He takes my hand. Leads me toward the colorful bags and backpacks to our left. The ones next to the giant silver gorilla. Kipling. My favorite. Half my bags are this brand.
Has he been paying that much attention?
His gaze goes to the backpacks on the wall. He picks up a teal one and turns back to me. "It matches your eyes."
It kinda does. "It's cute."
"Not cute enough for you." He sets it back down. Picks up a pink one next to it.
It's a beautiful shade of pink—halfway between pastel and Barbie bright.
He moves back to me.
His fingertips skim my bare skin as he peels my purse off my shoulder then slides the backpack over my arms, one at a time.
They brush my neck as he pushes my hair to one side.
I feel his touch everywhere.
I can't do friends.
Not even a little.
Not with the way my body is buzzing.
I want his body.
And his heart.
I want him to know me.
I want to crumble in his arms and let down every one of my defenses. To admit how terrified I am. About school and Grandma and my parents. And everything.
"How's that?" His breath warms my ear.
My knees knock together.
My sex cries out for attention.
My heart too.
Please, someone, somewhere. Please let me have him. I'm losing everything else. I just want this one little thing.
I force myself to turn toward the mirror. The backpack is cute and comfortable. But— "Pink? Really?"
"Pink is perfect for you."
"It's impractical."
"Then explain this." He holds up my dainty pink purse.
"Purses are supposed to be cute. Backpacks are utility."
"What about that bright blue Jansport with lyrics all over it?"
"You used to complain that I put too much pop music on it."
His eyes light up as he smiles. "If you'd just put something by The Dead Kennedys."