’t like someone grabbing my arm that hard!” She was starting to calm down.
    “No one should ever touch you like that, Charlotte,” I said angrily.
    We pulled into my driveway, and she turned toward me before we got out of the car. “Daniel, thank you. Thank you for punching him,” she said sincerely and touched the hand that I had punched Blane with to make sure it was OK. “I’m so sorry that I ruined your night. You should have been celebrating tonight, not dealing with this,” she said quietly.
    I reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. She stared at me with her worried eyes, and she was biting her lip. Before I could think to tell her to stop biting her lip, I leaned over and I kissed her.

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    chapter 5
    the truth
    I could feel his lips on mine. He pulled away to look at me, and I was frozen.
    “Charlotte? Are you OK?” he asked nervously.
    I looked up at him. “Why did you kiss me? Was it because you feel bad for me about what happened?” I asked firmly.
    “No. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you,” he answered confidently.
    “When did you decide that you wanted to kiss me?” I pressed while staring him right in the eyes.
    I certainly didn’t want a sympathy kiss—not even from Daniel.
    “Are you asking me when the first time that I wanted to kiss you was?” He seemed surprised by the question.
    “Yes, I am,” I said, certain of my question. I was not going to allow him to kiss me because he felt sorry for me.
    “The very first time?” he asked again nervously.
    “Yes,” I said, unwavering.
    “Well, the very first time that I ever wanted to kiss you was twelve years ago, if you want me to be honest,” he said, more self-assured now.
    “What are you talking about?” I was irritated that he was making a joke out of this.
    “You know, when Chandler Hoboken threw sand in your face. You were sitting in the sandbox, and you had sand all over your head. You started to cry. I punched the prick. And I remember looking over at you, and you had a little bun in your hair with a pink ribbon tied around the bun. You were wearing a little white dress, which was now covered in a shitload of sand. And I remember that I wanted to kiss you on the cheek to make you smile again. But that damn Mrs. Barnacle grabbed me by the arm and wrenched me out of there and down to the principal’s office. But yes, that was the first time that I wanted to kiss you,” he said, as if this should come as no surprise to me at all.
    I was stunned, and finally I said, “We were in kindergarten,” in a quiet