by John Moore
Some color returned immediately to Kevin’s cheeks. “Anything?”
Becky looked at him with wide blue eyes and wetly parted lips. “Anything.”
“How do you feel about threesomes?”
“I prefer foursomes, actually.”
“Two guys and two girls?”
“It’s more exciting that way, don’t you think?”
“We’re talking about golf, aren’t we?”
“I was thinking of bridge.”
“All right,” said the Prince. “I could go along with a quiet game of cards.” He put his arm around her waist. “But I get to cut.”
“Then let’s go.”
“No,” said Kevin. He took hold of both her hands. “Sometimes a man just has to put his foot down. I am the Prince of Rassendas, and I have made my decision. I’m not going anywhere until I get a kiss.”
“Oh, you’re not?”
“No.”
“Then,” said Becky, “I am the Princess of Deserae, and I guess I have no choice.”
The kiss that followed was long and moist and soft and sweet. It started when the sun was high in the sky and lasted until the shadows lengthened in the valley. It was a tender and touching and extremely romantic kiss, for the air was warm, the breeze was soft, the sky was clear, and the quiet of the afternoon was disturbed only by the gentle rustle of the trees, the chirping of crickets, the occasional snatch of birdsong, and a thunderous roar as Voltmeter’s Diabolical Device exploded in a giant fireball.
“I knew that was going to happen,” said Kevin.
John Moore is an engineer who lives and works in Houston, Texas. He authored the novel Slay and Rescue and numerous short stories.