Chapter 12

Once, when I was little, my father had taken me to town with him to trade for some bread. My father knew the owner of the bakery very well and the two men got along well, laughing and joking around as I waited patiently for my father to finish the trades so we could go home.

On that sunny afternoon, instead of the baker answering the back door, it was a young boy. Blond floppy hair and blue eyes that reminded me of the lake my father and I went to when we hunted. My father ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, asking him to get his father and off he went, leaving the door propped open.

As we waited, I wondered curiously about the boy. He was polite. He was kind. And he didn't look at us like we were vermin. Not like the other Merchants in 12.

My father noticed me eyeing the door and teased, "Have you met little Peeta yet, Katniss?" I shake my head in response. I'm usually quiet when my father makes his trades so this doesn't surprise him. His gray eyes take on a mischievous glint and he says, "That boy is in your class at school."

I shrug. But I can feel my face grow warm. Why is my father bothering me about this boy?

The baker comes out soon after, and as he trades with my father, I see Peeta hiding behind his father's legs, looking out at me. I lower my head, trying to see him, but he ducks away bashfully. The baker laughs at this and lures me forward with a cookie, yet he hands it to Peeta to give to me. Peeta nearly tosses the cookie into my hands in his haste to hide again and our fathers laugh. I don't see whats so funny, but we thank the baker and take our goods home.

On the way home, my father points out a couple sitting on a wooden porch, kissing. I'm indifferent towards them, but my father teases, "See that? Would you ever do that with a boy?"

I shoot an indignant look at him, which leads him to double over in laughter. "Boys are gross, dad."

"I'm a boy. Do you think I'm gross?"

No, I didn't. He seems to know he's won because he adds slyly, "Would you ever do that with little Peeta?"

"EW!" He cracks up again at my certainty. "Dad!"

He grins. "Good. Promise me you won't kiss any boy unless you change your mind and suddenly feel like you want to."

I jam the rest of the cookie in my mouth. "Promise."

And now, here I am, with my lips pressed against Peeta's. The irony.

His lips are gentle as they caress mine. He doesn't move his hands where they remain on mine. Those sensations come back. The one in the cave. When I wanted him to kiss me again. And the one on the beach. When I never wanted to stop.

But no one is here to interrupt us. The wicked thought passes through my mind and I feel Peeta's hand let go to move to my cheek. He gently runs the back of his hand against it, sending delicious shivers up my spine.

He tastes like the blueberry pancakes he made as I feel my resolve cracking. Yes, I promised myself that I wouldn't hurt Peeta, but what exactly does that mean? Does it mean simply eating meals together? Does it mean I will let him kiss me when he wants to? Does it mean more than that?

My mind is a jumbled mess as Peeta runs his tongue along my bottom lip. He must realize that I'm not quite responding to the wonderful sensations this kiss is stirring within me. But I want it. I want him.

I give in to the moment, the crack in my resolve shattering it to pieces. I kiss him back fervently. It probably isn't fair to do this to him, but I have to let it out- I missed him when he left. Now that he's here, I finally feel like a part of me came back from the dead. The heat grows in my belly as his hand dips under my neck and buries itself in my hair which is worn down. He told me once he liked it that way.

My lips move against his in a slow pattern, a simplistic dance of give and take. Our breathing is uneven and harsh, passionate even. My arms seem to have a mind of their own as they reach up and find the sides of Peeta's face. My fingers brush over his skin as his other hand travels slowly along my arm.

I'm burning, more alive than I've felt in months. Maybe a year. Perhaps longer. The girl on fire is burning only for the boy with the bread. Its this burn that leads me to welcoming Peeta's advances with a greater enthusiasm.

Peeta groans and tears his lips away from mine, trailing kisses along my jaw to my neck, where he pushes aside the scarf. The combination of his hot breath and the amazing sensations of his lips on my skin produces an embarrassing moan from my throat.

Its the moan that stops me. The noise was so foreign that I don't know how to react to it. And then the panic sets in.

My hands drop down to Peeta's chest and I pry myself away from him, which isn't too hard since there is no attempt to stop me, and I glance at him, worried. Peeta's eyes are unfocused, in a daze from what had just transpired between the two of us. His hands, now empty, fall to his sides. His cheeks and ears are flushed pink.

Peeta is speechless. I can almost see his brain trying to figure out what is going on. Mine's is trying to do the same thing.

I don't know what to say. I've never known what to say.

So I do what I do best- run out before he can say anything.