Just One Kiss novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Bad at It Together

The Okerlund boathouse sits at the back of his father's lot.

It's a gray shed on stilts, with a slip for a rowing shell and a loft above it.

Ansel has slept up there every summer since he was twelve.

There's a cot, a lamp, and a wall of old oars with names painted on the blades.

We got there at nine, still smelling of fryer smoke.

He put his hand on the door and stopped.

"I should say something," he said.

"No."

"I'm going to be bad at this."

"I know. So am I. Come here."

I pulled him up the ladder by his belt loops.

The loft was warm and dim, and the lake slapped quietly against the stilts beneath us.

He switched on the lamp, then switched it off, then switched it on again.

"Leave it on," I said.

"I'll be able to see you."

"That's the point."

He swallowed.

I took off my own shirt first, because someone had to go first and I was bossy.

Under it I had on a plain white bra.

I'd worn it to a fish fry, and I had not planned my day around this.

Ansel looked at me and forgot how to stand.

"Lottie," he said. "Oh my God."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I'm not able to evaluate it."

I laughed, and he laughed, and then his big hands came up and touched me.

They were warm and rough and so careful that I almost cried.

He traced the edge of the bra, and my ribs, and the soft place at my waist.

I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.

He is built like something carved.

All that rowing had put muscle in places I'd never noticed.

There was a tan line at his collar and another at his biceps.

I put my hands on his stomach and felt it jump.

"It's a lot," he said, in a strangled voice.

"Good lot or bad lot?"

"Very good lot."

I kissed him, and then we were on the cot, and the cot made a noise like a dying goose.

We froze.

We looked at each other.

We lost it completely.

He put his face in my neck and laughed until the whole frame shook.

I laughed so hard I got the hiccups.

"You said we'd be terrible," I wheezed.

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