Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
I race out of the Santa Barbara High School auditorium, the nerves in my chest firing as the events of my audition replay over and over again in my mind. I can't help but recall the instances my voice fell flat, or the times I stuttered during my monologue. I'm certain the director thinks I did as horrible as I feel. I'll be lucky if I even earn a role on the ensemble.
Approaching the parking lot, a familiar face catches my eye, and his alluring smile and jet black eyes steady my heart. Instantly, all my worries dissipate from my mind. Paris walks up beside me and wraps his hands around my torso, pulling my body close to his.
"How did it go?"
"Terrible," I lament.
Paris places his delicate fingers on the back of my head and brings me to his chest, bringing me solace. The two of us sway back and forth in the parking lot; his tender touch is all I need to steady me.
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Paris whispers softly into my ear, combing his fingers through my blond waves as our foreheads meet each other.
"Believe me, it was bad."
I let out a nervous laugh before inching my mouth into Paris', our lips fluttering against each other before crashing in a fierce frenzy. Paris nibbles on my bottom lip, tickling my senses and erasing the awful audition from my mind. Now it's just me and my boyfriend, and I'm immediately transported back to our undisturbed relaxation among the magenta cotton candy clouds.
***
As a distraction, Paris treats me to dinner and a movie. We stop at an old-fashioned diner and hop into a sparkly ruby red booth. I extend my arm out for Paris to scoot into my grasp, and he rests his thin frame alongside mine. A jukebox at the front of the diner glimmers with bright neon tubes of yellow, blue, and pink. Romantic music from the 50s plays over the speakers, immersing us in the diner's retro theme.
"Do you wanna share something?" Paris asks, flipping through the menu in front of us.
"Fish and chips?"
"Yum!"
I order a chocolate milkshake along with our meal and Paris gingerly takes a sip, not wanting to aggravate his lactose intolerance.
When the food comes, Paris and I each take two pieces of the tasty fried cod and dig in. Paris douses his fish in malt vinegar while I drench mine in ranch dressing, an unconventional choice that amused the waitress. It's a relief to actually enjoy a meal after struggling to keep anything down all day, too nervous about my audition. Now that it's over, and I can't do anything but wait, it's best to simply forget about it until they post the callback list on Monday. Right now, I want to focus on Paris and me, and how wonderful it is that we're happier then we've ever been.
When we're done with our delicious dinner, we drive to the local drive-in theater. I've never been to a drive-in theater before, but Paris surprised me by buying the tickets online. Although I wish he'd let me pay, especially after paying for dinner too. In light of my audition, Paris is spoiling me rotten. Not that I'm complaining.
I park my truck in the front row with a clear view of the screen. Before the movie starts, we stop by the snack shack for a small bag of popcorn to share before settling into my truck's bench seat. Our hands grace each other as we dig into the popcorn, and I can't help but grab hold of Paris' unsuspecting fingers. We scoot closer together, letting the half-eaten bag of popcorn slip onto the floor. Paris' head rests on my shoulder as the lights dim and the movie begins.
Around thirty minutes in, Paris looks up at me, his black marble eyes seemingly giant in the darkness. I reach down and kiss his lips. Soon our quick pecks deepen and I dive into his lips with a strong hunger that's been churning in me for months now. Tentatively, I reach my cool hands under Paris' thin cotton shirt, trailing my fingers across his warm abdomen. Paris gasps in my mouth as I trail my tongue against his teeth.
Abruptly, I pull myself away from Paris, hesitant to go any further. We've been taking our relationship slow since Paris left Neo, and the thought of moving past making out scares me. Everything's felt incredible since Paris' return, maybe even better. Now that he's healthy, I'm horrified of disrupting his progress. What if Paris isn't ready to be sexually intimate yet?
Out of my reach, Paris turns away for a moment, shielding his face from my gaze. Eventually, he returns his gaze to the movie. I take his hand and squeeze it tight, assuring him everything is alright. If taking things slow is what's best for Paris, then that's what I'll do. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and I can't do anything to jeopardize that.
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