Mistletoe Surprises
New Years challenge.
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She's drunk. That's all that's flying around my brain as her lips are against mine. She's loaded drunk. She's been drinking Firewhiskey like there's no tomorrow. She's drunk.
But she's not drunk. She's sober. She's only had one taste of Firewhiskey, as it made her cough and cough like she was puffing on cigarettes. Which, I have been.
I've been watching her from afar, I have. Creep. They call me a creep. They say that I'm crazy for spending my night under the winter stars chain-smoking and watching her twirl with her friends in her beautiful dress.
It's purple. A colour that I had hated until I saw her in it. A colour that I had thought overrated. Until I saw her in it. A colour that made me cringe and think of squashed eggplants being poured over dung. Until I saw her in it. Purple. A colour that reminds me of the brightest stars on the prettiest night. Because I saw her in it. A colour that made me say 'pretty'. Because I saw her in it. Damn it, she was pretty. And purple definitely suited her. Definitely.
Anyway, she's kissing me. She's lip-to-lip, arms around neck, kissing me. And I'm elated. I try not to go too far. I try not to go too far. She might snap back and slap me. I lightly slide my hand down to her waist. I rest it there. Her breath catches in her throat, I note.
I grin against her lips and turn around and kiss her out to the balcony. I place my hands on the rail, barring her close to me.
She looks into my eyes. "James," she whispers to me. Her breath saying my name is amazing. I nod, and she smiles.
"It was only Mistletoe," she says, and then kisses me again, bringing in the new year with a kiss.