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The plan is for me to walk over to Jess’ house and leave in five minutes.
It’s fairly chilly outside, and I grab a black knit sweater I have that has diamond buttons, not an exact match to the jewel on the dress, but close enough. Though the sweater may not provide enough warmth for the evening, we’ll be inside anyway. In a hurry to get out the door, I drape the thing over my arm and head out.
Out of habit I look to the Jensen’s house as I walk to the street. Never, not once since I came back from New Orleans has there been anyone out there. Whether it be sheer coincidence or that it’s just too chilly most days to spend time out there, I don’t know.
Whatever the reason, it doesn’t apply to today. My heart stops. My breathing. The Earth’s spinning. Mrs. Jensen is outside at the backend of a black Ford Raptor, right beside Bo. He’s loading something, and as they hear my heels clack on the pavement they both turn to me.
All of the blood simultaneously rushes to my limbs and heart. Doing the best to stop that fight or flight feeling, I trip, but catch myself before I fall, my arms flailing in that way they do when we try to retain our balance.
“Cristiana!” Mrs. Jensen calls out to me.
“I’m okay!” I call back and wave, then spin on my heel and try to make a quick retreat to Jess’, but Lydia Jensen isn’t appeased.
“Cris, come here a moment, darlin’! Let me talk to you!”
Groaning, I stop, and turn to them. “I’m heading out with Jess!”
“It won’t be but a moment!”
Bo closes the tailgate and stands to face me fully. He’s not smiling, his posture straight and quite frankly a lot intimidating.
Swallowing hard and taking a nice deep breath for courage, I make my way to them. All the while, Bo’s eyes are like steel on me, assessing, demanding answers I’m sure. And the closer I get to them, the taller and more overwhelming he seems. And oh my, but even now, when he’s not his charming devilish self, I am so attracted to him. I know that the closer I get, the less likely I’d be able to walk away even if I could.
My limbs begin to shake as everything becomes muted, the world fading into the background, sounds drowned out by the loud beating of my heart in my ears. Dear lord, I’m going to have a heart attack! And vomit. One of the two for sure.
“Where are you goin’, love? You look stunning!” Mrs. Jensen drawls, and she thankfully takes me into an embrace, braking me free of Bo’s gaze.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen. Jess and I are headed out on a girl’s night.”
“My goodness, well you are just a tremblin’, sugar. You must be freezing! Put that sweater on!” she suggests, grabbing the thing and attempting to drape it over my shoulders.
Freezing? No, I wasn’t freezing. If anything, I felt like I was burning up from the inside out.
Completely unaware of Bo’s and mine inner battles, his mother kept on. “Is Owen at home with my baby girl?”
“No, I have a sitter. He’s in Raleigh for the night,” I say. At the mention of Owen, I glance wearily at Bo, and regret it almost instantly.
He looks pissed. “Can I talk with you? In private,” he tells me.
“Why, Boey, what can you possib…” Lydia isn’t allowed to finish.
Not caring about appearances, Bo grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the house.
“Bo! What are you doing? Do you know what people are going to say!” I screech all the way to the downstairs guestroom.
“Bo!” Mrs. Jensen calls, following us into the house, but he closes and locks the door before she can come into the room.
Ignoring the banging on the door, he turns to me, fuming. “You can’t wear that, I... It’s too much.”
“What?” I ask confused, holding the fabric of the décolletage up higher. “No, this is just a dress.”
Then just as suddenly as his anger sparked, he looks confused, wiping at his face and pacing in front of me. “Please don’t wear it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I feel sexy. Don’t you think I look pretty?” Yes, that last one I asked to tease him. I recognize it for what it is. Though this wasn’t meant for him, now that he’s in front of me, I want him to like it.
He answers too honestly perhaps, and certainly too close as he stands so near his breath fans my hair and his heat burns me. “Cris, you look more than pretty in that. You look so sexy I can feel my blood run white hot. And your skin,” he whispers, running the tips of his fingers over my back, up my shoulder and neck, and down between my breasts. My nipples harden to such hard points that my sticky bra pads lose their suction and I can feel the thing drop to my waist with a pop-pop, first one side, then the other.
When he places his hand on my chest, I know he can feel my wildly beating heart, my panting.
