Paper Hearts

09

And, just like that, I was in the car—wearing a dress and heels, sitting beside Luke Callaway.

"So...what is this for again?" I asked, attempting to keep my tone light and casual.

Luke, who was just now starting up the engine, fiddled with the cufflinks on his sports jacket, adjusting the tie that hung limply around his neck.

"It's a sports banquet," He said, frowning in the rearview mirror as he struggled with the tie for some more. "At the school. I—I was kind of desperate for a date. You know, since all the athletes are supposed to have one."

"It seems we kind of have the same problem, then," I said jokingly, and he glanced at me briefly, with the hint of a smile.

"Yeah—but your problem's worse."

I shrugged. "This is still important."

"Well, yeah. Thanks for agreeing to it."

"Of course," I said, making sure the gratitude in my tone was evident. "I mean, this is nothing compared to what you're doing for me. Thank you."

"I'm happy to do it. Honestly. I could use a vacation."

And then he went back to his tie, and I stared into the distance, glancing around myself to find that we were still parked in my driveway, which was somewhat worrying, because I wasn't even sure if my dad had realized what he agreed to. The last thing I needed was for him to change his mind now.

Inhaling deeply, I turned to him, but he didn't meet my eye.

"So...what sport do you play?"

I was surprised at myself for not knowing, but granted, it had been a while. At this, he turned to me, mouth open in preparation to answer—and then he paused.

"Wow," he breathed. "You—you actually look really great."

I laughed nonchalantly, although my stomach did a somersault. Looking down at my dress, I remembered the amount of stress and indecisiveness that went into choosing this particular outfit. It was a gray little number, the tulle fringe just barely skimming my knees, its color deepening with the length of the fabric—it went from light to dark, and perhaps that was one of the things I liked most about it. Although I'd never been one for clothes (especially fancy ones), it was mesmerizing in the way that it made me feel beautiful, as conceited as that sounded.

"Well, thanks," I said breezily, as if it were no big deal, not quite meeting his eye. In my peripheral vision, however, I could see that he was still staring.

"What sport do you play?" I repeated, and that seemed to snap him out of it.

"I...uh, I run cross country."

"Really?" I asked, genuinely interested. "Huh. I didn't take you for much of a runner. You don't seem—built for it."

At this, the hint of a smile flickered across his face.

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises."

And then he returned to his previous engagement, which was messing with that stupid tie that he couldn't seem to get right.

Sighing, I unbuckled myself, leaning over the console and finding my hands on his chest, quickly wrapping the tie around his neck and knotting it neatly, so that it lay flat—the red material crisp and professional.

I let my hands linger for longer than I should have, and by the time I brought my gaze up to his, he looked at me questioningly. Blushing furiously, I drew myself back into my seat, clearing my throat.