Part 1 (1/2)

SLOW BURN.

By Nicole Christie.

A real love story isn't always pretty and exciting. Sometimes it's loads of laundries, balancing checkbooks, and ten grandchildren. True love is quiet, patient, and enduring. Someone to hold your hand through sickness and death, and never let go.

I won't say good bye, for you will always be with me.

Chapter 1.

I look into Johnny's cerulean blue eyes, inches away from my face. ”If you strike any part of my body with that raised fist, I swear to G.o.d-I will stab you in the nipple with my pen,” I whisper.

His beautiful features are tight with frustration and anger. I know he would never hit me, so I don't even flinch when he suddenly drives his clenched fist into the wall next to my head. I hear cracking sounds and fervently hope they're from his bones shattering.

”Feel better now?” I ask him dryly.

Johnny stares at his hand, carefully flexing it. ”s.h.i.+t, no, that hurt. It's a good thing I like pain.”

I roll my eyes at him. ”Are you done throwing your tantrum? Get off me.”

Johnny leans his warm heated body against mine, trapping me against the wall. His weight is rea.s.suring and suffocating, and insanely s.e.xy all at the same time. Just like him.

He lowers his head and I feel his breath, warm and uneven on my neck. ”You were kissing him,” he growls in my ear.

I grab a handful of his soft golden blonde hair and yank his head back. ”I was talking to him. He's Amy's boyfriend. You remember Amy? She was the one that kept bending down in front of you in the parking lot last week.”

I try to shove him off of me, but he's just too d.a.m.n heavy and strong. If Johnny doesn't want to go, I can't make him. I start to try to wiggle out from under him, but abruptly stop when he pushes his hips against mine.

”Juliet.” He presses his forehead against mine. ”You make me crazy.”

”Johnny.” I roll my eyes. ”You are delusional. You've got to get over this insane jealousy thing. You don't see me getting all hibbidy jibbidy about all the girls who chase after you.”

He suddenly grins, eyes sparkling. ”'Hibbidy jibbidy'? Are we making up our own words now?”

”Stop smiling! We're fighting, remember?” I glare up at him, and try to shove at his firm hard chest again. He doesn't budge.

”Hm. Suddenly I don't feel like fighting.” Johnny leans into me so I can feel what he means.

Usually, those intensely blue eyes and that s.e.xy grin is enough to make me melt, but not this time. I stop his hands from wandering up my s.h.i.+rt. ”No,” I say firmly. ”We need to talk. You can't just beat up every guy who talks to me. It has to stop. The other night at work, I was chatting with one of the kids' dad, and I suddenly got the eerie feeling you were going to jump out from nowhere and attack him!”

”Why, was he hitting on you?” A corner of his mouth turns up when he sees my annoyed expression. ”Kidding. I can't help it, baby. I want you all to myself.”

”I changed schools for you-in the beginning of senior year! It was a pain in the a.s.s, and Heather is still p.i.s.sed at me.”

”Aw, come on. You'll love Leclare-it's the better school, academically speaking. And I can keep my eye on you,” He brushes his lips against my neck, making me s.h.i.+ver. ”And all your sweet little parts.”

”Pervert,” I accuse, even as I tilt my neck so he has better access to that sensitive spot at my collar bone.

”It's s.e.xual frustration,” he counters, undoing the top b.u.t.ton of my s.h.i.+rt. ”My girlfriend won't sleep with me.”

”Smart girl.”

I shove against him again, and this time he lets me, dropping his arms and taking a step back. I immediately inspect the wall he punched, and my eyes widen in horror at the fist-sized dent.

”Johnny!” I yelp. ”My mom's gonna be so p.i.s.sed!”

Johnny inspects the wall, rubbing the crumbling plaster with his thumb. He gives a lazy shrug. ”Sorry, I didn't think I hit it that hard. I'll fix it before she gets home tomorrow.”

Shaking my head, I open the refrigerator and pick a water bottle from the bottom shelf. I turn around and stare at him.

His presence makes my already small kitchen look even smaller. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, with that smug smile on his face. I don't know how he manages it, but he always looks like he's standing under a spotlight. I'm certain he was born with it. I imagine when he came barreling out of his mother with his usual impatience, the doctor delivering him threw his hands up in the air and declared, ”We have a winner!”

Johnny Parker, football star and gorgeous player (reformed-better be!) is my boyfriend, and has been for the past six months. I still can't believe it, not after the way we met. I almost hit his motorcycle when one of the tires on my car blew, making me lose control and swerving into the other lane-straight into the path of a speeding Johnny.

Thank G.o.d for his excellent reflexes. He swerved out of the way just in time, and though he wiped out, he managed to escape serious injuries. Except when he came to check on me, and I accidentally hit him with the door of my car when I swung it open to go check on him. He was okay, though his voice had remained a couple of octaves higher for a couple of minutes. But I still believe that was his way of making me feel bad.

Anyway, I asked if he had a concussion, and he asked if I wanted to go out with him. The answer to both was yes. We went out to dinner, and he confessed he'd seen me around a few times, and I admitted I'd heard of his legend before. Thus began our extremely dysfunctional love/hate relations.h.i.+p, built on tears and pa.s.sion, and lots and lots of screaming. I swear, I'm not usually a crazy person. Something about Johnny turns me inside out and backwards. I'm not sure if it's a good thing.

I've never said ”I love you” to Johnny. Not until he says it first. And he won't. He can tell me that I consume his thoughts, that the sun rises and sets out my a.s.s-but he can't say three little words. Okay, neither can I, because I'm not completely sure. Do I love him, or l.u.s.t him? I definitely l.u.s.t him.

Just look at him standing there. He is simply amazing: tousled golden blonde hair, rugged features more charismatically handsome than perfect...those crystalline blue eyes full of mischief-not to mention he's tall and muscular, with broad shoulders, amazing abs, and trim hips. Don't even get me started on his a.s.s.

But that grin is what transforms him from your typical good-looking jock to oh-my-G.o.d-hot. It's reckless and wild, full of dirty promises-just like his personality. He's s.e.xy and gorgeous, and he knows it. But besides the arrogance, mood swings, the crazy temper, the possessiveness, his bossy a.s.s att.i.tude, and...

Okay, but Johnny is also sweet, funny, smart. He totally gets me-and not many people do. I would like him even if he wasn't so hot. It's weird to say, but I think I would like him more even, if he wasn't so...much, you know? So handsome, charming, and exciting. On one hand, I just described every girl's ideal boyfriend. On the other, you know...blah! Some days, I wanna just curse his flawless complexion with a couple of big zits. Or just...trip him on the escalator one day. Would it be so bad if the mighty mighty Johnny Parker fell flat on his face in front of a bunch of people? I think not. It could teach him a little humility.

Believe me, he needs it. He gets away with way too much. Who else can punch his coach in the face, and get away with a slap on the wrist? All because the coach called his playing sloppy and s.h.i.+tastic.

I know, I'm dating a psycho with an abusive personality. He's never raised a hand to me, no matter how hard I push him. I'm kind of curious to see if he will. I guess we deserve each other.

I must have been glaring at him, because he fidgets slightly and leans back against the counter. ”What?” he says warily. ”What did I do?”

I sigh a little, and take a big drink of water. ”Nothing,” I say quickly. ”Hey, you've got a big game tonight, and I've got to get ready for work soon.”

Johnny's face falls slightly. ”You're not coming?”

”I can't, Leila can't cover for me tonight,” I say regretfully. He looks so disappointed, I can't help but go over to him, and wrap my arms around his waist. I look up at him, my chin jabbing into the hard muscles of his chest. ”But I'll see you at the party.”

Johnny's eyes suddenly brighten. ”Don't be late! We'll be celebrating our victory against Crawville.”

I chuckle at the absolute certainty in his tone. ”c.o.c.ky, aren't you?”