I Promise You

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  He dips his face. “Um, no reason, uh, just saw it and thought it suited you. It’s not a big deal, I don’t know…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Just open it.”

  I tear at the delicate tissue paper, tugging on the pink bow around it, and out falls a small dandelion charm. It’s sterling silver with a slightly bent stem, the seeds on one side fading away.

  “It’s, uh, like your tattoo.”

  “I know,” I murmur. “Why?”

  “Can’t a guy just get a girl a gift?”

  “Sure.” No. It’s personal.

  He takes a deep breath, gearing up. “You said it symbolized hope and happiness for you, so I thought, um, you know, that I’d give you something you could see everyday…since your tattoo is on your nape. Does that make sense? I mean, I guess you could just pull your hair up and look in the mirror if you needed a reminder.” He scrubs his face. “Anyway. The girl who sold it to me said you could wear it on a necklace or a bracelet, or you can just stick it in a drawer.”

  “It’s so delicate. I don’t have anything to put it on…”

  “See… I fucked up.” He exhales heavily.

  “No, no, you didn’t. It’s beautiful and means a lot—especially because of our conversation. You remembered. Thank you.”

  We stare at each other, the moment stretching under the streetlights. He looks away. “Seeing Sawyer and Bambi kiss was spectacular.”

  “Watching them try to figure out where to put their arms…” I laugh. “Then we timed them.”

  “Sixty seconds is a long kiss.” His eyes hold mine. “We can beat that record.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Yeah.”

  “They hooked up freshman year.” He moves closer, the smell of him making me sigh. He tilts my chin up. “He’s got a thing for her.”

  My head is not thinking about Sawyer and Bambi.

  “Fact: lips have more nerve endings than most of the body. People remember kissing more vividly than sex.”

  “True?”

  “I read it somewhere. Can’t recall…” I stop as his nose runs up my neck.

  “You nervous, Serena?”

  “A little.”

  “Good. I am too. You make me feel…” His hand slides around my nape, drifting over my tattoo. “Like I don’t know which way is up.” He brushes his lips over mine. Long and soft and thorough, he kisses me, his tongue lazily teasing. It goes on for longer than sixty seconds as he presses me against my car. Desire rushes at me like a whip and I sigh as he pulls away. My chest rises rapidly.

  His eyes search my face. “You’re really going home?”

  “I need to check Romy’s calculus homework.”

  “Excuse?”

  Maybe… Yes. I’m just not ready. This, whatever it is, is hurtling toward me like a whirlwind. I’ve done that before, and it blew up in my face.

  “Let me follow you then.”

  “Dillon…”

  He puts his fingers on my lips. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “My neighborhood isn’t that bad.”

  “No, it isn’t that.” He pauses. “I like knowing you’re safe. Even the night at the Pig…just… I haven’t always watched after people…” He frowns.

  “Your brother?”

  He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. He died on my watch. I think he dove off that cliff because he wanted my approval, you know? He wanted to impress me and my friends.”

  Guilt about his brother plagues him. He’s internalized that pain and therefore does acts of service. Maybe it’s his way of saying he cares? Not that he cares for me. This heat between us is about sexual attraction. Right?

  But this soft side of him… It gets to me. He isn’t the nothing-bothers-me pretty boy people see.

  I open my door. “Alright. Follow me home, and when I get inside, I’ll blink the lights at you.”

  “Done.”

  A rush of anxiety hits me as I gaze down at the charm in my hand. What possesses a man to buy a meaningful gift for a girl he barely knows? I look back up at him. “Dillon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t hurt me.” I don’t know why I say it. It’s not appropriate considering we’re not dating or even hooking up, yet there’s a niggling feeling in my gut.

  His eyes widen. “Never. I promise.”

  Later, I’d remember his lie.

  15

  I’m coming to the LSU game, is the text from my dad the next day when I step out of the shower after practice. I sit down on my bed, trying to decipher how I feel about it. Is his new family coming? I rub my chest. Hope trickles in, a sliver of excitement.

  I reply back, Looking forward to it. At least someone will be there.

