Page 8 of Give In To Love
I held up one finger, indicating that he should give me a moment while I focused on my breathing. I was already feeling a little better as I adjusted to his presence, reminding myself he was just a guy, a person like any other, not the larger-than-life fantasy I’d built him up to be in my mind over the last five years.
“Tell me…a s-s-story,” I stuttered out.
His brows shot up. He was clearly confused by my seemingly random request.
“Dis…traction.”
Understanding dawned, and he thought for a moment before beginning to speak. “You remember I’m a dancer?”
I nodded, the memory of him leaping gracefully to the bank of the creek flashing through my mind.
“Tyler was always more into sports—both of my brothers were, actually—but when Tyler was in fourth grade, he decided he wanted to try dance like me. I think it was his way of supporting me, or maybe it was because he was younger and looked up to me, but whatever the reason was, our ma agreed to let him take a hip-hop class. Turned out, he was pretty good, and I think it became kind of an outlet for him.
“Anyway, by the spring recital, he’d earned himself a little solo in the boys’ hip-hop routine. It was just a couple of eight-counts, I think, but he was so proud of himself. Frankly, we all were. So, the big day finally came. I think I had six dances that year, but I made sure I was backstage for his number so I could see his performance. His routine came up, and he was absolutely killing his solo…until the very end.”
I leaned forward, breathing exercises forgotten as he wove his story. “What happened?”
“Tyler was so committed to the routine that he dropped into a split a little too enthusiastically, and he…well, not only did he nail his split, but hesplithis pants. Right down the back. He’d worn his lucky underwear that day, which happened to be Spider-Man, andeveryonegot an eyeful.”
I gasped, covering my open mouth with my hand. “What did he do?”
“The little shit winked at the audience and finished the dance, Spider-Man undies and all.”
A snort escaped me and he smiled wide in response, those blue eyes sparkling with good humor. He stood, coming over to stand in front of me. “Better?” he asked, voice soft and warm, like melted caramel.
I nodded, my eyes never leaving his.
“Can I sit?” He flicked his chin toward the other end of my bed. I nodded once more, and he sat, one leg crossed in front of him, with the other foot resting on the floor.
“I’m TJ. Well, Thomas, actually, but my mom calls me Tommy, and everyone else calls me TJ.”
“Hi,” was all I managed, as those two letters—T and J—imprinted themselves onto my heart.
Five years.
For five years, I’d wondered about the name of the guy who gave me my first kiss. To this day, my only kiss. TJ.
“Do I get the pleasure of your name?”
“Oh. Um. It’s Jimmy. Jimmy Clark.”
His smile grew until it stretched completely across his face. “I’ve been calling you sunshine in my head for five years. But I like Jimmy too. It suits you.”
I didn’t know which part of that statement to address first. The fact that he’d been thinking about me all this time or that he had a nickname for me. The first seemed too huge to contemplate, so I addressed the latter. “Sunshine?”
His eyes darted up a couple of inches, then back down to meet my eyes. “That’s what your hair reminded me of that day. All those blond curls framing your face. It reminded me of the sun.”
I looked down, cheeks heating, resisting the impulse to run my fingers through my messy curls.You’re going to be okay, sunshine. You’re stronger than you think.
I hadn’t understood the nickname then, but I’d folded those words away, nonetheless. I kept them close to my heart, pulling them out to examine in private moments when I needed the reminder that someone out there had seen something in me, had thought I was strong. Had wanted to be my first kiss. I’d never told anyone about him, hadn’t wanted to share him with anyone. Who would have believed me anyway?
“I can’t believe you even remember me,” I managed, my voice quiet, eyes still averted. I hated feeling this way. Small and insignificant. I’d come a long way in the last five years. I’d gotten help for my anxiety, had gone on meds, and had learned to manage it better. I still didn’t like the spotlight, but I’d found a quiet confidence in who I was and what I had to offer the world. But now, next to TJ, I felt like I was fifteen again, just an abandoned boy, small for his age, who’d do anything to avoid notice.
“You remember me, right? Then why shouldn’t I remember you?”
I felt him scoot closer, and while part of me wanted to back away again, I forced myself to look up. Because I wasn’t that boy anymore. He’d been right back then. I’d been stronger than I realized, and I’d busted my ass to get to where I was today.
“I suppose you’re right,” I finally answered.
