You have made a promise to me; at the end of the summer we will be a couple. I will be your boyfriend and you will be my girlfriend. My heart quickens at the mention of your promise.
The radio is on. It’s late afternoon. We are lying together in my garden working on your college project. The sun is beating down, making the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
I ask you what it will be like for us to be boyfriend and girlfriend. As you know I have never had a relationship or been friendly with a girl before so I am curious.
You cast me a mischievous smile and I watch your eyes twinkle. You lean over and whisper to me all the things we will do as a couple. My mouth has gone dry and my palms sweaty.
You pull back and explain why you cannot be my girlfriend, just yet. Apparently it’s complicated between you and your swimming captain boyfriend. He has a lot of competitions. Ending your relationship with him might cause unnecessary upset, which could result in him losing races.
I reassure you. I understand. Good things come to those who wait.
You are telling me about your swimming captain boyfriend’s latest win in the pool. If I am honest I am not really interested in hearing about his triumphs.
I am distracted. I have allowed my eyes to wander over your face, taking in your exquisite features, finally settling upon your plump pink lips. I wonder what it will be like to kiss them, at the end of the summer.
You reach for something in the pocket of your denim shorts. I watch as you smear on cherry smelling lip balm, whilst holding my gaze. There is no escape for me.
It was nice of you to ask me to help with your college project. People say I can be a bit dull and get straight A’s a lot of the time, but you don’t seem to mind. You tell me that I get better grades than your swimming captain boyfriend. My heart has just skipped a beat.
I ask when I will see you once the college project, we are working on, is finished. You ask me whether I want to help paint your Dad’s garden fencing. It’s your summer job and one which you know you will struggle to do on your own.
It will be nice to spend some time together painting. I make a joke about wearing some old embarrassing clothes to paint in.
You sit up to stretch, forcing me to stare at your tiny bikini top and minuscule denim shorts. Reading my mind you tell me that you will probably wear what you have on to paint your Dad’s fences.
I watch you let out a cute little yawn. There was a party last night and you danced the night away. I have never met someone like you who can be so tired and yet look so beautiful.
I suggest that you go inside and have a sleep, whilst I carry on and complete your project for you. It’s the least I can do.
You smile and remind me of your promise. My heart starts to ache.
I ask you whether you keep your promises. You giggle, put your hand over your lips and whisper that I will find out at the end of the summer.
The weather forecasters on the radio are forecasting an Indian summer.
I now wish you had not made that promise.
Indian summers last forever.
This was my entry into this week’s blog battle contest run by Rachael Ritchey (author of the Twelve Realms series). If you want to read more entries or take part please click here.
This week’s word was Indian.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/8757741@N04/2594156702″>Just Another Summer Day</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>(license)</a>