  A few minutes later, my phone pings with a text from Serena. When’s your birthday?

  I smile and lie back on the bed. October 23rd. You?

  Same.

  My eyes flare. STFU.

  Ha, just messing with you. February 14.

  An image comes through the text, a picture of her at a coffee shop. She’s drinking a latte, and there’s a smudge of cream on her lips. Wait—who’s the other coffee on the table for?

  Who are you with?

  WBBJ guy. Neil. We had classes together back in the day. Discussing football.

  My lips compress. I haven’t missed the way he’s been gazing at her during the games. I can help you if you need it.

  Maybe. What do you love about football?

  Ah, I get it. She isn’t texting to talk. This is about her story. I’ll tell you in person. Come see me or let’s meet.

  Those three dots dance on my screen, go away, then come back. Can’t. Sister has hip hop tryouts at six. Give me your email and I’ll send some questions. Texting doesn’t work.

  Email? Oh, Serena, no. Talking to you—in person—never gets old like it does with other girls, and the next time it happens, I want you alone…

  I don’t reply, set my phone down, and get dressed. I inhale a deep breath, remembering her face when I gave her the charm. If she knew the secret of that purchase, the exact when of the day I bought it… What would she think? That I’m crazy?

  Even Sawyer doesn’t know.

  An hour later, after deciding I can’t stay away from her today, I check my hair in the mirror, smoothing it back over my head, then get out of the Escalade.

  Magnolia Prep looms in front of me, a two-story gray stone school with turrets bookending either side. I’ve been to the public school and here a few times to talk to the football players. High school coaches love it, and it’s good press and shows a connection to the community.

  Unease curls in my gut. I hope this is okay, just showing up here. I’m just…trying to figure out how to woo her. She needs slow and easy, but what if she doesn’t like surprises?

  “There you are.”

  I start and glance over at the lady quickstepping it to catch up with me. A small dog trots behind her with a pink bow in her hair.

  “Nancy?” I say.

  She pats my cheek. “You remembered.” She scoops up the dog and puts her in my arms. “You carry him. They don’t like to let me in with Betty, but you’re semi-famous around here. She cries if I leave her at home. Buster, now, he hates everyone, so he stays home. I should say she’s my emotional support, but I’m hers. What a conundrum.”

  I blink.

  She hooks her arm in mine, and I hold the dog in one hand as we enter the cool interior of the school. “You came to support Serena and Romy—I like it. Shows initiative. Serena, bless her heart, she didn’t invite you, that’s for sure, or she would have mentioned it. She’s about as useful as a steering wheel on a mule when it comes to men. I was going to set her up with Turo’s son, but his divorce is still pending. And he’s forty. I reckon that dog won’t hunt.”

  “I see.”

  “He sent me an orchid today.”

  “Turo?”

  “Mmm. We had sex for the first time last night. I do love a good orchid. Exo
tic. Classy. They need a lot of care though—like my Serena.” A mischievous grin crosses her face. “Did I mention Turo’s Italian?”

  “Um, maybe?”

  “Ah.” She bobs her head, sliding on the glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. “Vane… Don’t make his mistakes, honey. She walked in on him, you know. Saw the BJ.”

  Oh, shit. Serena didn’t give me particulars.

  “Are you better than him?”

  I nod. I’ve had one-night stands before, even threesomes with girls, but I don’t cheat in my brief relationships. Fidelity means something. Loyalty is essential. Maybe because I suspect both my parents found their love in other places before they divorced.

  Vane must have been out of his mind.

  She leads me into the basketball gymnasium. Loud music blares from one end of the court. I rove the stands, my eyes landing on Serena, her head bent, laptop in hand. Several adults sit around her, but she’s got an area saved. Her glasses are on and her lips are pursed. She twirls a piece of hair.

  Nana sighs. “She’s pretty, huh?”

  “Beautiful.” My breath hitches.

