Page 37 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble to myself, flipping onto my side and throwing the blanket over my head.

It’s probably just a squirrel that dropped an acorn, bouncing it off the tree branch and hitting my window. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, until another loud clunk happens, and my eyes bolt open.

There is no way that is coincidental.

My arms fly up, taking the blanket with them, and I scoot off the bed, slipping my legs into my favorite dark plaid pajama bottoms.

I’m not wearing a bra, so I cover my breasts with my arms and shuffle my feet along the soft carpet, all the while breathing in softly to keep the aggravation at bay.

My heart raises in my chest when I look out the window and see a glimpse of a person standing below. The streetlights cast enough of a glow through the street that I can make him out entirely.

Alec Sokolov.

His tattooed arm flings in the air as he waves. I can see a grin on his face. Using one hand, I pat my bedhead down as much as possible, making sure my other hand is still covering my breasts. What my hair looks like shouldn’t matter much, considering he saw me in my pajamas already, but it does because every single time I have seen Alec, I’ve either been a complete mess or my father comes between us and embarrasses the ever living hell out of me.

I have a feeling there will never be a dull moment when it comes to Alec.

If he wasn’t so attractive, I’d cuss him out for waking me up in the middle of the night—before my mother’s funeral nonetheless.

But something about this screams ‘sweetest fucking thing ever.’ It makes me think about those romance movies when guys show up at their girls’ houses, begging for forgiveness or to sing sweet songs to them.

Oh my god. If Alec starts to sing for me right here, outside of my bedroom, I will die.

Thankfully, he doesn't have a guitar with him. So, I can scratch that thought out.

My fingers curl around the lip of the window to slide it open. A slight cool nighttime breeze hits my face. I’ve always loved the weather at night in early June. I slide the screen up and lean out the window just a tad.

“What’re you doing here?” I whisper loud enough for him to hear me from the second floor but quiet enough so I don’t wake Dad up. I make a quick glance at my door to make sure, but everything is quiet, besides the slight vibration of the central air. I turn my eyes back to Alec.

“You never gave me a day and time.” He shrugs. My eyebrows pull together. What on earth is he even talking about? He adds, “You asked if I would teach you how to play the guitar. You never specified when.”

Oh, that makes… but not enough sense to show up this late at night. He could have come by another time.

A small giggle comes from my throat, and I link my fingers together to rest my chin on my hands. “So, you’re telling me that you came all this way…” I make a quick glance to double-check the exact time, “past midnight to ask me when I can come by and learn how to play your guitar?”

Alec runs his tattooed hand through his hard hand. “I would have called, but you sort of left suddenly, and I never got the chance to ask for your number.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and think to myself for a minute. “How did you even know where I lived?”

His expression drops for a split second before his lips pull upward. “Took a wild guess. Your father is the only cop in town that hasn’t moved.”

That is true. My father grew up on the other side of town. When he and Mom found out she was pregnant with me, Dad purchased this house for us. It doesn’t surprise me that everyone, including Alec, knows where my father lives.

I nod, pressing my lips together. “Right. So, you take a leap of faith and come to his house, hoping that I would be here?” I question.

“Something like that. I mean, the kitten sticker on your window gave it away.”

I cross my arms at my chest. “Don’t make fun of Mr. Sprinkles.”

Alec puts his arms up in defense and laughs. I stare at him, drooling over how good he looks, with the glow of the streetlights radiating over him.

“So, can I have your number?”

I chew on my bottom lip and raise one finger to tell him to wait a minute. Then, I head over to my computer desk and open the top drawer to grab a pen and a piece of paper. After jotting down my number quickly, I fold it a few times to create a paper airplane.

When I get back to the windowsill, I toss the paper airplane down toward him. My aim has never been very good, which is why I have never bothered to play baseball, or any sport for that matter.

Alec’s attempt to catch the airplane makes a strange noise come from my lungs, and I burst out laughing. He stumbles but catches his balance before slamming into the ground.

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