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“So maybe we don’t have to walk that path alone.”
Okay, my mom would be all over this. How many times had she lectured me on being sensitive and treating a girl the way I’d treat my mother? (That was a bad analogy because, dude, who wanted to think about the girl they were getting busy with and their mom at the same time? That was kind of screwed up, even if I did get her meaning.)
I decided to go the whole nine yards, because by this point, what did I have to lose? Besides, chicks dug this sensitive stuff, didn’t they?
“I want to know you, Everly.” I took a step closer. “I want to know what your favorite movie is. What songs you sing. I know you dig Elton John, but what about Billy Joel? Mozart? Alicia Keys? I want to know what you think about at night just before you fall asleep.” I paused, surprised at the tightening in my chest. “I want to know why sometimes you look so sad. I want to know who hurt you.”
And I wanted to kick his ass, but I’d keep that to myself.
She pushed the tangle of hair off her shoulders and gave a half shrug, eyes wide and shiny. “My favorite movie is The Last of the Mohicans.”
“Wow. I had you pegged for a chick flick. Love Actually or The Notebook. My sister Taylor watches them over and over again.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Good to know. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Song?”
“My Heart Will Go On.” There was a hint of a smile there.
“Titanic?”
She nodded.
“Chick flick.”
She was smiling now. “We’re talking about music, not the movie. What’s yours? Your favorite song?”
She’d moved closer, and I could see the stars reflected in her eyes, which made them seem mysterious. Kind of sexy.
“Simple Kind of Man,” I replied.
She frowned a bit. “I don’t know that one.”
“It’s Lynyrd Skynyrd. I’ll play it for you someday.” The words slipped out of me, but surprisingly, I didn’t want to grab them back.
“Okay,” she said.
Man, I wanted to kiss her again. I ran my hands through my hair because I had to do something with them.
“Why do you have a blue streak?” she asked. “In your hair, I mean. It’s…I like it.”
I paused. I’d always been into trying new things with my hair, and my parents had always seen this as an extension of my artistic side. Heck, my mom hadn’t complained once, no matter the color. Not even the time I came home with a dark-purple Mohawk. Her only request had been that I leave it down while at home. Said she was afraid I’d poke someone’s eye out. But the blue streak? “I was bored and Taylor had some extra dye so…”
“I like it.”
Her hand slipped into mine, her thumb running over my tattoos, and then I pulled her in close for a hug. The girl fit against me perfectly, and I would have stayed like that the whole night.
Her nose was buried in my neck, her body relaxed against mine as I rested my chin on her head.
“Trevor?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad I came to this party.”
