Remember when I said I’d never written a romance before? Well, I just recently realized (as in, earlier today) that I’m STILL not writing a romance. I’m writing a cationary tale.
Here’s a little excerpt:
Oliver kissed Dahlia with everything he had.
Maybe because he was getting used to her pulling away, and he wanted to make it count. But the kiss went on and on, until it felt like a fire was starting between them, and she didn’t pull away.
Suddenly, Oliver was the one panicking.
“Wait,” he told her, disengaging himself until he could look her in the eye. Dahlia’s stare was glossy and distant, but her swollen lips curved up in a self-satisfied smile.
“Because I need to tell you…you’re not just some girl, you know that, right? You’re different.”
“Oliver,” she shook her head, and her eyes grew slightly more focused. “You don’t need to tell me what you think I want to hear.”
“That’s the thing,” he said. His gut tightened with that familiar feeling, like he was about to go all in. “I don’t think you’ll want to hear what I’m going to say next.”
How would she react, when he told her how long he’d watched her? How often he thought about her? How badly he wanted to be with her? Would she run, or would she stay?
At the card table, Oliver was a genius at reading people, but when it came to Dahlia, he was blinded by the way she made him feel.
“Don’t say it,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. Maybe she’d already read him, and that was the problem. Maybe she was smarter than he was, smart enough to know they could never work.
“You’re in luck,” he said. He’d never been one to do the smart thing. “I don’t think I can.”
This time, when he kissed her, there was no holding back. What was that saying she had?
Actions speak louder than words.