It's a normal dress, really. A casual blue thing I bought from consignment a year ago and never wore to school. That made it special and new, by default.

But by the way Chandler was staring at me when I popped open his car door and slung inside, I could tell it meant more to him than just that. His eyes drifted up to my face. "I thought you were going to come in jeans and a Bowie shirt."

"It took me an hour to figure out the mascara," I laughed, crossing my legs casually.

He smiled. "You look just as amazing as before." Then he weaves his fingers into mine, and the stain from months of Mom's resentment, it's almost like it's gone. It's just Chandler, the rumbling purr of the engine, my palms pulsing against his. I look at him. He drives with one hand, the corners of his mouth inching up in the passing glow of street lights.

"Emory," he said suddenly. "I got into Emory. Theater Studies."

My lips pressed together. "Okay." He got into college. He's leaving town. "Okay. Congrats." Because that's what people say when their boyfriends get into college, not curse or want to kick the car door open and lay down on the road, waiting for a pair of tires to roll over their face.

He squeezed my hand, eyes still on the road. "Tell me what you're thinking. Fire away. I want to know."

A breath rose in my throat. "I... well... you're leaving, and I can't. It's May. I can't afford college. I need to take care of Mom. I really should be working full-time..." I bit my lip. Turned towards him. "You're leaving. And it makes me feel like shit, but I'm still proud of you."

"Maybe I..." he mused, but never ended his thought. We pulled into the school parking lot, and I could feel him buzzing beside me, full of apology.

"Forget it," I playfully nudge his shoulder, gesturing towards the school, booming music emanating from the gym. "Let's go have fun."

His eyes glinted, a dangerous smile quirking along his mouth, and he pulled me across to his seat. He knows what I need. His teeth run over my lip and I inch my fingers over the nape of his neck. Leaning, pushing into him, and we fell back against the driver window, laughing.

Upon seeing a streak of red lipstick on his cheek, I erupted into a storm of laughs. He ran his knuckle over it, grinning when he saw his finger smeared with scarlet.

I gave him one more peck on the cheek, leaving a faint print where my lips were, then pulled myself upright. "You're beautiful," I said, smiling, and I wasn't just joking.

A devilish smirk played across his face. "Oh honey, you ain't seen nothing yet." Then he dissolved into chuckles. "This'll be my new signature. I'll start a trend." He posed cooly, and succeeded in looking like a psychopath.

I lost my shit laughing. "Come on, Chandler, we got to go, or people are going to connect the dots."

I ran my nail along the bottom edge of his lip, but he tugged out of my grip. "Are you kidding me? I'll wear this like a trophy."

Shaking my head, my gaze floated over him and his smile, his eyes like azure crystalline pools. Maybe it was because I was still high off his kiss, his laughter, but an overwhelming wave of lust surged over my body. I felt the shadows stretch like fingers between us, the warmth of his hand still around the back of my neck. Warm.

"Okay, Mick Jagger." I smiled coyly, my thumb laying over the corner of his lip. He bit it tenderly. "Let's see what you're made of."

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Published 12-5-16
Next chapter 12-9-16