Page 1 of Late Fees

Wyatt

1993

“Do you think she’s hot?”

Wisps of Tilly’s curly red hair brushed against my chin as she studied the tiny television that was perched on her dresser. The mirror behind the TV caught my eye as it always did. Pictures of us lined every spare inch of the frame, some of them hanging for so long, the ends were starting to curl.

It made me smile.

Running my fingers through the curls that rested on her shoulder, I stared at the TV and groaned, knowing I was trapped. Girls never wanted to hear an honest answer to that question.

“How am I supposed to answer that?”

The blonde girl in Aerosmith’s “Cryin’” video was definitely hot. I’d seen her in a movie called The Crush earlier that year but had no idea what her name was. She was hot, though. Really, really hot.

But then again, so was Tilly.

Tilly had one of those naturally beautiful faces—pale, delicate skin with tiny freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks and bright eyes that matched the effervescence of her spirit. She was tiny, just over five feet tall, but her personality could barely fit inside the room. She was energetic, inventive, and so talented.

And she was mine.

God, I was lucky.

“Answer honestly.” Her voice was playful with the tiniest bit of hesitation.

“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “Okay? Yes. She’s hot. But not as hot as you.”

“I love you for saying that,” she said, leaning up on her elbow and kissing me gently on the lips.

“No one’s as pretty as you, Tilly. Not to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You just want to get in my pants.”

Licking my lips, I kissed her neck, my hand wandering under her soft cotton tank top.

“Can you blame me?” I teased.

She ran her fingers through my hair and sighed. “My mom will be home soon.”

“Already?” I asked with a groan. Whenever I was with Tilly, I was completely oblivious to the time. It didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing. When we were together, time stood still.

Tilly’s mom and dad both worked, so we spent many afternoons at her house making out with MTV on in the background, avoiding the summer heat. Every once in a while, we actually paid attention to the videos. But not often.

Tilly rolled over. “I need a TV with a remote.”

“It’s a good song; don’t change it.”

“I know, but the video is so lame. She catches him cheating, so she pretends to jump off a bridge?” Tilly hopped out of bed, and I sat up, watching her saunter to the TV, her tiny, cotton shorts teasing me from across the room. “She needs to get a life. For real.”

“I like it.” I shrugged. “It’s edgy…different.”

“And it’s Aerosmith.”

“So?”

“So…I know you secretly love them.”

“I wouldn’t say love. But yeah, they’re pretty good.” I scoffed. “And I’m not embarrassed.”