Porcelain Skin (NOW ON AMAZON KU)

6. Wimp

Well, Tuesday came and went, and my plan died. I had it all decided, and then I wimped out. For some reason, I just feel like I don't quite know him well enough to go through with it. So, my backup plan is going into action. Mission: get to know Trevor.

And so here I am, lying on his bed while he spins circles in his squeaky, old office chair. I'm staring at my computer screen while Trevor stares at the ceiling with his head resting against the back of his chair. I don't know how he hasn't thrown up everywhere yet with the amount of spinning he's done.

The assignment was to write a one paragraph paper on our emotions. I'm finished, but Trevor doesn't appear to have even started. Typical guy; incapable of converting his thoughts into feelings. As I wait I'm surfing the internet, and I'm reaching that point of wanting to pull my hair from my skull in boredom. My patience is running low. I begin tapping my pen against the edge of my computer. I see his head snap up out of my peripheral vision and he watches me for a few seconds as I continue to tap away without acknowledging him.

"Do you mind?" he finally grumbles.

I glance up at him with a smirk, my pen frozen mid-tap. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," he blurts with an exasperated sigh, "I'm trying to concentrate here, and your incessant tapping is not helping speed things up."

"I don't get why it's so hard," I say while changing from lying on my stomach to sitting Indian style. "If you're having so much trouble with it then maybe it's because you're not that much of an emotional person. You don't really let things get to you. You're easygoing, patient, even-tempered... I don't know. Just write about that stuff."

"What makes you think I'm any of those things?" It's a rhetorical question, and I watch as he rubs his hands down his face, leaning forward in his chair. "Just because I choose not to share my feelings with the entire world doesn't mean they don't exist. I may not be as calm, cool, and collected as you think." I'm watching him closely as he explains, and I smile when he appears to be finished.

"Sounds to me like that would make a pretty good paragraph," I tell him.

His brows crease in thought, apparently not fully registering what I mean.

"Go at it with a different angle," I tell him as he puts his hands on his face, clearly irritated by this entire assignment. "Instead of listing who you are, maybe list who you're not."

He's got his hands covering his face, but he parts his fingers to peek over at me before sitting up straight and pointing a finger at me. "Nice," he says, as he swivels around in his chair and starts scribbling away on his blank sheet of paper.

I hum softly to myself as I wait for him to finish.

He suddenly throws down his pencil on his desk and stands with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head. My gaze is instantly pulled to the bare skin that is on display as his shirt pulls away from the waistband of his jeans. Heat blossoms in my chest, radiating up to my face.

I quickly divert my attention, swinging my gaze up to his face before he can catch me ogling him, but I'm too late. Unlike most guys who would be flaunting the fact that they caught someone staring at them, he just watches me as he slowly brings his arms back down to his sides. I'm mortified, so I do the only natural thing that I can think of. I bury my face behind my computer, attempting to get his mind off of what he's just seen by changing the subject.

"Uh, well, we could..." My voice cracks and I'm instantly aware that I have not improved the situation. Instead, I've probably just made it that much more obvious that I'm utterly flustered. He has returned to his seat, but he's still watching me, and he's far too intense with his keen gaze.