  “She’s smart too. On the other hand, she’s as confused as a fart in a fan factory when it comes to the stove. I fudge the truth and say the meatloaf’s good, but she puts too much ketchup in it. I gag every time. If she offers to cook for you, ask for spaghetti. It’s not the best, but edible.”

  “Okay.” Should I be taking notes?

  “She snores and likes to hog the TV. She gets crabby on her period. She loves music. She adored her parents, bless them. My son and Tamara were so in love, like kittens in a basket, a match made in heaven. She needs that, something real and solid.” She darts her eyes at me.

  I’m solid, I say in my head.

  “Serena!” she calls, flapping her hands. “Look at the cute nugget I found! Sexy football player! For you! If I had a bow, I’d put it on him!”

  A flush rises on my face as people stop talking and look over at us. Geeze, Nancy.

  Serena’s head rises, and I sigh, feeling that fist of pressure lighten since she told me she had coffee with Neil. She stands to walk toward us, a frown on her face.

  “Well, I’m worn out. Hold on to Betty, honey. I’m gonna go talk to Tree Boy about condoms.” She sashays away to the bleachers.

  “Dillon McQueen!” is the screech heard from the sidelines as Romy runs toward me. She’s wearing bright green booty shorts and a tight shirt with the Hornets Dance Team logo on it. “You came to my tryouts?” Her mouth gapes.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Serena mentioned them.” In a random text—and here I am.

  “Liam came too, but wow.” She juts her finger over her shoulder. “Those girls will never believe this!”

  “We’ll show them,” I say.

  She grins. “Tiffany’s cool—she’s the blonde—but Kari and Taylor are pure evil. Kari dates the quarterback. She thinks she knows everything about football and you… This is great for my street cred!” Her eyes glow, an earnest expression on her face.

  Serena arrives and says a quick hi then hisses, “How did you know she attends here?”

  “Chantal,” I say in her ear. She smells like cherries, so damn good.

  “But… Why did you come?”

  “Impulse. Want me to leave?”

  “I didn’t invite you.”

  “I know. Sorry.” This is me, babe, trying to pursue you the only way I know how. Giving gifts. Making sure you get home. Helping your sister with her street cred.

  A group of girls in dance clothes encircle Romy. They lower their heads, whispering, sending me eager smiles. I catch a few words.

  “…you know Dillon McQueen…”

  “…so hot…”

  “…why is he here…”

  Serena glances over too. “Ugh. This is kind of a big deal. Now you have to go along and be the famous guy in the room who knows Romy.”

  “I won’t embarrass you.” I arch a brow.

  She sighs. “Dance is what keeps Romy going. Some of the other girls have wealthy parents, and the transition hasn’t been easy.”

  The dog licks my hand and I wince. “Can you take this thing?”

  “The thing’s name is Betty. Nana passed her off. You’re stuck.”

  “You’re mad I came.”

  “A little.” Her forehead furrows.

  I pause, my head tumbling. I don’t know how to do this.

  “Turo sent your Nana an orchid. Do you like those?” I never sent a girl flowers, except for my mother, but I’m willing. Anything.

  “No.” She watches as Nana moves to sit next to a kid with bleached hair.

  “Is that the kid who snuck out her window?”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Chantal talks a lot.”

  I brush my lips against her temple, not able to stop it. Chantal also mentioned how worried Serena is about her sister fitting in. “She was drunk last night after I drove back to Caddy’s to pick up Sawyer. I asked a lot of questions.”

  Romy approaches with the girls and one of them ventures forward, her face disbelieving. “So, uh, you came to watch Romy? Really?”

  Is this the good friend or one of the not-nice girls? Either way…

  “Yep. She’s a cool kid. She almost dances as good as her sister.”

  “Hey!” Romy grouses.

  “Can I have your autograph?” another one says.

  “Please!” comes from another.

  “Now look what you’ve done. They’re going to mob you. Stop being so handsome,” Serena mutters.

  “Two minutes, girls! Time to get started!” announces one of the dance coaches on the sidelines.

  I toss an arm around Romy in clear view of the others. “Go show ’em what you’ve got, sweetheart.” She squeals, hugs me, and runs off.

