Chapter 4 Sober #2
I walk away from his desk, a satisfied smile on my lips. I have a seat on my designated little comfy chair and I pull out my book.
I put one earbud in my ear and my thoughts drift away as I listen to music and read words simultaneously.
Mr. Terrip constantly nags me on how I should focus on only one, not both at the same time. He says it'll give me more brain farts than I already have.
He just doesn't understand that I'm a national champion multi-tasker, a pimp, and a CIA agent; he's got nothing on me.
Is a female pimp a pimptress? A pimpa? Pimpina?
"What do you call a female pimp?" I question aloud to Mr. Terrip.
"Azalea, read your book," he sighs disappointedly and I bite my lip to hold back a giggle.
After an hour of reading, I'm ready for adventure.
"Is there anything you would like me to do?" I lean up against Mr. Terrip's desk. He shoos me away with his hand and I hold back the urge to stick my tongue out at him.
I just decide to enjoy the fact that my music playlist is completely and utterly psychotic.
It's a wide range of music genres. Like unnaturally wide.
Stevie Nicks: Edge of Seventeen, B?rn: Electric Love, Queen: Too Much Love Will Kill You, Greta Van Fleet: Edge of Darkness, Kacey Musgraves: Butterflies.
Heck, I've got any song ranging from the Beach Boys in the 50s to Blackstreet in the late 90s, until now.
But, the well-known basics don't tickle my pickle. For example, the band Toto is most famous for its song Africa. It's a great song, no doubt. It just doesn't butter my biscuit the way Hold the Line does, which is by the same group.
Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 is great. Love Is Like a Butterfly truly does it for me.
The basics are great but that shouldn't be what all great artists are known for.
With me slightly bored out of my mind, I decide to fulfill a dream. I crank up Old Time Rock N Roll and head to the back of the store.
Although I'm wearing a knee length sundress and not boxers and a button up shirt, I do the Risky Business dance. Tom Cruise would be proud.
Of course I can't slide with flats on but the open space in the back of the store is perfect for any dance routine. And boy do I enjoy making up dances.
I ignore the pain in my knee as I run down the tall row of books, not so successfully attempting one of those ballerina jumps.
I land back on my feet, just barely, and when I look up, dark black eyes are staring right back at me.
Well darn if he didn't just see the next star in Swan Lake.
I forget for a quick second that he hates every fiber in me. I remove my earbuds my ears and I look down at my flats feeling my cheeks heat up just a tad.
For a minute, I think I'm hallucinating and that he's not actually here. So, I peer up through my blonde locks and there he stands, tall, strong, and undeniably gorgeous.
His eyes travel down my attire. They stop on my leg, my fudged up leg. I move my leg from his view, placing it behind my other one in an admittedly odd stance but hey, he already hates me why don't I just make him think I'm weird too.
"Hi Grey," I murmur quietly and his eyes dart back up to mine. Good Lord every time he looks at me I feel like he knows everything bad I've ever done in my life.
"What are you doing here?" I question him, worried he'll snap and tell me off.
But I'm prepared. I have a whole list of comebacks. Comeback 1) 'Your mom'.
"What's on your arm," he speaks lowly, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and making me turn shy.
He's such a man.
"My arm?" I question. Last time I checked the only thing on my arm is pure muscle. I wish.
He grasps my forearm and I nearly faint when his skin touches mine. Why am I like this? Am I having a mid-life crisis?
He lifts my arm ever so slightly and I look down at it. A light but there bruise sure enough sits on my arm just above my elbow.
Where my father was holding when he dragged me up the stairs.
I guess I didn't see it in the lighting of my room but here in the store, you can see it.
"Well, I hit it on my bed frame," I sigh dramatically. He releases my arm and stares down at me coldly.
"Doing what?" he grumbles out and I find myself wishing to see a smile from him. I can't imagine out gorgeous a smile would look on his already breathtaking face.
"Sex," I spit out accidentally. Oh Jesus, forgive me. I'm literally a virgin, I don't have any type of clue where that came from.
Why am I thinking about sex?
A nicely sculpted, dark eyebrow lifts slightly on his face. His eyes fall to my collarbone and I find myself wanting to melt into the ground.
"Sex, hm?" he speaks and just by him saying that word, I'm feeling unnaturally hot. Am I okay?
"What are you doing here, Grey?" I question again, trying my best to change the subject from the sexy time that never happened.
"I need a book," he leans up against the wall, still staring at me like I'm a nicely cooked steak dinner.
I thought he hated my guts why does he keep looking at my goodies?
Or it could be something on my dress. I did have chocolate for breakfast today, it's possible there's chocolate on me.
I can't just assume he's looking at my goodies. What goodies? I don't even know.
