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Wearing black like the rest of them: a black dress shirt, black dress pants and a black suit jacket.
Among the sea of black, he still stands out though.
His colorful bruises, his spiky hair.
Those broad shoulders and that tall body.
Probably because even though he’s wearing a suit like all the men here, it does nothing to tame his dangerous, bandit vibes. Not to mention, the sun hits him differently than it does the world, recognizing his summer skin and fiery eyes.
Or maybe he hitsmedifferently than the rest of the world.
Because he’s the guy I’m in love with.
He’s the guy I finally understand that I see with rose-colored glasses and a red pulpy heart.
So it’s very hard to take my eyes off him.
To not seek him out in the crowd as they bury Lucas’s father in a polished oak casket.
I try to be respectful though.
To all the people involved. To Lucas, to my parents.
But mostly I try to be respectful tohim.
He’s spent years watching me moon over his best friend, be his best friend’s girlfriend. And even though I have zero intentions of ever returning to Lucas, he doesn’t know that and so I’ll be damned if he has to go through it again, even for a single second.
Not to mention, I’ll be damned if he sees love in my eyes and regrets finally acting on his feelings and coming for me.
Although he’s not making it very easy.
Not only because of his dashing suit but also because while I’m trying to be a good girl for him, he doesn’t have to do the same for me.
He doesn’t have to be good.
He doesn’t have to look away from me or not stare at me from across the space.
Everywhere I’ve gone today, his reddish-brown eyes have followed me.
I’ve felt them on the back of my neck, running up and down my spine, caressing my body, my face, my dress.
My braid; the thing that he’s obsessed with.
So when during the reception, Lucas actually seeks me out at his house, I don’t like it.
At all.
He says that he wants to talk to me in private and when I go to protest, my parents insist. And before I know it, I find myself following Lucas through his large living room and into this long hallway that leads to rooms in the back.
And every step I take, I feelhim.
I feel his eyes growing even more fiery, more heated. I bet his body is all tight right about now, shaking in the way it does when all his muscles go extra taut and strained. His bruises must be pulsing along with his stubbled jaw.
I wish I could turn around and tell him that it’s okay.
But I can’t.
So cringing and fidgeting, I enter Lucas’s father’s study as directed.
