by Naomi Niles
I laughed. “Yes. We’ll be dancing.”
“Did I agree to that?”
I laughed and swatted his arm. “It’s implied when you take someone to a prom.”
“Oh, okay. Didn’t know that.”
The smile on his face told me he was teasing me.
We did the pictures, and then there was a slow song. Dylan held me as if I were china. “Why didn’t you run for prom queen?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Didn’t seem important with all that was going on with you.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Nope. I get to dance with only you all night instead of the prom king.”
“I like that idea.” He nuzzled my neck. “This is kind of nice. Kind of fun.”
“Better than you thought?”
“Much better, but I think that has to do with my date,” he said.
That filled me with such a warm feeling. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I didn’t think I was ready to be that vulnerable. Yet. Maybe by the end of the night.
The prom queen was crowned and the fast music started. I dragged Dylan out on the dance floor.
“But they just served dessert,” he said.
“It’ll be there when you get back,” I said. “I want to see you dance.”
“I’m not very good.”
He actually was okay; he had more rhythm than a lot of guys on the dance floor. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. We didn’t sit down for three songs. Then I needed a drink.
The cake was gone. He looked like a puppy who had been kicked.
“I’ll bake you a chocolate cake tomorrow.”
Dylan’s face lit up. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay, then.”
And for one quick moment, I saw the teenage Dylan. Not the serious grownup one that had been around lately. Not that I minded, either.
“Last song of the night, girls and boys,” the disc jockey said.
I turned back to Dylan. “One more.”
He kissed my nose. “Of course.”
He held me close again, and I never wanted the night to end. His warm body was pressed against mine, his bow tie was in his pocket, and his sleeves were rolled up.
He was all mine. At least, for now.
When the song ended, he led me to the table. We gathered our things said goodnight to everyone. I really didn’t want to go back to reality. This had been wonderful.
I held onto Dylan’s arm, my high heels in my hand. “This was great. Thank you.”
He smiled down at me. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
I stopped him before we climbed into the limousine.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
“No. I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”
His smile lit up his face. “I love you, too.”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Naomi Niles