Free 1986: Why Can't This Be Love (Love in the 80s #7) by R. K. Ryals

trouble, and I’m working the debt off at the bowling alley this spring break and this summer.”
    My eyes widened. “This summer!”
    I couldn’t hide the excitement in my voice, and by the way his smile grew, I knew he heard the enthusiasm dripping from my words.
    Suddenly, I was glad he’d trashed that guy’s car. Even though I knew it wasn’t something he should have done, it had brought him here. It’s funny how little things add up, how a small moment here and a small moment there can place you right where you need to be, dead center in someone else’s path. Last night was making me look at life in a deeper way, in a different light. I guess that’s how you know someone means something to you. They make you see the world in colors beyond the standard black and white.
    “So,” Dylan hedged. “What would you think if I said I wouldn’t mind a lot more repeats of last night? With your parents’ permission this time.”
    Inside, fireworks flared from my heart, lighting me on fire, so much so I wondered if he could see the colors in my eyes.
    Tamping down my eagerness so I wouldn't yell, I answered with a semi-calm, “I’d like that a lot.”
    He held out his arms, and I all but dove into his embrace.
    “You’ve got a lot of work cut out for you with my dad,” I warned.
    His fingers played with my hair, and my toes curled inside my shoes. “I don’t mind work when the reward is so great.”
    He really knew how to make me feel special. It was an extraordinary boost to my confidence.
    “What about your mom?” Dylan asked. “Not as hard to break as your dad?”
    “Nah.” I waved my hand. “Just tell her you want world peace, and you’ll win her over.”
    He laughed. “So you get it from her, then?”
    I smiled thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
    Tugging my chin up, he gazed into my eyes. “I think I’m going to like getting to know you, Tori Allen.”
    It was the first time he’d said my name, and I liked the way it sounded on his tongue.
    “I like that you want to get to know me,” I whispered.
    “I like that you’re giving me the chance.”
    My brows arched. “That’s a lot of likes.”
    His hand slid over my cheek. “Hell, yeah, it is.”
    He kissed me, long and deep. It was an emotional kiss, so full of feeling I felt it all the way to my heart.
    This was a good start to something wonderful.
    “So,” he asked, drawing back, “what song are you hearing in your head right now?”
    I grinned because the song I heard was going to sound crazy to him. “‘Let’s Hear it for the Boy,’” I answered. “Deniece Williams.”
    Throwing back his head, he laughed. My laughter joined his, rising into the day.
    That was the moment I fell in love for the first time. Or the beginning of it anyway. That was the moment I learned what it felt like to feel all gooey deep inside, all turned around and yet perfectly in place. It had come out of nowhere after a completely crazy night and day. Shouldn’t that be how it happens? Life is fleeting. Love is blinding. Dylan Black wasn't perfect. He didn't have money or a great record, but he had a chivalrous heart and far reaching aspirations. Oh, and he had a motorcycle and leather bomber jacket. I mean, what girl could pass that up?
    “Did you ever fix that photo booth?” I asked him suddenly.
    He studied me, a knowing look in his eyes. “I don’t know. I think it may have a penchant for malfunctioning.”
    Yep, I was falling so deep. To the max deep. And it felt good to drown.
    Maybe those daydreams and the soundtracks I made for them weren’t so crazy after all. Dreams, if wished for hard enough, stood a good chance of coming true.
    Or maybe it was the wish I’d made on Halley’s comet when it passed by Earth in February.
    Did it matter?

D ad threw the newspaper down on the table, a scowl on his face. “Did you read that?” he asked Mom.
    She fought hard not to smile, her gaze dropping to the table. “I read it. It’s not the article