7I drank in the sight of Vicky.
She wore a bulky black and white sweater that stopped above her knees. Paired with black leggings, the loose top hid half a decade of major body change from me.
Shoving my door open, I jumped out of the car. I smelled hot concrete and the lingering scent of exhaust fumes from students lucky enough to snag parking permits.
When I stepped onto the curb beside Vicky, I found myself staring at her nose. She’d shot up. She’d be fifteen years old later this month and she was an inch taller than I was.
My arms went around her. She smelled like daffodils.
The oversized sweater cushioned a slender frame. Her prominent hip bones poked into me.
“Damn, girl.” I stepped back and snagged the sweater hem up to gawk at her lower limbs. “You’ve got some amazing legs.”
