Chapter 2

"Dad, I have a date tonight, a boy named Jason Watson. He's Terry's cousin, in town visiting for a week. It's a double date with Terry and Barbie."

He gave me a steady, studied gaze and asked, "What's the catch? You wouldn't give me so many details unless you wanted to bury me in minutia so I'd miss the big picture."

"He's twenty, a college boy."

"I see. I have only one question, cupcake. Can you handle him?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you say no, will he respect your decision?"

"Hmm. I think so, but..."

"Good, an honest answer. You have my permission. Be home by midnight or your ball gown will turn into rags."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Do I get to meet him?"

"Yes, he's picking me up at seven."

"Good. I can't read his college-boy mind, like you, but I'll look into his heart. If I don't see one, I'll nix the date."

"Hah! You'll do no such thing. I like this one, Dad. I like him a lot."

"Then he better be wearing his heart on his sleeve."

He glanced up. Hazel, our little girl is growing up. She's dating college boys now. Any advice? I thought not. You're never around when I need you.

"Tell Mom hi for me, Dad," I said after listening to his thoughts "Tell her I'd love her if she were alive. I'd have to. You love her, so I'd love her. I know I would. I wouldn't have a choice."

Sentimental tears smarted his eyes, so I left a lipstick mark on his cheek and went to my room to primp for my date. I inadvertently forgot to close my door so I heard his next thoughts, thoughts he would have never allowed to freely form in his mind if he knew I was listening.

What will I do when she leaves me, Hazel? Only one more year and she'll spread her wings and fly from the nest. I honestly don't know if I'll cope with the event. She's the light in my life. When she leaves me, all the colors will fade to gray, and my world will become dim and musty. Any advice, Hazel? I thought not.

A sheen of tears covered over my eyes as I silently closed my door and shut off his thoughts. I felt loved and cherished, and realized I was a romantic because I'd been carefully taught by a wonderful, sensitive man that romance means more than mere passion and desire. Did Jason have any romance in his heart, or did the college boy just want a piece of ass? I'd know before the night ended.

Thanks, Dad. Thanks for a priceless legacy.

I didn't notice a heart on Jason's sleeve when I introduced him to my father, but the college boy looked good. Real good. It's said that clothes make the man, but in Jason's case the body under the clothes enhanced the garments he wore. He was dressed casually. His cream-colored sport shirt showed off his deep chest and complimented his dark complexion. His pants were Dockers, loose in the front but tight around his marvelous buns. Top-siders without socks graced his feet. In other words, he looked preppy.

I'd gone for the casually elegant look. My white skirt wasn't a mini, but it stopped above my knees. The blouse was silk and white and loosely nestled my braless breasts. Red, open-toed shoes with two-inch heels matched the wide red belt around my waist, and a red leather purse completed the ensemble. My legs were tan and sleek and my best feature, so I wore no hose, and my only undergarment was a sheer, white thong. My blonde tresses cuddled my shoulders and framed my face and smelled sweet and clean. I wore little makeup, but what I wore enhanced my appearance, and I'd dabbed Jean Paul Gaultier perfume on a spot behind each ear, and spritzed the fragrance on my upper inner thighs. I looked good and smelled good and hoped I'd feel good to Jason's sense of touch because I sure did want him touching me - a lot.

My entrance wasn't grand, but it did grab Jason's attention and brought a wide smile to his rugged features. I won't tell you his thoughts. They were a bit crude, but not too crude. Call them sweet crude. I kissed Dad goodbye and told him not to wait up for me, an order he'd disobey.

"Don't forget what happens at midnight, little missy," Dad said as we were going out the door.

Terry's car, or rather his parents' car was parked at the curb, but Terry wasn't in it.

"Barbie cancelled the date," Jason said after I enquired about Terry and Barbie's whereabouts. "It's just you and me, Katy. Do you mind?" he asked as his arm wrapped my waist, tugging me gently against him as we strolled toward the car.

"Is she sick?" I asked as I agreeably melted against his side. "It isn't like Barbie to cancel a date."

"I don't know the details, but Terry wasn't happy after their conversation. You didn't answer my question."

Sweet, I thought. He's actually worried I'll mind. I turned and quickly kissed his cheek. "I don't mind, but my father will pitch a fit if he finds out."

"Why?"

"You're a college boy. I'm seventeen, still a girl in my father's mind. He's protective."

"Parents can be a pain."

"Yours maybe, not my dad. I appreciate his protective attitude. It makes me feel loved."

Nice, he thought. Rare, too. A father and daughter who love and respect each other.

His thought thrilled me. He understood.

Jason opened the passenger door for me and helped me into the seat. I flashed a good bit of leg in the process and on purpose.

"Nice legs," he said out loud after thinking the same words.

"Thank you." I fastened my seat belt.

As he pulled the car away from the curb, he said, "Would you mind a change of plans. Instead of burgers and a movie, how about we skip the movie and just have a quiet dinner somewhere so we can talk and get to know one another?"

"Perfect," I breathed. Romantic! My college boy was going to wine and dine me. I was delighted. To keep my dad happy, I'd refuse the wine.

Jason selected a family-owned, quaint, little Italian restaurant - Terry's father's recommendation, Jason's thoughts told me. The food was tasty, the service impeccable, and the conversation entertaining. We sat in a corner booth, but it wasn't quiet, mostly because Jason's thoughts rang loud and clear. He waffled between wanting a piece of ass and wondering if he could or even should fall for me. Fifty-fifty, better than I expected, I thought, but not as much as I want.

