Read Online Books/Novels:
The First Taste
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Dear Holden, I’m not going to college a virgin. I want to learn everything and I want you to teach me.
The First Taste is a standalone brother’s best friend romance with a trouble making tattoo artist hero, an inexperienced book worm heroine, and enough heat to melt your Kindle.
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It’s my birthday.
I can ask for anything.
A kiss is nothing. Less than nothing.
To a guy like Holden, who gives a whole lot more away for a whole lot less—
It’s not a big deal.
My heart fails to accept my logic. It thuds against my chest. Echoes between my ears.
He’s sitting right there, on the patio, fingers curled around a plastic cup.
Holden laughs—no doubt at something Oliver is saying—and holds up his drink.
Holden takes a long sip.
Oliver swigs straight from the bottle.
Great. My brother is drinking heavily. And he’s blocking access to my birthday wish.
I’m not thinking about it today.
Today is good.
A new leaf. A fresh start. A clean slate.
Any cliché works. No matter how I describe it, the situation is the same.
I’m starting my senior year at a new high school. Where no one knows me as that girl.
And I’m starting the year right. With a kiss from Holden.
I wait for my older brother to finish his bottle. Sure enough, he stands as he swallows his last sip of brown liquor.
I pretend as if I’m endlessly fascinated with the small talk of the group to my left.
For a party celebrating my birthday, the room is lacking in people I actually consider friends. Only Luna. And she’s off somewhere. Probably flirting with a cute guy.
If I call her, she’ll come running.
But she’ll also push me to ask Holden for everything.
Maybe one day.
After many, many drinks.
But not today.
I nod along to a conversation about the weather, the school year, SATs, college applications.
Oliver steps into the main room. He looks to me. Smiles. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” He pulls me into a tight hug. “You make a wish?” He motions to the cake on the table. To the blown-out candles.
I nod. “Of course.”
“Don’t tell me. Won’t come true.” He pats me on the shoulder. Releases me. Looks me dead in the eyes.
He has Mom’s eyes. A deep shade of blue.
He has her hair too. Her skin tone. Her issues.
Or maybe I’m the one with her issues.
It’s hard to say who inherited the worse hand. Not that Oliver would have that conversation. As far as he’s concerned, he drinks because it’s fun.
Just like I—
No, I’m not going there. For one goddamn day, I’m not going there.
“I’m proud of you.” His voice drops to his usual tone. Serious. Direct. This is what I think, take it or leave it. “I know it was hard, being away all summer, but you…” His voice cracks for a second. His eyes go to the ground. “I love you. Okay?”
I nod okay. “I love you too.”
He hugs me one more time. Releases me. Goes in search of his next bottle. Fails to see the irony.
I guess I can’t talk.
There’s Holden, reclining on the patio chair, all long and lean and ready for me.
Not that I—
Oh my God, I can’t even begin to think that.
Luna would say go, get ’em tiger, tear off those jeans, pull out his ahem, and hop on. Then she’d push me onto the patio.
Only she’d use much more explicit language.
Laugh at me for blushing.
God, I’m already blushing.
Which is silly. Holden is game for anything. I’m saying hi. Floating the idea. Asking for, uh, consideration.
I smooth my dress—the pastel pink one from H&M—and take a step toward the patio. Then two. Three. Four.
He turns as I slip through the space between the door and the wall.
“Hey.” Holden sits up. Swings his leg to the side. Pats the spot next to him. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” I take a seat.
God, he’s so close. And so warm. And he smells so good. Like soap. Sandalwood, I think. It’s that same soap he always uses.
He always smells like sandalwood.
He’s so handsome and funny and dirty. God, he’s so, so, so dirty. He thinks I don’t overhear him and Oliver, but I do.
Holden offers me his drink.
My fingers brush his as I take it.
“Careful.” His eyes meet mine. “It’s strong.”
I nod like I can handle it. Take a long sip. Cough. It burns. The sweetness of ginger ale and something else. Something overwhelming.
He chuckles. “Not your drink?”
I shake my head.
He smiles. “I can fix you something lighter.”
“No, I just… wanted to say hey.”
“Hey.” He turns his body toward mine.
His jeans brush the bare skin of my knee. The fabric is in the way, but it still sets my body on fire.
It’s like a match landing on a line of gasoline.
My toes curl.
My chest heaves.
My sex clenches.
Logic drifts to the back of my mind. What use is logic when the heat of his leg feels this good?
It’s really possible to feel this good.
This at home in my body.
I need that. I need him to teach me that.
“You okay?” He nods to the drink. “You need another swig?”
I shake my head.
His eyes flit to the room. The party is mild, by Holden’s standards. A dozen friends in a circle, playing one of those board games that rewards creativity.