When I get to the room, I realize I have no clothes to sleep in other than my dress because staying the night wasn’t the original plan. I open the door and see in the dim light that Sam is asleep with his shirt off. I walk over to the edge of the bed. I can see the ripple of muscle on his back in the dim light. I sit on the edge of the bed and take my shoes off. I see Sam’s oversized shirt at the foot of the bed. Sleep in the dress? Or sleep in his shirt? It is big enough to cover what needs to be covered, so I go with the shirt. I slip off my dress and cover my bare skin with the blue button-down shirt. I put my hair in a messy braid as I usually do when I go to sleep. I lie down on the bed making sure not to touch Sam and wake him up. I feel uncomfortable wearing Sam’s shirt, for two reasons. One…it’s not mine. Two…it ends at the middle of my thigh, which is way, too short for me. I’m used to long, baggy clothes. I lie facing the door with Sam facing my back. I feel a light tug on my braid. “Your hair looks nice.” A sleepy voice says. I turn around to face him and since my hair is long enough, he still holds it and caresses it. “You’ve always looked good in braids.” I don’t believe him at all.
“Oh, please. I never look good.” I pause to think about when he’s ever seen me in a braid. “The only times I’ve ever seen you, are at formal events and my mom doesn’t let me wear braids to them. So when have you seen me with a braid?” I think he’s lying.
“A while ago, your mom sent my mom a video of you playing beach volleyball. You’re actually really good! And she told me that you always wear a braid and that you’ve only ever had your hair down, or in a braid.” I’m surprised he knows that. I guess he’s not lying after all. I blush a bit. “Why are you blushing?”
“How can you tell I’m blushing?” I say with a timid voice. I’m really curious about how he can tell because it’s really dark in the room and he wouldn’t be able to see my skin colour because of it.
“You always smile a little, and look down.”
“I suppose you’re right. You really know my tendencies, don’t you?” I ask as a rhetorical question. He smiles.
“Why were you blushing?” He asks again.
“Because you said I was really good at volleyball. No one has ever said that to me before.”
“Not even your mom?”
“My mom could care less about volleyball. She’s more interested in her appearance.”
“I find it way more attractive when a girl doesn’t care about their appearance than when they do.”
“Oh, really?” We are both silent for a couple of seconds.
“I was talking about you. I find you attractive.” He says quietly as he gets a bit embarrassed.
“There’s nothing attractive about me.” I state which is true, or so I think.
“Are you kidding me? Your pretty, slim and muscular,” he says quietly. So quiet, it’s nearly inaudible.
“You’re such a liar.” I’ve never thought of myself in any of those ways, so I don’t believe any of it.
“I’m not lying,” he says slowly. My jaw drops and I am speechless. He places his hand on my cheek and leans forward slowly to kiss me. As his lips are centimeters away from mine, I ask him, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”
“Of course I do.” I feel his breath on my lips and just as soon as he finishes talking, I press my lips into his. The kiss lasts for about a minute. I smile as our lips move together in a perfect rhythm. I hope I’m doing this right; I’ve never done this before. He looks stunned. “What? Did I do something wrong?” I ask slightly embarrassed.
