“Dance with me,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Dance with me. I used to love dancing in the rain when I was a little girl.” Images of a cute little Angel dancing and laughing in the rain enter my mind, bringing a smile to my face. She’s like no other female I know.
Most women would freak at the thought of standing in the rain. ‘Oh my hair’, I can almost imagine it now. Not my sweet-cheeks. She seems to revel in it. Last night, seeing her all dolled up was a sight to see, but fuck me. With not an ounce of makeup on, her hair plastered to her head from the rain, if she’s not just the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.
She has a natural beauty. One I’m sure goes right to the bone, and probably into the depths of her soul.
“You want me to dance with you, in the rain?” I ask in disbelief. My smile widens as I look down on her face. She’s serious. Her expression says it all.
I slide my hands around her waist again, pulling her flush against me. I hear her breath hitch as she inhales. Her lips part slightly as her hands tighten around my neck. Her body starts to sway against mine. My body moves instinctively with hers. We mould together perfectly. Why did I agree to this? Having that sinful body of hers grinding against mine is almost too much.
Fuck, I’m in deep shit.
Then I go and do the dumbest thing ever. I start to sing. I’ve never actually sung to a girl before, fuck knows why I am now. Nothing makes sense when it comes to her.
I remember hearing the song ‘Purple Rain’, sung by Prince, at one of the club’s family parties. It was about a week after I walked out on her. The fact the song mentioned rain instantly made me think of Angel. After all, it was the rain that led to our little sex romp.
The first few lines of the song also brought home to me what I’d done. The song even says it’s such a shame our friendship had to end. Ain’t that the truth. I guess in a way I’m trying to apologise for what I did, but it’s also a distraction. It’s stopping me from doing what I really want to do, which is lay her down in the sand and devour every fucking inch of her.
I sing the first few lines until I reach the chorus. I tell her how I didn’t mean to cause her any sorrow or any pain. That I only wanted to see her laughing in the rain. “You can sing?” she states in amazement as her beautiful eyes widen. Yes, I can sing, but I don’t answer her. I don’t sing in front of other people anymore. My mum, like everything else, ruined that for me.
When she first discovered I could hold a tune, she put me in every fucking competition she could. Only the ones that had cash prizes, of course. At first I loved the attention she showed me when I performed, but I soon learnt once she had that prize money in her grubby fucking hands, that was all she really cared about. It hurt that she didn’t give a fuck about me. It turned me off performing.
Angel stops moving, staring up at me. When I don’t reply to her comment, she says, “Your voice is so beautiful. How did I not know you could sing?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t know what to say. Instead my eyes follow a drop of rain as it trails down her face, coming to a stop on her top lip. What I wouldn’t give to be able to lean forward and lick that drop off with my tongue, but I can’t do that.
Instead my hand reaches up. The pad of my thumb lightly skims across her lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, sweet-cheeks.”
I feel her body slightly shiver, and I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to what I just said or did, or because she’s wet and cold. Either way, I need to put space between us. Being pressed against each other like this is not a good idea.
Move the fuck away Daniels, before you mess things up again.
“Let’s get you back inside before you catch a cold,” I say letting go of her, taking a step back. I swear I see disappointment cross her face, but it’s gone as fast as it appeared.
“Okay,” she whispers, looking down at the sand. Honestly, I’m disappointed too. I’d like nothing more than to hold her in my arms, forever. But I can’t, so I don’t.
“Race you back to the house,” I challenge, trying to lighten the mood again. She smiles before breaking into a run.
“Last one there’s a rotten egg,” she says laughing as she runs ahead. It makes me laugh too. I’ve never heard that expression before. It sounds like something she would’ve said when she was a child.
“What are you, five?” I reply as I try to catch her. She’s surprisingly fast for a chick. By the time we reach the stairs of her back deck, I’ve caught up, but only just. We’re both laughing as we try to catch our breath. It’s nice to see a glimpse of her old self.