Then we found some common ground. Jason was studying architecture in college. I wanted to be an artist, a painter.

When I enquired about his favorite artist of all time, he said without hesitating, "Michelangelo. He was my kind of guy, a sculptor, a painter, and an architect. What about you?"

"My favorite old master is Rembrant. He understood color. Among the impressionists, it's a tossup between Manet and Degas. My favorite sculptor is Rodin, but your man, Michelangelo, is a close second. Picasso is one of my favorite modern artists, mostly because he was so prolific with so many art forms."

"Uh-uh," Jason said, interrupting me. "Pick one."

"Impossible."

Will she cop out? Probably, he thought.

"Rothko," I said quietly.

"Who?"

"My favorite artist of all times is Rothko. When I was a little girl, Dad had to attend a conference in Washington, D.C., and he took me with him, even spent most of his time there with me. He knew I liked art - I wanted to be an artist even back then - and we spent a few days in art galleries and museums. Rothko had his own room in the Phillips Gallery. I sat on a bench and gazed at one of his paintings. My dad sat next to me and asked, 'Waddaya think, cupcake?' 'What is it?' I answered with a question of my own. 'It's sensation, feeling. It's called non-objective art, Katy. Non-objective art doesn't depict anything. It evokes sensations or emotions from its viewers. What do you feel when you look at that painting?'

"I was eight years old then, Jason, and the painting was huge; it covered one wall in the room. I pointed to the lower left part of the painting and said, 'If I study that area, I feel calm.' Then I indicated another part of the painting. 'That area excites me, makes me want to shiver, but not because it's cold.' I went around the painting describing what each area made me feel, and when I was finished, Dad asked me what I felt when I took in the whole of the painting. Well, I pondered his question. For some reason, I knew my answer needed to be meaningful and personal, and most of all, it needed to be honest. When I gave him my answer, his eyes dampened a little and he hugged me. That day, Rothko became my favorite artist of all times, and he still is."

"What was your answer?"

"I told him the painting made me experience an entire year, all the seasons, all at once. Looking at the painting made me feel as if a drop of sweat was running down my face on a hot, summer day. It made feel like I was a falling leaf from a gnarled old oak tree in autumn. I could also feel the sting of a bitter-cold wind in my eyes on a winter's day, and most of all I felt the awakening that comes with a soft breeze after a spring rain." I chuckled. "Not in those exact words, of course. I'm paraphrasing and elaborating. Remember, I was only eight years old then, but that's essentially what I told him."

Jason's eyes softened. "I'd have hugged you, too," he said and proceeded to give me a tender hug, and then brushed his lips to mine.

That was the moment he stopped wanting just a piece of ass, and I discovered one of life's truths. Romance won't happen until you open yourself so romance has a way to get in. Letting your own feelings shine through gives the other person permission to do the same. Otherwise, human interaction is mere jousting. Mostly with windmills, too.

I could fall for her, Jason thought and bemoaned the fact that he'd only be in town for a few days. Look at her! She's eye candy. She brightens a room with her presence. She's sexy and smart. She's... young. Too young.

He took me high, and then I plummeted like a ride on a roller coaster.

I think she wants me. I can see desire in her eyes. And, I want her so much I ache. I don't think I've ever wanted a woman more, but she's not a woman. She's a girl, and if we become lovers, I'll break her heart when I leave.

Fuck! He's going too far. He went right by romantic to altruistic. Fuck! Can I pull him back? I took his hand in mine and said, "You think I'm too young for you, don't you?"

What is she? A mind reader? He swallowed and nodded his head.

"What day do you leave?" I asked.

"Next Tuesday - five more days."

"For five days, I want you to pretend I'm older, Jason. I want you to treat me like a woman because around you I feel like a woman." I gently squeezed his hand in mine, and then entwined my fingers with his. "Okay?"

He waffled. He honestly didn't want to hurt me.

"Jason, I'm not stupid. I'm a romantic by nature, but I'm not stupid. In five days, you'll go away, and I know whatever happens between us will end the moment you leave my sight." I leaned and brushed my lips to his and gazed lovingly in his eyes. "What I want might shock you, might make you think less of me, but I'll risk it and tell you anyway. I want a short, intense, romantic love affair. I don't want a lifelong commitment. I'm too young for such a commitment, but I want the experience; I want the memories. What I want is you and the five days. Okay?"

He caved, thank goodness, and pulled me to him. His kiss was romantic but soon moved to passionate. I heard a woman across the room think, Jeez, they should get a room. Not a bad idea, I thought but didn't have the courage to suggest it. Instead, after we leaned back from the kiss, I said, "I'm finished eating. Are you?"

His boyish, happy smile reminded me of my father's grins. He paid the check and we left the quaint restaurant. He didn't get a room. He considered taking a room but felt being so obvious might put me off. Instead, he found a romantic spot to park with the lights of the city shining below us. After he turned off the engine, he turned to me, and I flowed into his arms. I didn't care about the view.

His kiss heated my blood. His hands made my skin tingle. I luxuriated in his body next to mine, a strong, muscled masculine body, and I melted against it. He didn't realize it, but that was the moment I gave myself to him.

He nibbled my lower lip, licked his tongue across it. I opened my mouth and sucked his tongue inside. He explored and tasted me, and I imagined his mouth on my pussy doing what he was doing to my mouth. Arousal cream oozed and dampened my thong.

My fingers moved through his thick hair, and I leaned back from the kiss and went swimming in his dark eyes. I saw lust in them, some love, too, and his thoughts told me he was falling for me. Head over heels, was the expression he used, so I moaned and mashed my mouth to his.