Y'know when you have no guy experience and accidentally fall in unrequited love with your first-ever guy friend who just so happens to be a celebrity and also has a girlfriend he can't break up with?
No? Well, that's reality for one college student...
Chapter two! These are getting progressively longer, and will likely continue to do so. Chapter title is from Treacherous by Taylor Swift.
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I'll never know if there's danger in confession or it's memory that presses like a blade against my throat. Another word and I could choke, but what's worse? Telling you my feelings or to die without revealing that you crawled inside my head and set a fire there instead. Letting all my insecurity devour me with certainty that love is just a currency, so take my pockets, take me whole. Take my life and take my soul.- Halsey, Ya'aburnee
Lea practically bathed in sunscreen. That was one of the few drawbacks of the ocean: if she didn't reapply her sunscreen every two hours like clockwork, she'd resemble a fire engine so closely the next morning, it was almost startling.
She was almost positive she'd managed to stave off the sunburn this time around.
It was night, and there were more stars than she'd ever seen in one place. Her hair was filled with sand to the point where she knew it would live there for months. A byproduct of having long curly hair, she supposed.
She stared out at the ocean from the patio (ten feet off the ground, like the rest of the treehouse) and sipped her soda.
Tim had had a couple beers, and was therefore extra clingy.
It hurt, in a way, but she found herself not really minding the twinge of pain in her chest when he wound his arms around her and nuzzled her hair affectionately.
"You're so beautiful," he mumbled.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged him off.
"Go lay down, Chalamet," she told him firmly, channeling the tone she'd used on Sam and Ari countless times. "You're drunk."
She didn't have to turn around to know he was pouting.
"I'm not that drunk," he insisted.
"Uh huh," she said in a voice that indicated she very much did not believe him. "Of course you're not."
"No, I'm really not." With that, he wrapped his arms around her again, pressing a kiss to her scalp.
She wished he wouldn't.
You have a girlfriend, assdick, she thought angrily in his direction.
He did, though; another kiss, then another. He went back to nuzzling her after that, however, his arms tightening slightly around her waist.
"My little Lea," he said softly, his voice a contented whisper.
The girl in question practically scoffed, taking a swig of her soda and putting it down on the wooden railing.
"I'm not little—"
"Yes you are," he sing-songed, but she continued as if he hadn't said (or sung) a word.
