Sprinkling Fling ✓

17.

"Have a good time studying?" Del asks.

We've just gotten outside. We're walking on the sidewalk. His arm is still around me—I feel comfortable.

"It was alright..." It was fine until she had to look down on me for being with Del. "...she doesn't like you that much. Or at least she doesn't trust you, so she tends to be a little protective."

"Oh."

That's right, oh.

"I think she just needs to get to know you. She will see you're not at all like she thinks you are."

"I mean, I can't really blame her. After my history with Tamara, people have this opinion of me. Whether it's justified or not, they will perceive me a certain way."

That doesn't sit right with me. Tamara is a horrible person, and she treated people inhumanly—not just me. But to hear Del has to deal with the consequences of this because of her makes me sad. He is not like her. She just got her grip on him.

I don't know much about their relationship, but I can easily assume she also manipulated him in a way. She imprisoned him for the time while she needed him, and when Tamara achieved everything needed—she let him go.

She still only sees people as pawns. She exhausts the people that are at that point convenient to her. When they've drained and are no longer a resource to her, it's over.

"That's not okay, Del." I stop walking as I say it.

He stops and turns to look at me. His arm slides off my shoulder.

We come face to face. He has a bleak expression. I know it bothers him even if he says it doesn't. You don't want people to think badly of you, no matter what.

"It is what it is."

"No, if I can put your relationship with Tamara to the side, why can't they?"

"Because you, babe, you are better than those people."

He has an inspiring look in his eyes.

He reaches out to tug one of the strands of hair that doesn't fit in my hair clam behind my ear. His hand then comes to rest on my cheek, his thumb softly stroking the skin.

If my cheeks weren't red from the cold yet, they must be now from his touch. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks the moment his skin made contact with mine. He looks at me intently, a concentrated look on his face.

His eyes scan every inch of my face, taking it in as if he is trying to memorize it.

I can't handle the silence anymore, "what are you doing?" I whisper. There is no need to be quiet, but I don't want to disturb this delicate moment with my loud voice.

"I just wanted to study your face. It's so beautiful."

Now I'm blushing, no doubt.

I want to hide, feeling too exposed, but I don't. Secretly, not wanting to block his view. I like that he admires me. It makes my insides melt. I feel flutters in my stomach—butterflies have spread out.

For a moment, I thought that he was going to kiss me. But when he takes a step back, that yearning of hope falls apart.

"We should go. I put our dinner in the oven. I don't want it to burn."

So he is really cooking something.

"Well, don't keep me waiting then, I'm hungry," I say and reach out for his hand to pull him with me and towards the direction of our house.

I didn't want to keep standing there. I would focus too much on the fact that he didn't kiss me. I hope I still get to touch his lips at some later point tonight.