𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 is far from perfect. Before starting her senior year of college, she's already guaranteed her position as the black sheep of her once prestigious family. To make matters worse, she took up bedding the rival family's eldest...
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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒇 the oncoming late-night chill brushing against Evelyn's uncovered legs gave her a high better than any drug she'd ingested during her more wild nights out. Molly, marijuana, cocaine—nothing could produce effects that would rival the sense of freedom she felt while skipping from her prison of a home and the excited flutters that welled inside her at the very thought of seeing Michael Joseph Jackson.
It was silly, and she had no doubt she looked silly childishly skipping across the street to the familiar baby blue Rolls Royce that awaited, but she couldn't hide her glee for the life of her. And that was the delightful, perplexing complex about Michael: she hadn't once needed to hide from him. Not her sadness, nor her joy, and nor any surprise obligations her father sprung onto their relationship. Even thus far, the entirety of their relationship had been so wonderfully open, and that was more than she could say about what she'd ruefully shared with his older brother.
Knowing so instilled her with a warmth that she was afraid of confronting because she knew it would invite more thoughts about... well, those feelings. Feelings that would ultimately wreck her if they weren't reciprocated in full. It was better to simply not have them. But damn it all, if this meager complacency didn't feel good.
As soon as Evelyn entered the car, almost bursting with her happiness, Michael reminded her right away how much he appreciated her and all her unbridled joy—with his gaze.
Big brown eyes growing bigger and shining like polished amber beneath the sliver of light from a nearby streetlamp, they first took in her beaming smile, then the bareness of her legs as they crossed over the seat, then flitted back to her face again. Then he took in a sharp inhale and chewed on his lower lip, as if he was trying to figure out what he should say, and as if he didn't know what the subtle action did to her. "God, you look..." he breathed, but not before taking another browse of her legs again. "Lovely. You really do."
Evelyn giggled. She couldn't help herself. As avid as those usually innocent eyes of his were, she found it amusing that the tame "lovely" was being used to describe her appearance, but she supposed that was just like him. "Thank you," she mumbled after putting on her seatbelt and settling against the seat. "I was hopin' I didn't look too bad after havin' to take off sixty layers of fabric and get dressed in 15 minutes."
Though unaware of her earlier struggle with disrobing her netela¹and kemi², Michael shared her laughter. "Well, you look really great, Eve," he assured before frowning slightly. "I'm jus' a little worried about you gettin' cold since we'll be out late and, y'know..." His eyes went back to her legs again, this time implicatively. ¹ ᵃ ʰᵃⁿᵈᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶜᵒᵗᵗᵒⁿ ˢᶜᵃʳᶠ ʷᵒʳⁿ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈᵉʳˢ ᵒᶠ ᵃⁿ ᴱᵗʰᶦᵒᵖᶦᵃⁿ ʷᵒᵐᵃⁿ; ² ᵃ ᵗʳᵃᵈᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ᴱᵗʰᶦᵒᵖᶦᵃⁿ ᵈʳᵉˢˢ ʷᵒʳⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵃˡ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗˢ
