much I didn’t know.
“Our family wasn’t supposed to be within so many feet of theirs. If we were, we could get arrested.”
“How is that possible? We live next door.”
“At first, we didn’t though.”
“I thought that was because of the investigation and evidence and stuff like that.”
“It was, but we also had to be careful. The restraining order was for a year.”
“And after that year we moved here, out of that little apartment.”
“Trust me, I didn’t want to live here, but there was no way I’d be able to sell this house.”
I nodded. Before that day, just me and my dad lived in the house. My grandma lived in Arizona, but she moved out here so I wouldn’t have to switch schools, and so she could take care of other affairs – mainly, selling the house – since my dad was in jail.
“So the restraining order ended four years ago.”
“They told me if we were ever within their son’s vicinity, they would sue us, and I believe them, Lexie.”
“Sue you for what? That’s absurd.”
“Maybe, but they’d find something. Causing undue emotional duress to their child, something like that.”
I didn’t feel like eating cookies anymore.
When I got home from bingo with my grandma, I went up to my room. I looked out the window, maybe just a bit curious, maybe just to see Dalton’s muscles flex again. He wasn’t doing his chin-ups though. He stood in the middle of the room wearing a t-shirt that said The Flying Magpies and some severely low-slung jeans, with his guitar strapped to him. I swore he was waiting for me. He didn’t look up, only bent over to flip on his amp and started playing. His head bobbed along to the beat, and then he looked right through the window at me and started singing, and loudly, because I could hear the hum of his voice and guitar through my window. Our eyes locked, and a smile started to creep up the corner of my mouth. He played my Prince Tomas song.
I struggled to pull up my window. Some cool air rushed in on my face, and I could hear his beautiful voice. It was so deep and soothing and made my heart flutter. This was not good.
I rested my chin on the windowsill and kneeled on my desk chair. He licked his lips and kept singing, his expression totally serious and concentrated.
“Get some new material,” I said through the screen, then realized he didn’t have his window open and probably couldn’t hear me. He quickly remedied that though, sauntering the few steps across the room and lifting his window. I repeated what I said, trying to erase the slow-mo image of him licking his lips that played on repeat in my head. He pointed at me, walked backwards, and started a new song. It was a fast one, and he started jumping around the room singing, probably too loud because his sister stuck her head in the door and shouted something at him. He laughed and continued his song a tad quieter. Luckily, his sister did not see me.
Chapter Eight
At school, Dalton gave me a smirk. I tried to hold in my smile but couldn’t. His powers of adorability were strong. And I swore, every time I saw him, it was like in slow motion, and there might have been music, like total movie moment, and then his smirk—I melted inside. I watched his back as he walked away, the way his jeans hugged his hips perfectly and the wonderful shape of his bottom. Oh dear lord, I liked Dalton Reyes. I didn’t know how much longer I could resist.
He was all I could think about in class. The way he smelled, the way he felt so close to me, the softness of his touch. I got in trouble with yet another teacher for not paying attention. This time it was my gym teacher, and I got hit in the head with a basketball. Mrs. Neilson yelled at me about focusing as I snapped back to reality in the gym.
“Just because this is P.E. does not mean you get to slack off,” Mrs. Neilson yelled. She might have been a drill sergeant at one point in her life because her only form of communication was yelling.
“Our family wasn’t supposed to be within so many feet of theirs. If we were, we could get arrested.”
“How is that possible? We live next door.”
“At first, we didn’t though.”
“I thought that was because of the investigation and evidence and stuff like that.”
“It was, but we also had to be careful. The restraining order was for a year.”
“And after that year we moved here, out of that little apartment.”
“Trust me, I didn’t want to live here, but there was no way I’d be able to sell this house.”
I nodded. Before that day, just me and my dad lived in the house. My grandma lived in Arizona, but she moved out here so I wouldn’t have to switch schools, and so she could take care of other affairs – mainly, selling the house – since my dad was in jail.
“So the restraining order ended four years ago.”
“They told me if we were ever within their son’s vicinity, they would sue us, and I believe them, Lexie.”
“Sue you for what? That’s absurd.”
“Maybe, but they’d find something. Causing undue emotional duress to their child, something like that.”
I didn’t feel like eating cookies anymore.
When I got home from bingo with my grandma, I went up to my room. I looked out the window, maybe just a bit curious, maybe just to see Dalton’s muscles flex again. He wasn’t doing his chin-ups though. He stood in the middle of the room wearing a t-shirt that said The Flying Magpies and some severely low-slung jeans, with his guitar strapped to him. I swore he was waiting for me. He didn’t look up, only bent over to flip on his amp and started playing. His head bobbed along to the beat, and then he looked right through the window at me and started singing, and loudly, because I could hear the hum of his voice and guitar through my window. Our eyes locked, and a smile started to creep up the corner of my mouth. He played my Prince Tomas song.
I struggled to pull up my window. Some cool air rushed in on my face, and I could hear his beautiful voice. It was so deep and soothing and made my heart flutter. This was not good.
I rested my chin on the windowsill and kneeled on my desk chair. He licked his lips and kept singing, his expression totally serious and concentrated.
“Get some new material,” I said through the screen, then realized he didn’t have his window open and probably couldn’t hear me. He quickly remedied that though, sauntering the few steps across the room and lifting his window. I repeated what I said, trying to erase the slow-mo image of him licking his lips that played on repeat in my head. He pointed at me, walked backwards, and started a new song. It was a fast one, and he started jumping around the room singing, probably too loud because his sister stuck her head in the door and shouted something at him. He laughed and continued his song a tad quieter. Luckily, his sister did not see me.
Chapter Eight
At school, Dalton gave me a smirk. I tried to hold in my smile but couldn’t. His powers of adorability were strong. And I swore, every time I saw him, it was like in slow motion, and there might have been music, like total movie moment, and then his smirk—I melted inside. I watched his back as he walked away, the way his jeans hugged his hips perfectly and the wonderful shape of his bottom. Oh dear lord, I liked Dalton Reyes. I didn’t know how much longer I could resist.
He was all I could think about in class. The way he smelled, the way he felt so close to me, the softness of his touch. I got in trouble with yet another teacher for not paying attention. This time it was my gym teacher, and I got hit in the head with a basketball. Mrs. Neilson yelled at me about focusing as I snapped back to reality in the gym.
“Just because this is P.E. does not mean you get to slack off,” Mrs. Neilson yelled. She might have been a drill sergeant at one point in her life because her only form of communication was yelling.
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