A Stupid, Hopeless Crush

Chapter-4 Detention??

♥KYLEE JACKSON♥

I wake up happily in the morning. No grounding, no bad hair days, no anything. Life's just feeling perfect.

Until of course.

Loud rock music interrupts the peace. Of course, Brandon had to turn it up, just to irritate me. I groan, and getting out of bed, walk over to the window. "BRANDON!!" I scream. The music suddenly stops, and a very shirtless Brandon appears at his window. My eyes widen.

Okay, look away, Kylee.

His brown hair are disheveled in a sexy manner, and he's wearing only olive-colored sleeping pants that are hanging low on his hipbones. His body is sculpted perfectly, with delicious-looking eight-packs.

What are you doing, Kylee?! Look. Away. 

He's taller than other guys his age, and he works out. He definitely works out. Those eight-packs couldn't just be God-gifted. For a moment, I'm tempted to -

Wait, what the hell? Tempted by Brandon??

I shake my head to get rid of the hormonal-girl thoughts and say to him, "Brandon, can you please turn the music down?"

"Huh?" he asks, distracted. I frown. He is staring at me - those chocolate-brown eyes go over my bare legs, my exposed midriff, my arms and finally meet my own eyes. I lick my lips uneasily and cross my arms over my chest. "Stop checking me out, and keep the music lowered."

He shakes his head like I did, and comes out of his trance. His lips curl up into an annoying-yet-adorable smirk. "Well, good morning," he says, stretching and flexing those (sexy) biceps. "Slept well, princess? I can obviously see that from your hair."

I self-consciously run a hand through my tangled hair, and look at him. He looks almost the same - his soft brown hair are tousled, like he just got out of bed (which he probably did).

"Me?" I say smirking. "Look at yourself. You look no better than I do."

He just smiles wide at me, acting cheeky. And, closing the curtain, switches the rock music back on at top-volume. I groan loudly and close the window.

***********************

I sit on my bike, ready to start it, when I hear a very familiar voice curse loudly. I look up, and sure enough, a very angry-looking Brandon is standing outside the front gate of his house, glaring down at his BMW. I look at it and notice that the front tires of the car are punctured.

Oh, well. Time for unwilling help.

I whistle loudly and he glances up at me. The change in his expression from anger to surprise and back to anger amuses me as he walks over. He's wearing a checked shirt and jeans with a leather jacket and a dog-tag necklace, his bag casually slung over his shoulder. I take my eyes off of his (incredibly hot) muscles, and force them to look into his eyes. "Care for a ride to school?" I ask him. He just glares at me.

"What?" I demand, looking innocent. His glare just deepens. "Don't act, like that," he points towards the punctured tires, "is not. Your. Fault. You should've driven her carefully! Now the front tires are flat, and there's no gas at all!"

I look at him with a dull expression on my face and say, "I can give you a lift, you know." Ha! His words from yesterday, back at him. He seems to know this too, because he gives me the same look to me like I gave to him yesterday, full of suspicion. But then he checks out my bike. "Only because your bike is sexy, I'll accept your help," he says, once he's admired it. "Get back."

"Oh, no no no. My bike, so I get to ride. You get back," I tell him, pointing behind with my thumb. He just gives me a look, and then walks towards me slowly.