But still, I held back.
Because the curly-haired beauty is so far out of my league it’s not even funny.
At seventeen years old, I stand at barely six-foot with no muscle to speak of. I’m all arms and legs while Daisy is all curves and confidence. I’m full of hatred and trauma from a shitty upbringing where she’s sunshine and carefree.
What could a girl like her possibly see in someone like me?
But even still, I said fuck it, threw caution to the wind and asked her out anyway. And thankfully, she said yes.
We’ve been dating for a little over a month now and she’s been spending more and more time at my house. Granted,she’s here with my sister, but a part of me is giddy with the thought that maybe she’s here for me too.
My sound of my bedroom door creaking open has my head snapping towards it, panic rising, expecting to see my mother on the other side, but my panic quickly forms into a sly smile as Daisy pokes her head in, her eyes searching me out.
“You lost, angel?” I mutter, keeping my voice low so the she-devil next door doesn’t hear me.
Her usually shy smile at the use of her nickname is nowhere to be found as Daisy steps fully into the bedroom, her arms slack at her side as she shakes her head. Her eyes dart to the windows nervously as the first rumble of thunder sounds in the distance.
I frown, sitting up against my headboard. “You okay?”
Daisy shakes her head again. “I don’t like storms,” she whispers, her voice quiet and timid.
I pull my quilt back and pat the bed. “Come here.”
On quiet feet, she tiptoes across the room and climbs in beside me. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I pull her into me as tremors wrack her body. She lays her head on my naked chest, her soft skin warm against mine. Her breathing is choppy, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as a lone tear escapes her eye and rolls down her cheek before landing on my chest.
“Why don’t you like storms?” I ask, brushing a curl out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.
She shrugs, sniffling. “I don’t know. There’s not really a valid reason why I’m afraid. I’m just afraid. It’s so stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I reassure her. “Everyone has something they’re afraid of. Like Noah for example. He’s deathly afraidof daddy long legs. You should see him. He screams like a girl when one of them things find their way into the barn.”
She chuckles quietly, her body starting to relax ever so slightly. It makes me feel good, that I can offer her some sort of comfort in her time of need, so I continue. “Or Bella. She’s afraid of bees. She could be mid conversation with the mayor, but if a bee comes flying at her, she will let out a blood curdling scream and run for the hills, modesty be damned.”
Another laugh leaves her. “I’ve witnessed that first hand.”
“And then there’s the germophobes. Have you ever met one? We went to school with this one guy, Michael. He carried hospital grade hand sanitiser with him everywhere. He’d clean every doorhandle before touching it. And if you touched him?” I shake my head, amused. “He’d pull that bottle out of his pocket right in front of your face and squirt a dollop of it right where you touched.”
Her eyes meet mine, filled with humour. “Really?”
I nod with a chuckle of my own. “Yup. Would make you feel like you were dirty. I used to enjoy watching from afar as people would get offended and storm away from him.”
A flash of light illuminates my bedroom through the shutters and Daisy freezes, her eyes squeezing shut as a loud rumble follows. I pull her tighter against me, waiting for the shivers to subside.
“What are you afraid of?” Daisy asks, her voice shaky and eyes pleading for distraction as I look down at her beautiful face.
You.
I’m afraid of you.
I shrug. “I’m not sure,” I lie.
She raises a brow and sits up so that she can look down at me, her anxiety over the storm suddenly forgotten. “Come on. You must be afraid of something.”
I look away, pretending to focus on the movie playing. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
A gasp from my left draws my attention back to her and I can’t stop my eyes from dragging down the length of her body. I was too concerned about the fear on her face when she first entered my bedroom to take in the flimsy pyjama shorts and cropped tank top she’s wearing. It ends just above her belly button, leaving the bottom half of her sun-kissed stomach exposed. She kneels beside me, causing the shorts to ride up her thighs, tightening around the curve of her hips.
My mouth goes dry, and I yank my eyes back up to hers.
