Debbie as she once again yanked Janelle toward the circle. Without a word, the group parted to let her and Debbie sit.
Heather’s gaze shifted toward the other side of the circle. Janelle glanced up. Ron stood there, staring toward Debbie and her. Had he come here because of her best friend? Did he like Debbie? She bit her lip. Of course he did. All boys liked Debbie. She was tall, almost too thin, and her large eyes made her look like an adorable pixie—flighty and mischievous, both of which were descriptions that fit her well. She’d always thought her friend was pretty special, however that didn’t stop the healthy dose of green that shot through her veins.
The group shifted, and Ron hunkered down, squatting with his elbows on his knees, staring at… Was he staring at her? It seemed like he might be; but then again, Debbie sat right behind her from his vantage point. She averted her eyes, deliberately locking them on the bottle the girl finally let loose. It spun and spun, wobbling as it slowed.
Her sensitive skin tingled at his continued stare and Janelle feared her flaming cheeks would melt right off. When the bottle landed on her, her stomach dropped to the floor.
“Two girls.” The blond boy laughed and pointed at Janelle. “That means you have to go into the closet with the next boy the bottle lands on and spend fifteen minutes alone in the dark.” He drew his words out in a ghostly wail.
A thick lump closed her throat completely, and she swallowed hard to get past it. Her stomach, still on the floor, churned. Her hands quivering, Janelle took the bottle and gave it a spin, hoping it would land on a girl. Perhaps then she would have to be the one shoved into the closet with a boy.
She wrapped her hands around her stomach and wondered how long before she could excuse herself. Maybe she could even do it before the bottle stopped, claim she had to go to the restroom and then run for the door.
The bottle spun in slow motion. She blinked and gulped as the bottle whirled past the blond, slowed near a redhead, and stopped—pointing directly at Ron.
Chapter Two
Her pulse pounding in her throat, she fell back on her palms. She tried to put distance between them, hoping it would translate into some small measure of emotional distance from what her heart really wanted but would never have. Glancing up through the muss of hair that fell over her eyes, Janelle bit her lip.
Oh my.
“Oooh. Into the closet,” the redhead chanted.
“Into the closet.” The others shouted with him, and Debbie nudged her shoulder, joining in.
Janelle glanced at Debbie, then back at Ron, who came towering toward her. His wide shoulders and dark looks made her think of an Arabic sheik. For an instant, she imagined him throwing her over his shoulder, hauling her back to his pillowed bed, and making passionate love to her in its soft confines. But this was reality, not fantasy.
He extended his hand and she took it, pressing to her feet without putting much weight on him. She didn’t want to make her weight any more obvious than it needed to be; though just the touch of his fingers made her feel lighter than air. Lighter than the clouds.
She glided on those clouds to the closet, the taunting chants of the crowd nearly inaudible. In this moment, only the strength of his fingers and the intensity of his gaze existed.
When she crossed the threshold she nearly turned and bolted back out. What if something happened in this room? What if it didn’t?
The shadowy room—brightened only by a small nightlight—terrified and excited her. What would she do? What could she do? He wouldn’t want to touch her… Wouldn’t even want to look at her. Why would he? The door closed behind them and laughter flooded from the crack at the base.
She turned to face him, and her breath hitched. He smelled as good as he looked, and even in the dim light, his bright blue eyes sparkled.
Janelle opened her mouth, but it took a moment
Heather’s gaze shifted toward the other side of the circle. Janelle glanced up. Ron stood there, staring toward Debbie and her. Had he come here because of her best friend? Did he like Debbie? She bit her lip. Of course he did. All boys liked Debbie. She was tall, almost too thin, and her large eyes made her look like an adorable pixie—flighty and mischievous, both of which were descriptions that fit her well. She’d always thought her friend was pretty special, however that didn’t stop the healthy dose of green that shot through her veins.
The group shifted, and Ron hunkered down, squatting with his elbows on his knees, staring at… Was he staring at her? It seemed like he might be; but then again, Debbie sat right behind her from his vantage point. She averted her eyes, deliberately locking them on the bottle the girl finally let loose. It spun and spun, wobbling as it slowed.
Her sensitive skin tingled at his continued stare and Janelle feared her flaming cheeks would melt right off. When the bottle landed on her, her stomach dropped to the floor.
“Two girls.” The blond boy laughed and pointed at Janelle. “That means you have to go into the closet with the next boy the bottle lands on and spend fifteen minutes alone in the dark.” He drew his words out in a ghostly wail.
A thick lump closed her throat completely, and she swallowed hard to get past it. Her stomach, still on the floor, churned. Her hands quivering, Janelle took the bottle and gave it a spin, hoping it would land on a girl. Perhaps then she would have to be the one shoved into the closet with a boy.
She wrapped her hands around her stomach and wondered how long before she could excuse herself. Maybe she could even do it before the bottle stopped, claim she had to go to the restroom and then run for the door.
The bottle spun in slow motion. She blinked and gulped as the bottle whirled past the blond, slowed near a redhead, and stopped—pointing directly at Ron.
Chapter Two
Her pulse pounding in her throat, she fell back on her palms. She tried to put distance between them, hoping it would translate into some small measure of emotional distance from what her heart really wanted but would never have. Glancing up through the muss of hair that fell over her eyes, Janelle bit her lip.
Oh my.
“Oooh. Into the closet,” the redhead chanted.
“Into the closet.” The others shouted with him, and Debbie nudged her shoulder, joining in.
Janelle glanced at Debbie, then back at Ron, who came towering toward her. His wide shoulders and dark looks made her think of an Arabic sheik. For an instant, she imagined him throwing her over his shoulder, hauling her back to his pillowed bed, and making passionate love to her in its soft confines. But this was reality, not fantasy.
He extended his hand and she took it, pressing to her feet without putting much weight on him. She didn’t want to make her weight any more obvious than it needed to be; though just the touch of his fingers made her feel lighter than air. Lighter than the clouds.
She glided on those clouds to the closet, the taunting chants of the crowd nearly inaudible. In this moment, only the strength of his fingers and the intensity of his gaze existed.
When she crossed the threshold she nearly turned and bolted back out. What if something happened in this room? What if it didn’t?
The shadowy room—brightened only by a small nightlight—terrified and excited her. What would she do? What could she do? He wouldn’t want to touch her… Wouldn’t even want to look at her. Why would he? The door closed behind them and laughter flooded from the crack at the base.
She turned to face him, and her breath hitched. He smelled as good as he looked, and even in the dim light, his bright blue eyes sparkled.
Janelle opened her mouth, but it took a moment
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