Cliché (Player Next Door Spinoff)

| 01 | What Does He Want?

Ready for another cliché?

If you don't know me, then I am sorry in advance for what you're about to read.

If you do know me... NFTR.  And welcome home.

Chapter 01: What Does He Want? 

For the first time in years, I watched him walk through our garden.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating.

But then I blinked, and he was still there, so I guess I'm not seeing things.

Yay.

He was wearing a navy zip-up hoodie with no shirt underneath.

Muscular from the way his hoodie hugged his broad shoulders and stretched over his arms.

Tanned from the burning summer sun.

There was a magnetic presence to him – an energy and warmth that accidentally attracts attention.

My childhood crush. Only, older now.

His left hand swept down and flicked the water in the fountain. He sprayed it over his hair in one smooth motion, taming it, as he continued to walk up towards the house.

His hair was dark and wet, and I knew from the surfboard in his car that he'd just been in the ocean.

He didn't notice me, perched on the wooden swing. I felt like a voyeur, spying on him through the leaves, knowing he couldn't see me.

A voyeur?!

Way to make something creepy sound poetic.

But I couldn't help myself. I watched his every step. Well, not literally his every step; plants blocked the view below his knees.

I watched him arrive at our front door and knock. And, while he waited, I couldn't help but take the time to observe the athletic shape of his body.

Why is he here?

Hopping off the swing, I walked a little bit closer to get a better look, crouching ever so slightly behind a bush. The leaves cracked under my shoes, and I became paranoid that he could hear me.

But that would require supernatural hearing so... I should be good.

What does he want?

He shook his head and shimmering droplets of water sprayed out. He raised his hand and swept his hair out of his eyes. Clearly impatient, he slowly turned around...

And I freaked out, hiding further behind the bush and praying not to be caught in this creepy position. But he never quite made it all the way round because the door opened, and my mom greeted him.

She was in faded jean shorts and a white t-shirt with paint splattered over it. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail by a blue bandana that she'd tied into a bow. An artiste.

I was out of earshot but, at some point, she must've invited him inside. And then closed the door behind him.

From my crouched position behind the bushes, I texted my sister: Guess who just walked into our house

Since mom hadn't looked at all surprised to see him, I'm guessing she must've invited him. Which brings 100 more questions to mind.

"Is stalking your own home even a thing?"

I yelped and jumped, turning to face the guy standing behind me. I stepped back and tripped over the bush, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me upright.