Beach Body

Oh, fuck.

Georgia Hydes' P.O.V:
I woke up to a blinding light, crashing through my eyelids, and a rough feeling against my skin.

I wanted to know what all of these strange sensations were, but as soon as I peeked my eyelids open, they instinctively shut themselves. The sun was blaring right down onto my face. Wait. Sun? Where the hell am I?

Turning in the opposite direction, away from the sun, I opened my eyes to the realisation that I was,in fact, still on the beach. And the big lump I felt next to me was not a rock but, in fact, none other than Andre Mason.

Oh, this couldn't possibly get any worse...

Shut up, brain! You had to go and say that, didn't you?

Sure enough, as soon as I sat up, I was bombarded with "Are you the girl?" Or "How long have you been dating?" Or "what is your name?". Oh, fuck.

Panic set in fairly quickly, at that point, so I didn't think- just reacted. I shoved Andre over, to wake him up from his extrememly deep slumber. Seriously, how can he sleep through that? Um, hello, so did you. Shut up.

He jumped up at the sight of all those paparazzi and, unlike me, didn't hold back the cussing.

I grabbed his arm and started dragging him along the beach and towards my apartment. When I was sure no one was following, I hid him behind a bush, told him to take of his shirt (not like that, you dirty gits) and put on my crappy sunglasses and my dad's old baseball cap that he wore when he went fishing. He gave it to me when I left. He told me it would mean I'd never forget him during my amazing time in California. Of course, who would forget when the stench of rotten fish and bait permeated throughout the apartment. I even tried washing the thing nine times and I still haven't quite gotten the smell off.

*

We made it to my apartment, safe and sound. No paparazzi followed us after I casualised Andre. It's like they follow the scent of his stardom, but as soon as I masked it with the smell of rotten fish, they walked in the opposite direction. That doesn't change the fact that they probably still have hundreds of pictures of us in a situation that will almost definitely be taken the wrong way.

I was about to turn and say something to Andre but I guess he beat me to it.

"Um," he started groggily, as though a large rock landed on his head, recently "what happened last night?"

"I guess we fell asleep," I replied quietly, my face turning a little pink.

"They're gonna think we're together, you know?"

I stared down at the floor, the notion that my life being normal was forever lost. Some people would kill to be in my position, right now. Not me. I can't think of anything worse.

Andre had been quiet, too, so I jumped at the feel of his hands holding mine. I loved his hands. They're so soft. Oh, will you shut up? You sound like a teenage girl. Um, excuse me, but I am a teenage girl. Okay I'm eighteen but I'm still a teenager.

As all this was going round in my brain, I had left Andre silent while he held my hands. Realising that if someone were to see us stood like this, their theories of us being a couple would be confirmed, I slid my hands from his and went to sit down on my sofa.

Andre followed. Of course, he bloody did.

"You should go." I said with a sigh "Go call a friend to come pick you up or something."

I looked up to meet his eyes, a feeling of sadness washing over me. Why are you sad? YOU. DON'T. LIKE. HIM!!!

I was surprised by his answer of "I can't."

Confused, I answered with "You do have friends, right?" My back stiffened a little "Tell me you have friends."

He chuckled and looked at me with a kind smile. He had a warm, hearty chuckle that was kind of infectious. Like the kind you'd want to hear over and over again.

"I have friends, England. I just don't want to leave, just yet."

"Why?" I asked, my curiosity peeking "Don't you have superstar things to do?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." He stated, but when I was about to protest with him to leave, he said "But I'd much rather talk to you for a while."

Something about the way he said those words, in such an endearing way, made me pause to think about my decision. Once again, for a reason unbeknownst to me, I decided to go against my better judgment and let him stay.

"England." I looked up, getting used to the nickname he had for me. Oh great, now my nickname is the country I'm from. How original. You need to stop talking to yourself- it's getting dangerous.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?"

I was caught off guard. Don't listen to him. He's lying- you're not beautiful. He's just trying to pick you up like one of his whores. Either that or he's deluded. Well, thanks.

"Um, you're welcome?"

Oh, damn it to hell! I have got to stop thinking out loud!

"So can I stay for a while?" He pleaded "Just a couple days. I just need to get away from it all for a while."

I was about to start screaming 'A COUPLE OF BLOODY DAYS!' but for some reason his pleas of desperation got to me and I caved.

"Okay." I started, letting out a breath of unease "If you're going to stay here, there are some rules, okay?"

"Sure, England. Throw 'em at me."

I frowned at his poor use of grammer. And he has the cheek to say he speaks English.
"Number 1," I started "you stay in the guest room.

He nodded.

"Number 2, you don't interrupt me when I get ready in the mornings, in case I am getting ready for class. I can't be late."

He nodded, again.

"And finally, numéro trés, do not ever try and take anything from me." He looked confused and clearly thought I meant money so I clarified "The TV remote, my food- I never share. You want some, get your own."

An amused smile began to form on his lips. He nodded again. Would you stop nodding? You look like one of those churchill nodding dog things. But I stopped his annoying smile with one more rule I thought of, more specified to him.

"Oh," I began "and don't ever bring any of your whores here. This place already kinda smells, I don't need your regular exercise adding to it."

A frown of somewhere between hurt and anger flashed across his face. Surely he can't be upset that I called them whores? Surely that's a better word than 'slut'? Slut is kind of vague word- could mean anything. At least whore is quick and to the point.

He sighed before he began talking "I told you that part was just for show. I would never disrespect you like that."

I huffed out of frustration. "I'm not your girlfriend so why do you care about my respect so much?"

I pretty much jumped off the chair. I saw a hint of hurt flash across his face. Yes, definitely hurt, this time. And then a flash of, what, determination?

Anyways, I had almost made it to my bedroom door, Andre following not far behind, but he finally caught up with me. And I did not expect what happened next...