He doesn't even look the book-reading type. He appears to be more like the 'I burn books for fun' type. But who am I to judge?
"What book would you like?" I turn and begin walking, hoping he'll just follow me. He does thankfully.
He doesn't say anything for a while. I begin to think he didn't even hear me.
"What book ar-" he cuts me off with his own harsh and deep voice.
"I heard you the first time."
Excuse me sir, if you heard me, you should've answered.
"Oh, I've got the perfect book for you," I spot the book. I lift it from its place and turn, showing it off to him.
Being a Nice Human Being - For Dummies.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" his beautiful eyes narrow into slits as he sneers at me. I don't let him affect me, I knew that was coming.
I've been told on many occasions that I'm funny. Correction: I've told myself on many occasions that I'm funny.
"I'm funnier than you think I am," I avert my eyes from him, putting the book back in its place. I guess that one just didn't interest him.
I feel like he's the type of guy that just doesn't appreciate humor.
"Plus, you're just too serious," I curse my motor-mouth, turning away from his glaring gaze completely.
I make it to the nonfiction corner and I begin looking at books for him. I'm assuming he wouldn't like to read fairy tales.
Tsunamis; a Natual Disaster. Nope
Inside the Life of Lady Gaga. Seems perfect for him.
Monster Trucks! What is he? Eight?
A scent envelops my nose and I nearly close my eyes to enjoy it as much as it deserves to be enjoyed. How can someone smell so good? It's not even a strong cologne smell, it's just naturally him.
From the corner of my eye, he stops right up beside me. His arm touching mine. Although I feel like a borderline child standing next to his tall frame, I can't help but want to lean into him.
And feel those tattoos of his.
I take a step back to peer up at the books above my head but instead of looking at those books, my eyes can't seem to stray away from his back.
I've never wanted to rub someone's back so bad before. I have to be going crazy. His tense back muscles are just begging me to touch.
I'll be darned if his butt ain't too bad to look at too. What am I? A thirsty teenager?
In the famous words of Edna Mode: "Get yourself together!"
I move down the row, trying to get my mind away from his figure. I focus on the books in front of me and nearly chuckle when I see one.
The Art of Paper Mache
It would be a trip to see him read this. I pick the book up, feeling quite proud of my find and I turn to show it to him.
I come face to face with a chest. His chest. His chest that's close pretty close to me. Why is my throat closing?
Kumbaya my Lord, Kumbaya.
I hold the book in front of me, not really knowing what to do with myself. I'm not really a nervous person, only around him.
His gorgeous tattooed arm sneaks around me and he places it on the bookshelf behind me. I gulp, watching his strong arm that looks like it could squeeze me like an anaconda.
He takes the book from my hands, leaving me wondering what I'm supposed to do now. He places the book somewhere behind me and I gather my courage and look up at him.
I smooth out the skirt of my dress and watch as his eyes follow my movement. As soon as my hands let go of my dress, his eyes fall on mine.
"Fuck," he curses quietly, dropping his head.
For some reason, as he looks away from me, I'm left feeling a certain type of way. Like I want him to keep those eyes of his on me.
"Are you okay?" I question in my softest of voices, worried that if I speak too loudly, he'll be unhappy.
"I think you're lying," he lifts his head back up, his dark eyes connecting back with mine causing a warm feeling to explode in my stomach.
Lying?
"Lying about what?" I let my head fall but he doesn't let it stay down. The hand that was resting on the shelf behind me grips the ends of my hair in the lightest touch possible.
My throat goes dry at the way his touch gives me tingles. Goodness, what is going on with my hormones?
His other hand comes up to my arm. He lifts it, looking down at the bruise.
Is he saying I'm not capable of doing sex? Or having it, whatever it's supposed to be.
"You couldn't keep a guy around long enough to fuck you with that pretty little mouth of yours always running."
He thinks my mouth is pretty?
Hold up, excuse me?
My mouth gapes as I peer up at him. I'm speechless. For once I don't have a comeback against that because if I'm being honest with myself, he's probably right.
Plus, on top of that, he's so vulgar. His manners are basically nonexistent.
"You're quite rude you know," a dark glare settles onto his handsome face. He pulls away from me, a small sneer on his face.
So he can say rude things to me but when I only tell him he's mean, he gets grumpy? No one leaves my presence unhappy.
"But not always," I speak up, "I know you've got some sugar, Sugar."
I consider running away at the deadly glare he gives me. But I won't.
"You don't know shit," his deep voice grumbles. I try my hardest to not admire his features as much as I want to.
Oh I will know shiznit, I will.
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I missed an update last week, my apologies. Finals have arrived and are in full swing so just bear with me here. This was a pretty long chap so hopefully, it will make up for the no update.
Thank you for reading!
Word count: 3990
-Ashlyn Montgomery