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Short Romance Stories

Kissing Australia

You might ask me why I fell for such a ruthless underdog.  A man plagued with a deadly iron fist of control that saw no end to its fill.  Well, I was young once…and it all began with that quick look of his eyes that one October evening night, when my whole world broke wide open.

I saw him standing on a bridge overlooking the river of our small Tennessee town.  The night was thick and dark, masked in a foggy cold that sent shivers through me as I gazed.  He was not so tall really, perhaps five foot eight, and his appearance emanated one not to be trifled with.  He wore a cowboy hat, a bright white one, with a long black tassel that hung down behind.  His jeans were black, bullet holes shot through the sides…that should be an interesting story, I thought to myself.  He didn’t look mean, just intimidating I suppose you could say, as he leaned over that bridge side, watching those boats passing by.  Maybe it was his strong jaw, that scruff emulating a deep shadow over him; maybe it was the way he held his frame as if he would pull backwards and bring that whole, hellish old bridge down with him.  I don’t know what drew me…but I was drawn; drawn like a moth to flame they say, and I was snagged deep.  I never knew that moment just before he spoke, was going to be my last opportunity to get away.

“Watcha doin up here?” he asked me, never turning his head to look behind.  What, could the man feel me come like some spooked horse in the night?  I stopped and looked at him, my eye crooked into a curious state.  “Well now, you’re the one leaning over that old bridge in the middle of the night…shouldn’t that be a question for present state?”  My words echoed off of him in my cool southern drawl, and though I couldn’t see him I knew he smiled.

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