Hi everyone! This is the first story I'm posting on FanFiction. I started writing it with an 'in the moment' style, meaning there is little character background in the first couple chapters but it builds as the chapters go on. The characters are all made up, and the story isn't based on anything. As a writer I LOVE hearing feedback so I hope you will enjoy the story as the chapters unfold, and take the time to review every once in awhile!
Chapter 1
Avaney walked into the house; her head spinning with the sudden warmth of the front hall after stumbling home in the winter night. She giggled for no reason at all and he shh'd her while holding in his own laughter.
"Go downstairs I'll be there in a sec," Chris whispered.
She made her way to the basement, only then realizing they were about to have their first moment alone together in six years. The thought was terrifying. She tiptoed across the newly stained wood floor and collapsed on the leather couch. Damn it. Her head really was spinning.
She tried to focus on the framed, autographed NHL photos that lined the wall behind the pool table. The whole basement was classic, really. On the other side of the room sat the bar his dad had only just completed days before, reminding her of an old-fashioned but classy Irish pub.
And then she heard the non-sober thumping of a male coming down the stairs. Her heart was rushed with a feeling of...she wasn't sure what. Uncertainty? Excitement? Absolute irrational fear?
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, obviously discovering that he, too, was slightly more tipsy than he had realized minutes earlier in the cool, January air.
"Well hey there," she said, a smile spreading across her face.
She watched him walk over to the couch and sit down next to her.
"My hand was bleeding," he told her.
"What? What happened?"
"I broke a beer bottle and tried to clean it up and I guess I cut myself."
She squeezed in beside him, closing the gap of couch between their bodies.
"Let me see," she said, and tenderly reached for his hand. He slowly lifted it toward her, letting her for the first time touch him in a way that was more than just friendly.
The corners of her mouth curved up into a tiny grin, and she knew she couldn't let this moment pass them by. She lifted his hand to her lips, and kissed it ever so gently, letting her lips linger on his skin.
He felt the warmth of her breath pass over his hand and suddenly needed to feel the softness of her lips on his. He closed his eyes, hoping she couldn't hear what seemed to be the loudest and most obvious heartbeat he'd ever heard.
He opened his eyes and turned his head to face her, a serious look suddenly washing over his face. And then, like some kind of perfect, wonderful scene in a movie, he slowly brought his face to hers and kissed her.
At first it was gentle and soft, like he was afraid of breaking her if he kissed too hard. She sat there, very still, focusing every bit of energy in her body into the electricity sparking between their faces.
She realized she was still holding his injured hand and dropped it, throwing her arms around his neck. Now he kissed with passion, grabbing her face and pressing his lips hard into hers.
He pushed her down to her back and his built, muscular body hovered over her. He stopped kissing her only for a second as he lifted her arms above her head and pulled off the thin, black tank top she'd worn that night.
"Chris," she said. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."
"Me too."