Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

favorite auntie, which started this Caroline out with bonus points. She also never laughed at his accent or the expressions he used, not even on days like today when he got all fired up and spoke in pure hill-country hick talk.
    As he watched, a tall girl with slightly curly black hair moved to one side, revealing a figure straight out of Peter's most fevered imaginings. The new girl smiled shyly at Caroline, handing her a tall cup from Starbucks. Caroline said something Peter couldn't hear, and the girl's face slowly turned a fetching shade of pink. Her long black lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks as she dipped her head. The taller girl began to stroke the long dark hair of the girl who Peter couldn't take his eyes off of. That girl turned toward Caroline again, and Peter caught an uninterrupted glimpse of her profile. Her delicate jaw, pert nose and tiny stature coupled with her almond shaped eyes and lightly golden skin clearly marked her out as different from the girls around her. She was like a little Asian doll his cousin Cee had got one year for Christmas.
    Peter's fingers itched to touch her. His heartbeat sped in his chest harder than the time he ran all the way across the holler twice with Tater and Rufus on the hottest day in July. She turned back to her girlfriends, bending enough to show Peter the nape of her neck. He saw a flash of himself holding her gathered close in his arms, her back to his chest. A low moan escaped Peter's throat. He could actually feel her slight weight in his arms, and could feel the resilience of her skin against his teeth as he set them in mock threat against that precious, vulnerable spot right at the base of her neck, nearly to the join of her shoulder.
    A shiver visible from where he stood ran across the girl's shoulders. She stiffened, raising her head like a deer in hunting season when the wind would change. She turned. The force of her dark gaze hit him square in the chest. Peter sucked in a breath. Hot color flooded her cheeks again, and damn if the sight of her flushed and open-mouthed didn't shoot right into his privates.
    The girl took a half step toward him, and Peter opened his mouth to call out to her. Caroline grabbed the slender arm encased in what looked just like the real silk blouse his momma had been pining over for the last four months, every time they went past the shop window where she'd seen it. He swallowed hard. A girl who wore real silk to high school might be above him. She moved as though to shake Caroline's hand off her arm. His classmate said something low in an urgent tone, her light blond brows drawn together until they almost touched. The beauty cast him one drowning look full of heat and longing, and turned back into the center of the group.
    Sound crashed down around Peter. Someone bumped into him from behind, apologizing hastily before moving down the hall. The group of girls drifted back inside the doors. A warning bell rang. Peter's next class was on the other side of the school. He turned through air grown thick as his Gram's home-made molasses, forcing himself to move toward his math class. Maybe he could meet up with her in the hallway sometime. He'd ask Mitzy and Lisabeth about the girls his beauty spent time with. If anyone could help him find out who she was, surely Mitzy and Lisabeth could.
    Four hours later, at lunch, he heard the tale of the hateful actions the former leader of 'The Posse' set into motion against Lisabeth and Mitzy. They didn't like the other girls, and had nothing nice to say about them. Mitzy's eyes got all big and teary, and Lisabeth's mouth pursed up like she'd been sucking on lemons for ten days straight. "We don't mix with them. Ever."
    Peter didn't bring the subject up again. Instead he watched his butterfly, as he'd taken to calling her, from afar. Their paths somehow never crossed, and he caught only the briefest glimpses of her in the distance, laughing with her friends or hurrying in the opposite direction of him. He watched her with eyes that clung to what he could see of her form as closely as her own skin. As much as he longed for a glimpse of her in a tight sweater, or a short skirt and clingy stockings, he was thankful she chose to wear such demure clothing. Peter knew himself well enough to know that though he had no legitimate claim on her affections, he would surely commit serious bodily injury on any fool who gazed on her with lecherous intent.
    His butterfly deserved better.
    Then football