Read Online Althea and Oliver by Cristina Moracho - Free Book Online Page B

wraps her hands around the tree trunk, no thicker than her waist, and gives it a gentle shake. The bird does not emerge.
    â€œI want to see her,” she whispers.
    â€œI don’t think she wants you to.”
    She jostles the tree again, harder, the muscles in her wrist flexing under her pale skin. Leaves rustle and branches sway, but the bird stays put, giving no hint of her location, continuing her song.
    Althea tenses, jaw clenched with frustration, tightening her grip, getting ready to give it another go. Oliver knows this look, the wicked determination that is both the best and the worst of her. She’s forgotten the party, the shattered mirror, even Oliver’s presence at her side; this one bird has her full attention. He figures he has about thirty seconds before she starts shouting obscenities and tries to climb the tree. He puts a hand on her slender wrist; her bones feel avian and small.
    â€œLeave it alone,” he whispers.
    Casting up a final, reluctant glance, she relents; the taut muscles go loose again. She releases the tree trunk, but Oliver clings to her, mysteriously unwilling to let her arm drop back to her side. Her expression changes as her interest turns from what’s happening in the tree above them to what’s suddenly happening underneath it.
    Pulling her toward him, Oliver traces her blade of a cheekbone with his fingers, letting his other hand rest on her hip while hers find his waist. Through the cotton of her skirt, her hipbone fits perfectly into his palm. The salty air is warm, and except for the bird’s blithe singing, the street is muffled under its canopy of blooming trees. This is the summer they wanted. The ocean is much too far away for him to hear, but he almost believes that’s what’s pounding in his ears. There’s not a single light on in any of the houses, no random car catching them in its headlights as it passes. Their town is asleep around them in the long hours before morning. He can feel Althea’s blood pulsing faintly in her veins. She smiles at him shyly, biting her lip to suppress a nervous giggle.
    He closes his eyes, making it impossible to tell who moves in and closes the final inches. All he knows is their lips finally meet in their first kiss. She tastes like beer and peppermint; he catches a whiff of smoke from her long hair. Her bare knees brush against his jeans. Her lips and tongue tentatively mimic the motions of his. Leaning into her, Oliver staggers, and she stumbles backward into the tree, pulling him along. Bark scrapes his knuckles. Drunk and giddy, they punctuate their giggles with more kisses. He nibbles her neck. Althea, infamously ticklish, shakes with silent laughter, her head thrown back against the tree. Her skin is warm and saline against his lips. He kisses his way back up her neck, her throat vibrating against his mouth as her laughter trails off.
    â€œI think we finally scared that bird away,” he whispers, and kisses her again.
    Oliver is learning to kiss as he goes, guided by some unknown instinct. He strokes her hair back, out of her eyes and off her forehead. Their kisses are tender and earnest at first, mindful of their own newness. Her hand finds his; their fingers interlace. Cupping his cheek sweetly in her palm, she gently squeezes his bottom lip between her teeth and then releases it.
    Pressing her against the tree, he clutches at her hipbone, her neck. Their hesitation vanishes along with their nervous laughter; their kisses grow strident and insistent. Althea’s fingers dig into his shoulders; they climb his chest, tugging at his shirt. He’s almost sad they’re not on their own Magnolia Street; what a show this would make for Mrs. Parker.
    Althea breathes faster. He traces the muscles that run the length of her bare thighs. The fantasy he had earlier in her room returns. Running his hands up her sides, he grazes her breasts and she gasps softly, a brand-new Althea sound he’s