Something About Him

-51-

Layla Wilkes

"We real lucky, you know that?" Chris speaks lowly as he looks at our fingers that we keep entangling and pulling apart.

"And why do you say that?" I respond.

It was really random of him to say so..

"I dunno," he rubs my hand with his thumb while still not looking at me. "I just figured we both live lives that some kids dream of, you know what I mean? We both seventeen with parents that are alive and well.. We both still in school and planning on going to college and shit..." He trails off. "Man, we seniors driving cars that some adults can't even afford to drive. We just real privileged and I'm just sayin' how grateful I am."

I nod my head understating what he's saying. "I feel lucky too," I look down at our hands and then up at his face where his eyes are finally on mine.

He plays a huge part in that.. Me being happy I mean.

"And this gon' sound cheesy as hell, but you just set it off for me," he nibbles on his bottom lip after he says that causing me to furrow my eyebrows.

What does he mean?

"You focused and everything... Got the grades, the whole soccer shit going," he pauses and I just look at our hands just liking the feel of him touching me even though we're already touching since we're cuddled up in my bed right now. "You got a bright future, Layla."

"Thank you, baby."

In response, he nods his head then moves into a position where he can put his face into the crook of my neck. As soon as he gets there, I feel his light kisses so I just run my fingers through his hair.

We then end up in that same position for a couple more minutes before we realize that it's getting closer to the time that Sasha and my parents get home and he's gotta go.

I hate that we have to remain a secret from
them, but at least we haven't been close to getting caught.

Once he leaves, I change my bed sheets since so far, our sex has always required me to have to and soon enough I hear someone in the hallway.

"Who's that?" I yell out and I honestly felt pretty stupid.

I felt like one of those stupid girls in a scary movie asking if the killer's there like an idiot, but the only difference between me to them is that someone actually responded and it wasn't some doof in all black prepared to kill me.

It was just my sister.

My annoying, nosey sister.

"It's me," she peeks her head in.

"Oh. Hey."

"'Sup," she takes it upon herself to come in and I sit up from where I was laying before tossing the cover off of me realizing that I can put the sheets that I washed in the dryer.

"Hey, weren't your sheets blue this morning?" Sasha oddly questions me.

So random..

"What?" I look down at my sheets that are now stripes with a variety of colors and my eyes furrow while searching for an answer before an even better response comes to mind.

Why the hell was she in my room?

"How do you know what color my sheets were Sasha?"

She makes a face and then says, "Well I maybe.. possibly... very likely borrowed one of your hoodies.. And there's a possibility that when I came in, your bed wasn't made.."