Touch

Needy (p. 1)

He was nervous. I could tell.

I, myself, could say the same.

His thumbs ran about the hem of his shirt, while his head hung, leaving his mop of chestnut hair to fall forward in front of his eyes.

"Daphne!" A sweet voice swam through the air, meeting my ears, matching the face of a gorgeous older woman.

Blonde; tall like a model, but with his eyes.

His smile.

"Hi Mrs. Richards," I greeted her warmly, with a soft lipped smile. She opened her arms invitingly, enveloping me in a hug.

Her husband, Jon Richards, entered shortly after, coming to meet me with a formal handshake and a,

"Hello Daphne."

The pair had eventually wandered over to greet my parents, hugging and shaking hands enthusiastically, talking in a frivolous manner.

I didn't feel like moving; I secretly liked his presence. I could see faintly his tall figure leaning against the marble of the counter and I could smell his cologne from where I was standing. It was almost comforting.

I thought privately to myself that it might be nice to be in his arms- to smell him and play with his hair.

To have a real go at being someone's girlfriend.

Being his girlfriend.

I was so deeply lost in thought that at that moment I failed to notice his eyes slowly trailing up and down my body; his mouth upturned in a faint smirk; his eyes dark, hands in his pockets.

I did think for a second I saw the ghost of a smile toying at his lips from the corner of my eye, but when I had a real glance it appeared that I was just imagining it.

"Grey! Come in here! Be polite don't just stand there!" Luelle Richards called from the Dining room.

The boy's head snapped up immediately, plastering a fake smile on his face as he coldly walked by me without a glance, his scent fluttering by in a cool wind.

I watched him shake hands with my father, and bend down to hug my mother.

I supposed it was about time to shake my daydreams and join the party.

-

The two families conversed jovially, gleefully sharing stories and jokes around the table. Everyone talked to each other. Except for me and Grey.

The tension between us was so thick, you couldn't have chopped it with an axe.

But our parents seemed completely clueless, or they didn't give a shit if they weren't.

Or maybe it was the fact that they were slightly drunk.

"Grey! Grey, Grey, Grey. You have to tell Mrs. Ravens about that- that time at the- at the ah- that beach! Oh- what's it called? Jon you know... that beach?" Mrs. Richards giggled stupidly. Clearly she had taken a cup too many of wine.

Mr. Richards shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

Her son looked entirely in another universe. He had his head in his hands, staring out into the night at the far window. Neither of us had anything to drink, but I could tell he was very bored of the delirious laughter and conversation that was starting to make less and less sense as the night went on. I was too.

"Mother," I began, standing up, "I'm going to go upstairs."

"Ok darling. Show Greyson where he's sleeping too though. He needs a place to sleep for the night," my mother let out a small laugh, as she waved her hands to dismiss me tipsily.