6. Julian
6
JULIAN
S avannah looks absolutely beautiful, her radiant presence lighting up the evening as we finally arrive at prom. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement, and when Heather breaks away to greet someone across the crowded room, I seize the opportunity to compliment her. "You look stunning in that dress," I say, a genuine smile spreading across my face. My eyes practically linger on her chest when I helped her navigate the stairs, but with her dad standing just a few feet away, I make a conscious effort to be respectful and maintain my composure.
She blushes, the color of her cheeks deepening to a vibrant shade of red that perfectly matches the fabric of her dress. "Heather made me buy it," she admits, her voice laced with a hint of embarrassment. "I'm afraid everyone's going to stare."
I shrug nonchalantly as I come around the car to take her arm, feeling a surge of confidence. "Who cares? Let them stare. I want everyone to see that I'm with the most beautiful woman at prom." My heart swells with pride as I say this, hoping she can see how much I mean it.
Savannah releases an unladylike snort, shaking her head at my words, her curls bouncing playfully with each movement. "Hardly, Julian," she replies, her tone teasing yet sincere. "I've been single practically my entire high school career. I doubt any of these men or women are going to think you're lucky. If anything, when I go to the bathroom, they might ask what I paid you to come with me." Her laughter is infectious, and I can’t help but chuckle along with her, appreciating her self-deprecating humor as we step into the vibrant world of prom together.
I give her a sly little smirk when I respond, my voice low and teasing. "And I'll tell them that in fact, I paid you. You're a gorgeous little minx, Savannah Krish. The fact that no one here has asked you out doesn’t mean that you’re some ugly duckling; it just means that these men can’t handle a woman like you—someone so vibrant and full of life.”
I watch her reaction closely, wondering if my words sink in. She wears a radiant smile on her lips as we step into the hotel, the warm atmosphere wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. Her earlier stumble over her heels melts away into the background as she walks gracefully across the ornate foyer, her curls bouncing with each confident step.
As I observe her, I ponder whether to reveal that I got us a room for later. I know that her playful comment in my police car the other day was likely meant in jest, but the thought of being prepared lingers in my mind. Her first time should be special and beautiful, and if it happens to be with me, then I want it to be unforgettable. But if her intention is simply to enjoy the night and then head home at the end, I can accommodate that, too. I won't mind retreating to an empty hotel room afterward, indulging in a solo bubble bath, letting the warmth envelop me while I think of the evening we’ve shared.
P rom passes by in a blur, a whirlwind of laughter, flashing lights, and the collective excitement of youth. It reminds me that I don't remember much of my own prom, let alone the details of Savannah's. We dance beneath the spotlights to a medley of early 2000s throwbacks, our movements a nostalgic tribute to a time when life felt simpler. But when a round of slow songs comes on, Savannah, with a playful smile, suggests we grab a drink instead of swaying back and forth like awkward teenagers who don’t quite know what they’re doing.
I walk her over to the punch bowl, the vibrant colors swirling enticingly within. I ladle us both a cup of the concoction, its aroma sweet and inviting. It takes me only a hesitant swig to realize it’s been tampered with, a wave of unease washing over me. "Dear God," I mumble, the words slipping out before I can catch myself.
"Hush," Savannah swats at my wrist, her eyes darting left and right to ensure no one overheard my outburst. "This is like, a prom tradition." There’s a mischievous glint in her eye, a spark of rebellion that makes my heart race.
It’s exactly why my prom date was wasted when we had sex. "You're underage, Savannah. You shouldn't be drinking that." I can hear the cop in my voice, that instinct to protect surfacing against my better judgment, and I want to kick myself for it. This is a rite of passage for these kids, even if it’s wrong. A part of me remembers the thrill of breaking rules, the intoxicating mix of freedom and risk that comes with youth.
"Stop being a police officer for one night," Savannah says, her voice light and teasing as a smile dances across her lips. She takes another sip of her laced punch, the vibrant color of the drink reflecting the flickering lights of the party around us. "It's what? Probably a small bottle of vodka? It's not going to get anyone drunk."
I narrow my eyes at this beautiful date of mine, marveling at her confidence, and I can’t help but wonder how she knows it’s vodka. That’s a question for another time, I tell myself, as my thoughts swirl with curiosity and concern. "How about you get my mind off of it by dancing with me?"
Savannah glances toward the dance floor, her gaze momentarily lost in the thrumming rhythm of the music, before returning to me. Suddenly, a nervous tint washes over her bright eyes, a stark contrast to her earlier bravado. Still, she nods, albeit hesitantly. "Sure," she agrees, but the anxiety is palpable in that single word, hanging between us like a fragile thread. We set down our glasses, the clinking sound echoing in the bustling room, and I gently take her hand, leading her to the dance floor.
As we weave through the crowd, the air thick with laughter and the pulse of bass, I reach to wrap my arms around Savannah. She guides my hands down to rest on her hips, and while I’m perfectly okay with this intimate connection, confusion creeps in. "What's wrong?" I ask, my voice laced with concern as she lifts her hands to place them on my shoulders, her touch sending a shiver down my spine.
"Nothing," she replies, her gaze flitting around the room, failing to meet my eyes. The unease lingers, casting a shadow over our moment, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more beneath the surface of her smile.
It doesn't take a genius to realize she's lying. "Come on, Savannah. Tell me what's going through your head right now," I urge, my tone gentle but firm, hoping to break through the wall she's built around herself.
She looks down between us, her gaze falling to the floor as if searching for answers in the pattern of the carpet. I can almost see the battle waging within her—a struggle with some inner demon that clouds her thoughts. After what feels like an eternity, she steels herself and looks back up at me. For one of the first times tonight, I catch a glimpse of her beautiful blue eyes, and the sight brings an involuntary smile to my lips. "I just feel like I'm huge in this dress, you know?" Savannah says the words so low that it's almost impossible to hear her, as if uttering them out loud would make the feeling all the more real. "And I don't want you to put your arms around me and realize that you're dancing with a garbage can."
Instinctually, I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer, eviscerating any space that still lingers between us. Her warmth envelops me, and I can feel the tension in her body begin to melt away. "I'm not sure why you feel that way, Savannah. I love your curves; they are part of your beauty," I assert, my voice steady and sincere. "I've been struggling to not stare at your chest all night. And if you could see your ass in that dress," I close my eyes and lick my lips to drive my point home, trying to convey just how captivated I am.
This brings a nervous smile to Savannah's lips, the kind that dances between disbelief and hope. "Stop it," she says, her voice weak, almost a whisper. "You don't mean that."
"Your curves are your most attractive physical feature," I tell her with complete honesty, my gaze locked onto hers. "They make me want to do dirty, naughty things to you." I feel her shudder in my arms, a delightful tremor that sends a rush of exhilaration through me, and I know that now is the right moment to drive the point home. "Savannah, if what you said the other day in the car is still true, I have a room upstairs. We can use it for, well, whatever we desire. If you want to spend the night together and watch movies, that's perfectly okay by me. If you're leaning towards," I pause, searching for the right words while my heart races, "other stuff, that's great, too. And if you’d prefer for me to take you home instead, I can do that. I want your prom to be perfect, just the way you envision it. Just tell me how you want it to end, and I’ll make it happen."
The ball is in her court now, and all I can do is be her genie. Whatever she wishes for, I'll make come true, ready to fulfill her every desire.