Frankie's 2nd Annual No Kiss Blogfest

Thanks to Frankie for hosting the 2nd Annual No Kiss  Blogfest. I missed this one last year so I'm glad to be able to participate this year. I can't wait to read the other entries. It may take me a couple of days, though. Thanks Frankie, you're the sweetest!

I originally was going to re-post something I had posted before, then I thought, no, something new. So I had something from my WiP#3 all ready to go, then this popped into my head on Thursday. Let me know what you think. It may turn into a story for me. My weakness is tenses so sorry if it's all screwy. Here is my entry:

My jaw cracked as his fist collided with my face. I stumbled back for a moment, stars flashing in front of me.

“Oww. You’re such a jerk, Reed.” I rubbed my cheek. “That was a cheap hit.”


“Cheap hit? Please, Gillian. You’re the toughest girl on the team, and you're going to cry now."  He cracked his knuckles. "You’ve been hurt worse.”


“Funny.” I rushed toward him, jabbing my shoulder into his stomach. We both tumbled to the floor. I rolled to my side, sprung to my feet, and quickly held my fists up ready for his next move.


Reed grabbed his belly. “Lucky for you, I haven’t eaten lunch.” He swept his foot around catching mine. I landed flat on my back.


A horn blared. Sweat poured down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I blinked to focus.


“Since I won that match, I’ll be nice and help you up.” He held out his hand.


“I can get up myself.” I sat up, fixed the buckle on my boot, and stood, facing him.


He smiled, triumphantly. “How did you do on Professor’s Handy’s exam?”


“I passed.” The fabric of my jumpsuit, stuck to my back. I tugged on my sleeve, making it even with the other one. “Wipe that smirk off your face. We’re not done.” We walked in a circle, eyeing each other up. “What about you?”


“I passed.” He stopped and cracked his neck, his black hair flopped with each turn of his head. The horn blared again. “Ready for more?” The right corner of his lip, rose.


“Bring it.” I was out of breath, and my left calf cramped, but I had to continue. I had to win two out of three sparring matches to get an 'A' in self defense. Reed and I were in constant competition. Since grade school, we fought to be number one in the class, now in our senior year, it was more cutthroat than ever.

He lunged at me, taking hold of my upper arms. I pressed against his chest with my hands. His face turned red, and I dug my fingernails into his jumpsuit, ripping through the fabric.


“Hey." He pushed me back. “Stop with the cheap shots.”


“You started it.” Drips of red bled through the beige fabric. “At least now you can get a new suit. That one's ugly.”


“Like yours is any better.” He wiped the wound.


I blew a few strands of hair from my eyes. “At least mine's a pretty purple.” I crouched, swaying back and forth.


“Purple is a royal color. Perfect for the whiny, princess type.” Our bodies crept around in a slow circle again like sharks ready to kill.


 “Ha. Beige is boring…Just like you.” My fingers twitched, anticipating his next move.


Reed charged, his fist aiming for my throat. I slapped it away with my wrist. Beige and purple blurs quickly flashed as we blocked and hit one another.  I upper cut under his chin, and he let out a groan. My shoulder muscles tightened, trying to keep up. He was faster than he ever was before. A sharp pain ran up my back. The room spun, creating a kaleidoscope of white and yellow.  Plastic and old dust smells created a cloud around my head.


I laid there staring at the ceiling, the dome lights gave off a halo effect when my eyes tried to adjust. My arms fell above my head, like dead weights. Reed straddled my stomach and slid his hands up to hold my wrists down.


“I win,” he said between breaths.


“I don’t hear... the alarm…that…states that fact.” I gasped.


Our chests raised and lowered, out of breath. His yellow green eyes stared at me. Over the past couple of years, those eyes have started to melt sections of my heart, unleashing feelings I don’t want to feel. I definitely didn’t want to show him, but here we were in one of those moments, a moment of my undeniable weakness.

His victorious smile faded and his death grip on my wrists loosened, allowing his fingers to press through mine. I wanted to move, knee him in the groin, I could win, but his face inched closer, pushing my feelings toward my heart. His breath tickled my lips. Tingles raced across my skin.


A screech horn sounded, red lights streaked across his nose. His eyebrows furrowed.


“That’s not the match horn.” He jumped up, still holding my hand, then pulled me up.


There is an intruder. Please move to a safety zone. A calm, woman’s voice came across the speaker.


Outside the door, people ran down the hall. I looked down at our hands, still clasped together.

Thanks again, Frankie. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. I'll start my regular blogging schedule tomorrow. Have a great day! Happy New Year!