Beautiful Illusions Read Online Free

longer and deeper than the one in the restaurant. The jolt of electricity that I felt during the first kiss was stronger now, coursing completely through my body. My heart was beating fast and hard. His kiss remained soft, his lips feathering on mine, his tongue lightly gliding just inside my mouth.
    He was an amazing kisser.
    After what seemed like an eternity, he broke away. I looked up, and he was looking down at me, smiling, his hand still in my hair. I was aware that his other hand was around my waist gently. My breath caught. I was still shaking. Smiling, he gestured for me to get into the car. I stumbled into the front seat, my legs giving way beneath me. I was vaguely aware that he was fastening my seatbelt, then getting into the driver’s seat next to me. Once he got into the driver’s seat, he leaned over and kissed me again, feathery, light. Then we were off.
    We drove in silence to my car , which was a beat-up 15-year-old RAV4 named Priscilla, because she was purple. I still didn't have words, and he was probably tired of trying to fill the silence. But, at every stop light, he would gently take his hand off the steering wheel, and place it in my hair, gently running his hands through my mane, and sometimes stroking my cheek.
    We finally arrived at the battered car, but I somehow didn’t feel embarrassed about it. And it wasn’t until I arrived home that night, after driving home with the radio on, feeling that every love song was written especially for me, that I came down to earth. He had kissed me again before I got into my car. His kisses were tender, sweet. He was very respectful, keeping his hands around my waist and in my hair. That kiss at my car lasted awhile.
    I wanted it to last forever.
    However, getting home somewhat brought me back down. Madison, my kitty cat, gave me her usual greeting when I came in the door, which was pawing the cork disk on the floor while mewing. I looked around the apartment. It wasn’t a bad apartment, really, just quite small. I had painted the walls a dark shade of green in the living room (there wasn’t a dining room), and the bedroom was painted a dark shade of rose. Above the fireplace was an enormous Andy Warhol print of Jacqueline Kennedy. I wasn't really a fan of either Warhol or Jackie Kennedy, but, for some reason, that particular picture drew me in, and I had to have it.
    My bed was strewn with clothes, both dirty and clean, and I really didn’t feel like throwing the clothes on th e floor so that I could sleep. So, I plopped on the couch and thought about the night. Was I dreaming it all? 
    Then, just before I was about to fall asleep, the phone rang. It was him. “I just wanted to call and wish you a good night.”
    “Yes, thank you for tonight,” was all I could manage to say.
    “Iris?”
    “Yes?”
    “I think I might be falling in love with you.”
    I didn’t even r un my negative loop in my head - too soon, don’t be crazy, he just wants to get you into bed again. “Um, yes, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I managed to mumble, stunned once again.
    “Tomorrow. Remember, the bike is your bitch.”
    I laughed. “Yes, my bitch.”
    “Good night beautiful.”
    “’Night.” We hung up, and I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Four
    Ryan arrived at my apartment at 8 AM, just like he said. I had come down a little since the previous evening, but I couldn’t bring myself to clean up the apartment. I was too wired.
    And, oh, God, I didn’t have biking shorts! I couldn ’t possibly bike without biking shorts! 
    He was knocking at the door. I shut my bedroom door (my clothes were still all over the bed). At this point, I had to find my keys, as they went missing sometime during the night, and my cell phone, which went missing so mewhere else during the night. I tore around the apartment, lifting up magazines and newspapers, throwing everything out of drawers, tossing the couch cushions, over and over again. Somehow, I kept looking in the exact same