"Come on, Griff. Please?"
"Okay. Fine. Where are you going, anyway?"
"There's a party. And I got invited."
"Oooh." He made kissing noises. "What's his name?"
"Wyatt, and shut up."
"Wyatt kissy-face. Smooch, smooch."
Her cheeks positively burned. "You are such a turd."
He smiled, showing off his newly straightened teeth, just two weeks out of braces. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Go on. I'll be good."
She hesitated, because now that everything seemed to be working out and she was really facing the prospect of going out, she was having second thoughts.
"What?" her brother demanded, going to the fridge, opening it, and then staring inside while all the cold air escaped.
She walked over and shut the door. "Maybe I shouldn't go."
"Oh, please. I'm not a baby. You said so yourself. And you'll be home before Mom and Dad, right?"
"Well, duh. Otherwise they'll know I went out."
"Then what's the big deal?"
"You're right." That wasn't something she said often. She loved her brother, but he could be a real pain in the butt. "Okay, but here." She scribbled another number on the pad, ripped the page off, and handed it to him.
"Should I memorize it and then eat it?"
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know the number at the party. So that's Wyatt's cell phone." She wished she had a cell, but her parents thought they were too expensive to get for the kids.
"Is he picking you up?"
"I'm walking. It's only a few blocks away." Just a few more months and she could get her driver's license, but tonight she was hoofing it.
She hurried upstairs to change into a sundress and sandals, then rushed back downstairs, told Griff goodbye, and headed out the door. She realized after a block that she'd forgotten to pull the address out of her jeans, but it didn't matter. She knew where Patrick lived. She'd gone with her dad once when he'd met with Patrick's dad to talk about doing some residential landscaping work.
As she walked, she let her mind wander. Or, more accurately, she let fantasies fill her head. That Wyatt would kiss her again. That they'd find a quiet corner where she could curl up next to him and get lost in those wonderful kisses--and maybe even more.
Except she didn't really want more.
Or maybe she did. He'd kissed her in the back of the car when they'd returned from the concert, and she'd definitely wanted more then. And, honestly, kissing didn't really describe it. It was more like making out.
Actually, it was making out. She bit the tip of her thumb as she remembered, glad that she still had a few more blocks to walk so that hopefully she'd stop blushing by the time she got to the party.
She'd been embarrassed at first, but then Wyatt had pressed a button, and an opaque glass barrier suddenly appeared, blocking their view of the driver. And, she assumed, vice-versa.
She'd almost asked Wyatt about that, just to be sure, but then he was kissing her and she realized she didn't care anymore, especially when he'd pulled her onto his lap and his arms had gone around her. That was when she'd stopped caring about anything except the way his body felt against hers and the wonderful things his hands were doing, and the way his mouth felt against hers.
Her blood had pounded through her that night. In her ears. In her chest. Between her legs.
S
he'd felt lost. Needy. And at the same time, she hadn't felt lost at all, because Wyatt was there. And the only thing she'd needed was him.
Now, all she knew was that she wanted more.