Chapter 2: My first kiss 

Michelle's POV

He chuckled lightly. “Sorry, it’s an involuntary action. Something I do once I get into the car.” 

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely buying it—but before I could press further, he changed the subject.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked casually.

“Michelle,” I responded, as my fingers twisted around the hem of my dress.

“And you are?” I breathed, still shaking from what just happened.

“Ray.” He smiled.

“I’ve been here for a while, you know,” he continued. “I saw you sitting alone, staring out at the ocean, detached from everyone else, so I came over to see if maybe being there could help. Even just a little.”

“Thank you.” I whispered, touched genuinely by his act of kindness. 

“Nice to meet you, Michelle,” he said, trying to wave off the sad atmosphere creeping in. He stretched his hand toward the backseat to grab something.

I grinned awkwardly. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just getting us a drink,” he responded, with gentle reassurance as he reached for the bottle.

“Is that… alcohol?”

He paused with the bottle in his hand.

“Yes,” he smirked. “Don’t tell me this is your first time?”

“It is,” I admitted.

My parents were church elders, deeply rooted in purity culture, where alcohol was forbidden and virtue was prized above all else. 

Twenty-one years old, and I had never tasted a drop of liquor, and never felt a man’s touch beyond a hug.

“There’s always a first time,” he said gently, pouring red wine into the glasses.

The first sip made me wince—it was sweet at first, then sharp, the taste blooming strangely across my tongue. It burned just enough to feel new, but underneath, it warmed me, like a temporary relief.

I reached out to examine the bottle—Château Margaux. Even I knew, this was expensive.

“This must have cost a fortune,” I murmured, taking another sip.

He shrugged. “Not really,” then took a gulp from his glass.

“Can I have more?” I asked a few minutes later. The first glass had dulled the sharp edges of my grief, and I wanted more of that numbness.

He poured us both another glass. “To new memories,” he said, beaming.

Then all of a sudden, I couldn’t get his deep voice out of my mind. It did something strange to my body. I pressed my palms into my thighs, trying to push the thought away.

But wait—was it the wine, or something else? Why was I like this?

“Wanna talk about something?” I asked, hoping to distract myself from him.

He smirked and stared into his glass, swirling the wine slowly.

“I wasn’t going to say this…” he muttered, “But when I was twelve, I nearly drowned at a beach like this. I was trying to impress a girl by swimming too far out.”

I chuckled. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t even know myself.” He smiled, though his ears turned red. “My father had to drag me back, half-dead and choking on salt water. The girl? She laughed so hard she never spoke to me again.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s terrible!”

“It was humiliating back then,” he admitted, grinning. “But I learned my lesson—never chase waves you can’t beat.”

I shook my head, still smiling. “So you were just showing off?”

“Exactly.” He lifted his glass in mock salute. “Former show-off, in recovery.”

The weight between us eased, replaced by something light. For the first time in months, I realized I was smiling without forcing it.

“Do you want to sit outside?” I asked, wanting the moment to last.

He nodded, and we climbed out of the car with our glasses and bottles. The night air was cool, and I settled on the warm hood of his Lamborghini.

“Another?” Ray asked, holding up the bottle.

I nodded as I gulped the rest in my glass, but I choked on the last drop, making a little spill run down my mouth.

Just then, his thumb brushed against my lips, slowly wiping away the spill, and for a second, the world narrowed to the heat of his touch. Our eyes locked, and he swallowed hard before snatching his hand back.

“So what do you do?” he asked, cutting off whatever was building.

“I’m still in school, studying nutrition,” I said, clearing my throat, trying hard not to look too awkward. “Final year.”

“Guess you’ll keep me alive when I forget to eat.”

I gave a faint smile, stretching my glass toward him.

“I think that’s enough for a first timer,” he added, looking concerned.

“Nah,” I shook my head. “I’m okay,” I insisted with a giggle, stretching it further.

“Okay then.”

He collected the glass and poured again. We drank, and the night carried on gently.

Two hours later, the half-empty bottle told its own story. My head felt floaty and I laughed in a way I couldn’t control. 

Each time I tried to sit up, my balance slipped, and I leaned closer to him without meaning to.

I reached up to gather my hair that was flying wildly in the breeze, but the world tilted unexpectedly and I felt myself falling sideways—until his strong hands caught me, steadying me against himself.

“Careful, Michelle,” he whispered, and the sound of my name on his lips made my breath irregular. The cool breeze brushed my skin, but all I felt was the heat radiating from him.

We locked eyes for a few seconds, and I saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to my lips.

Like a flash, I felt his lips brush mine—my mind went blank except for one screaming thought: A stranger is having my first kiss!

Panic flooded through me, and I pushed him away gently. We stared at each other in the moonlight, both breathing hard and surprised by the tension that had just passed between us.

His stared  at my lips again and I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of another kiss—or how badly I wanted it.