  Betty and I take in the lingering hip hop students. “Catch me afterward, girls, okay? Right now, I’m going to sit in the stands with my…girlfriend.”

  “Ooooooo,” comes from the girls, and I wink at Serena.

  She rolls her eyes in return. “You are deluded.”

  But she doesn’t send me away. I follow her as we find a place on the bleachers next to Nancy and the boy.

  As the tryouts begin, her leg is pressed against mine and she keeps sneaking little looks at me. She laughs under breath when I catch her gaze.

  “Come on, you’re glad I came, right?”

  She pets the dog, currently in my lap. “Maybe.”

  Score.

  Maybe, just maybe, she wants me around.

  I’ll take whatever she gives me.

  Just…

  Need me like I need you.

  Let me in, Dandelion.

  16

  The sun is setting as I squat down to pull weeds out of the flower bed, a task I meant to do weeks ago. Mom took pride in her flowers, and look at them now: overrun with vines and grass. I huff out a breath and reach behind overgrown boxwood bushes to pull the Bermuda that’s inched in. It’s a clear attempt by the invasive grass to conquer new ground. If not for human intervention, half the world would be covered by Bermuda, the other by kudzu. “Grass Comes To Life And Overtakes Mississippi.” That would make a great story.

  “You missed a spot,” a deep voice says.

  Ass in the air, I let out a yelp while simultaneously hating that I’m wearing an ancient shirt tied at my midriff, cutoff shorts, and old gardening gloves. My hair is pulled back in a scarf like a fifties housewife.

  I turn around and face Dillon. The last time I saw him was yesterday when he popped up at the tryouts. He’s pressing hard. He’s made it clear he wants me—any way he can get me.

  And what do I think? I’m at a crossroads. One way is to run far away; the other is to sink into his arms and say Put the D in me, football player.

  I gape at the camo pants and long-sleeved black shirt he’s wearing. “Did Nana talk you into taking her squirrel hunting? It’s not in season, she’s terrifying with a gun, and squirrel
s are adorable. Did she promise you waffles?”

  “Nah, I only hunt dangerous game, and you’re part of it. Let’s go.” He pins me with stormy eyes, and I feel like one of those antelopes on the nature channel when she realizes the tiger has her in his sights.

  “It’s getting dark!”

  “Goofball. You want to get to know me better for your article, and I want to spend time with you. I don’t see a problem.”

  He wants to spend time with me. The statement makes me gooey inside. Resist!

  I dust the dirt off my gloves. “I emailed you questions.”

  “Did you?” He grins. “I’ll get around to those. Face-to-face is best. Put on some jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and you’ll see a side of me you’ve never met.”

  “It’s eighty degrees—the last thing I want to wear is hot clothes.”

  “We’ll strip them off later. You got any champagne?”

  “Funny.”

  “Hurry, we’re late. I’ll help you pick out some clothes so you won’t get hurt.” He’s already stalking away and heading up to my apartment.

  “Hurt?” I call out after him.

  He walks up my steps. “You look sexy in those shorts, but you can’t wear them. Come on.”

  Ugh, the arrogance of him… So why am I smiling back at him?

  I toss down my gloves and pruning tools as I glare back at the Bermuda. “We shall battle again soon, my friend.”

  I find him in my closet, face intent as he moves hangers around. He pulls out an old long-sleeved black shirt, frowns at the Four Dragons logo on the front, and shoves it back on the rack. “Why do you still keep his shirts?”

  “They’re just shirts.” I forgot that one was even there.

  “When I hear ‘Sweet Serena’, I want to hit something.”

  Okay… “Why?”

  “He hurt you. This!” He holds up a black sweatshirt and waves it at me. He also finds a pair of black skinny jeans.

  “Okay, cool, just make yourself at home,” I say dryly. “My panty drawer is the top one. Help yourself—hey! I was being sarcastic!” I shout as he darts over and pulls it open. Oh, it’s like this, huh? I jump on his back and wrap my arms around his neck, and he starts, surprised, then laughs as he grabs a black lace thong.