Stereotypical

III| He, Who Couldn't Be Himself

Mood:

"Heartbeat"

-Mat Kearney

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I also decided to go on Polyvore and do some outfit creating (doesn't look good, 'cause I'm no fashionista). And Mat Kearney, because I recently found him and love his music a bunch~

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I grimaced at my reflection and mentally slapped myself a couple times before going back to the closet. I kicked the jeans off, put my hair up in a knot again, and pulled the blouse over my head. Fuck that.

It was seven-thirty am. I felt as though some do-gooder ghost had possessed me while I slept. For no clear reason, I had decided to join Parker for whatever he had planned. I wasn't going to call the bet off. 

I showered, dried my hair, and smelled like guy—thanks to the cologne my brother left behind. Not that I didn't want to smell like rainbows and sunshine, but assuming that Parker was completely straight, he wouldn't be attracted to cologne.

Logic.

I plucked a sweater from its hanger and chose a different pair of jeans to go with it. For a moment, I thought of putting a shirt under the sweater. 

"Too lazy," I breathed out, pulling my head arms through the designated holes. I kept my hair up this time around and examined myself. I still didn't like it. I wanted sweatpants, joggers—jeans were uncomfortable sons of bitches made to ruin the lives those who wear them. I kicked that pair off and threw it with its friend before swiping a pair of black joggers and sighed.

"Ugh." I removed the sweater and went scavenging for my jackets. Once upon a time, Jackson and I had this odd varsity jacket phase where we bought any and every jacket we saw in stores. If I was alone, I bought one in my size and his and vice-versa. 

I found one with a blue base and white sleeves. There was no debate for this one though; I had to find a shirt to go underneath. I slipped a long sleeve shirt on and shrugged the jacket over it, leaving the zipper loose. I tucked my necklace (it was worn from three years of nonstop wearing) under the white shirt and felt its cool metal settle between my breasts.

I checked the clock. It was nearing seven-fifty. With a huff, I trotted downstairs and shoved my feet into a pair of boots. Like the day before, it was raining. At the moment it was just a drizzle, but I didn't expect it to stay that way. With that thought in mind, I opened the front closet and pulled out a navy blue umbrella. I leaned it against the wall and went into the kitchen for food.

Food.

I felt the two twenties in my pocket. If Parker decided to stop somewhere for food, I'd be able to buy something for myself. And pay him back for gas money. I reached for the granola bars in the top shelf. Strawberry and Greek Yogurt was fucking heavenly. I'd gone through two when the doorbell echoed through the house. Trashing the wrappers, I made my way to the front and checked through the peephole.

Can never be to sure...

Honey-colored eyes, chestnut hair; it was Parker. I unlocked the door and let it swing open. "What's up?" I breathed out as cool air whipped at my face.

"Gas prices," he muttered. "Jesus, you live far from my house."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Sorry...?"

He flashed a toothy grin. "It was worth it. You are looking quite attractive today."

'Course he would, I thought with a sigh. "Thanks, I guess." I bent down to adjust the laces on one of my boots.