The frenetic quiver of my pulse triples when he replies, “Hey.” His short reply can’t hide that he is as breathless as me, and just as excited.
With my clothes clinging to my body, I pace to the window, needing some air. I’ve worked up such a sweat, I’m seconds away from entering a wet t-shirt competition.
I’ve yanked the window up halfway when Elvis asks, “Are you hot?”
Suspicion runs rife through my veins. I sprayed fish oil on the tracks of my window only last week, ensuring its creaking wouldn’t wake Skylar any time I sat on the windowsill to take in a starry night.
“A little.” I keep my reply short, hoping Elvis will fill in the gaps.
He follows along nicely. “Was it our kiss that made you sweaty, or that bump and grind routine you just performed?”
Spinning, I take in my room, from the dowdy, paint-peeled walls covered with posters, to the near-inch gap at the bottom of my door from the RA shaving off too much wood when the door warped after the homecoming party last spring.
I only stop twirling when the flash of headlights beam into my room. With my hand clutching my throat, I angle my body to peer out my window. I die a thousand deaths when my eyes lock in on a flashy sportscar in the parking lot of Mickey’s. The hood of Elvis’s parked car is pointed right at my bedroom window—the same bedroom window I just shook my tuchus in front of.
“Willow. . .”
I swallow down the uneasiness creeping up my throat. “Yeah?”
He waits long enough I think our call has been disconnected. “Don’t ever change. You’re fucking perfect just the way you are.”
CHAPTER TEN
Willow
I’m still reveling in the high of Elvis’s comment as I make my way to the studio to set up my space for this morning’s dance lesson. It’s a beautiful day. The clouds of the past week have lifted; I slept well, and my workout last night under Elvis’s unknown watch meant I didn’t have to drag my ass out of bed at 5 AM to go boxing with Skylar. I’m feeling great!
It must be evident on my face because many eyes turn my way as I stroll down the campus footpath. I haven’t been gawked at this closely since the morning the “Beauty Pummels the Beast” video was uploaded to YouTube.
“Hello.”
I return a blond stranger’s greeting with the wiggle of my fingers and a smile before continuing my trip.
“Nice day.”
“It is,” I agree to another handsome, yet unfamiliar man only a few paces away from admirer number one.
I pivot on my heels and walk backward when another gent decked out in a football jersey and muddy running shorts adds, “Looking good, Willow.”
“Thank you. . .?”
“Ted,” he fills in.
“Thank you, Ted.”
Eager to get away from the freaks suddenly hoping to be my new best friend, I spin back around then increase my pace. I have over forty minutes before my lesson starts, but I’d rather watch the lesson before mine than continue my odd morning. It was a good day; now it’s whacked.
By the time I make it to the building my dance studio is in, my skin is clammy from my brisk walk, and I’ve been approached nearly a dozen times. I’ve heard sex gives your eyes a sparkle you can’t get anywhere else, but Elvis and I only kissed, so this type of response is ridiculous.
Just as I fumble through the double glass doors, a little sob whimpers through my ears.
“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?”
There is a girl I’d guess to be nine or ten huddled in the corner of the foyer. She’s wearing a pale pink leotard and a matching tutu. Her straight blonde hair is shielding most of her face, but I can tell she is crying.
“It’s okay.” I crouch down in front of her before lifting her tear-stained face to me. “Are you lost? Do you need me to help you find your mommy?”
“No.” She clutches my arm so firmly, I’m certain she’ll leave a bruise. “Don’t tell her; she’ll be mad.”
