But not for long because right in front of my eyes, he does something incredible.
He does something that I never even imagined he would do.
Right in front of my eyes, Reed Roman Jackson slowly comes down on his knees.
The sight of it is so shocking that my hand sticks out on its own and grabs hold of his shoulder. His hoodie.
“I don’t know… what you’re doing,” I whisper, looking into his eyes, which are on level with mine.
Because he’s so, so tall.
His answer is to smile lopsidedly and grab my ankle.
Before I can even utter a word, he’s taken off my shoe and given me my breaths back. When he goes for the other one and brings me back down to earth, taking off the added four inches of my height, I want to hug him.
I don’t even care that now he reaches the top of my head easily.
I don’t even care that the stark difference in our sizes makes me look all helpless in front of him.
“Tell me about your promise,” I whisper, putting my other hand on his shoulder as well and clutching his soft hoodie.
His gaze turns liquid. “You take off that dress and braid your hair.”
“And?”
His fingers still circle my ankle, squeezing. “And you dance only for me.”
“What would I get in return?”
“And in return, I won’t ask any other girls to dance for me.” Another squeeze of my ankle and I bite my lip. “Only you.”
Only me.
He just said that.
And maybe it’s not exactly what a girl hopes to hear from a guy. It’s not a declaration or anything. Just a little promise. And for now, it seems like enough. It seems enough to make me smile and wiggle my free toes on the ground in happiness.
It seems enough that I step closer to him and my bare feet graze his bent knees. “On one condition.”
“What?”
I dare to touch the ends of his dark hair; they’re as soft and silky as his hoodie. “I hear you love your Mustang.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “I do.”
I want to touch his stubble as well, the thing that appears every evening to bother him, but I’m not that bold so I satisfy myself with playing with his soft, soft hair.
“People say that she’s your baby.”
His hands go to my waist. “She is.”
I suck in a breath at how easily he can span my slender torso. “I want you to give me a ride.”
He digs his thumbs in the soft flesh of my stomach. “Ride to where?”
I don’t even have to think about the answer, and good thing too, because all my thoughts are gone except the one.
He’s touching me so possessively, like how a sculptor touches their creation maybe, with authority, with a sense of ownership. “Back to those woods where the party was that night.”
