[18+ ONGOING]
Josephine Devereaux has spent her entire life wishing she liked change & spontaneity. But when she gets accepted into Southern Chicago U's forensics program, change suddenly isn't so scary. Fast forward two years- she's a junior at the...
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The universe hates me.
I always suspected it, but I tried to stay positive and tell myself I was just being dramatic.
But right now, I know that it does.
I know that it hates me. Or it has some fucked up kink where it gets off on torturing me.
Because as she speed-walks away from me in that outfit, I swear I feel like I'm dying.
Fucking hell.
I don't really know what I expected when Kofi said that we could come back to the girls' place for the night, after we had mentioned that we were planning on going home and having a couple beers while watching the game.
So we stopped at the liquor store, grabbed a couple of cases of beer and made our way over.
He said that they usually have "wine Wednesdays" and that they wouldn't mind if we joined them to chill and watch the game. So, yeah, I guess I expected to walk into a well-designed apartment to see Josie and the girls maybe sitting next to the kitchen counter with glasses of wine, some sweats and oversized sweatshirts on to accommodate for this cold Chicago weather.
I was so fucking wrong.
Not about the well-designed apartment. It was a nice apartment. More so about the clothes thing.
She definitely wasn't wearing sweats or sweatshirts.
She was wearing lingerie. Or some pathetic excuse of a pajama set.
It took everything in me to not just fucking leave when I saw her. I didn't even know where to look.
Her long, naturally tanned legs looked like they went on for miles due to the pitiful length of the so-called "shorts" she wore. They never failed to make me remember how much I admired her love for exercise, her thighs and calves toned to perfection, small streaks of cellulite scattered at the very top of the sides of her thighs, an unfortunately timed reminder of exactly what lied above it. A reminder that had me begin to walk towards her in hopes that I could subtly adjust myself while doing so.
My eyes coasted up a bit higher as I admired the way her lace tank top did almost nothing to hide the copious amount of faint freckles that coated her entire body, her entire shoulder and collarbone area showing. I mentally scolded myself and my male hormones for suddenly deciding to revert back to those of my ten-year-old self who apparently couldn't keep it down after seeing a collarbone.
Josephine Devereaux and her stupidly impressive ability to make me feel like the guilty party of those dress codes from years ago that said "women's shoulders were too distracting."
Such a stupid dress code. I can say indefinitely that I was never distracted by anything like that. But I admittedly would have been if she was the woman in question.
