Page 90 of We Are Yours

A connection I couldn’t explain, growing stronger with each second that passed between us. I knew she felt it. I couldn’t get over her skintight dress, which accentuated all the curves of her body.

I closed my eyes and just felt all around me, the song pounding into my bloodstream.

I didn’t notice that my hands were all over. I could feel the goose bumps and sensations coursing through her skin.

It was exhilarating.

Blissful.

Exciting.

A sense of calm washed over me as I was there with her. I had no idea how much control she’d still hold over me. Mainly, it was when I was fucked up.

If anything, it felt right.

She felt right.

“You feel good in my arms, Kitty. How do you make a black dress look this good?”

She set her hand on my chest. “I think you’ve given this a little too much thought.”

“I don’t think I’ve given it enough.”

I didn’t expect to feel the surge of emotions again so quickly, but I should have known better. If our relationship thus far had been any indication, it would be filled with unexpected feelings in one way or another.

I felt as if these past few months proved how much I’d be willing to lose for her. I kept it to myself, leaving distance between us. I was trying to be the better brother, but between her little gestures I’d catch when she didn’t know I was looking or how her wardrobe went from Wednesday Addams to Morticia, I was losing my restraint.

Maybe it was my brothers’ effect on her, or maybe, just maybe, it was mine. In the past year, she’d done a complete one-eighty. I guess you could say she blossomed in front of our eyes or some shit. Even her body flourished, leading me to think she hadn’t been eating before. She was curvy in all the right places now, and I found it hard to ignore.

It wasn’t like my brother had officially claimed her. They weren’t exclusive. If anything, they were possibly dating. I didn’t know what the hell he was waiting for. We were nothing alike. If she were mine, everyone would know it, and I wouldn’t be beating around the bush like he was. I mean, how many nights could she sleep in his bed, and his ass was still sleeping on the couch.

My brother was either a pussy or a saint.

He’d like to say the latter, while the former was a much more accurate description for me.

Plus, I hated having to keep her at arm’s length. She was literally driving me to get fucked up, which was never my MO. My state of mind at that moment, being there with her, in this compromising position where it was just her and me, seemed to be our biggest problem.

We were made of moments like these, but nothing past them.

Blaming it on the drugs and alcohol was the only excuse I had. Though I couldn’t ignore that I was the first guy she talked to after years of choosing silence.

It plagued me.

Kept me up at night.

Those nights, I’d play for her…

Fully aware she was there, hand on the wall, listening intently as if it were a deep, dark secret we shared.

It was personal.

Intimate.

Ours.

Julius didn’t play music for her like I did—at least I never heard him—which was interesting, considering every time we played with her in front of a crowd, it was obvious Julius played for no one but her.

The way I fought the longing to explore whatever was happening between us was becoming a daily occurrence. Hence, why I wasn’t home or around her unless she was tutoring me. I thought it’d made things easier. I was dead wrong. The ache for her only became stronger.