Her Phantom, His Juliet (A Pieter Kramer Fanfic)

The Waterboy and the Fangirl

Chapter 5: The Waterboy and the Fangirl

Disclaimer: read chapter 1

~Jasmine's POV~

'All this stuff should've been ours!'

I am really pissed off, but amazed when the mysterious man and I entered the bus. It looked more like a little house than a typical bus. There were luxury blue sofa cushions, a flat screen TV with speakers, a disco ball attached to the ceiling, a stereo, a gourmet kitchen, - they even have a stripper pole in the middle aisle. The girls and I could've used that to strip and dance exotically...

Just kidding... We could've used that to practice flips and tricks for the choreography... except for Fat Amy. I'm pretty sure she didn't want to suffer another night of exposure, no matter how much money I give her... Well, technically, I don't have any money to give her, now that I'm broke!

"How does it feel?"

I perked up at the sound of that intimidating, German voice, whose nose had stopped bleeding. Thank God. I now hope that his nose wasn't broken. That would be a law suit, I can't afford.

My eyebrows furrowed, not exactly sure what he meant.

"How does what feel?"

The man chuckled - his scary German chuckle.

"To be in DSM's tour bus!" the man stated, spinning around, gesturing the room around us.

I really wanted to scream out that this should've been the Bella's bus - not DSM! But I am not stupid... most of the time. I replied with a nod and smile.

"This is... awesome. Really awesome," I was still disguising my voice. I told him that I was from Germany, I have to sound like I am from that country. It's a bit annoying and exhausting, really, to pretend to be somebody else for hours.

I tried to sound enthusiastic, I would've been if the Bellas and I were riding it. This man seemed to have questioned my fangirl enthusiasm, but I pulled it off with a gleefully grin.

The man went down the aisle where the kitchen was, pulling out a wet paper towel to clean his nose.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered.

"Uh... What do ya have?" I replied.

"Um..." I can hear him opening the fridge to see what kind of drinks he had.

"Coca-Cola, Sprite, Mountain Fizz... and Weihenstephaner."

What did he say? Weenie-what?

"What was the last part again?"

"Weihenstephaner," The man pulled his head out of the fridge, and peered over to see my questionable face. "Beer."

"Oh!"

After going through almost four hours of a hell flight with an angry mob, sleeping with my sick brother, waiting in line for tickets that were sold out, talking to dumb cops - who I guess weren't really cops - and being scared to death by a Goliath; I needed a drink!

"I will have that."

The man narrowed his eyes at me, seemed to be questioning me.

"You offered," I pointed out.

"Forgive my forwardness, but... how old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

His eyes still kept his gaze at mine as if he was reading my white lie. His intense gaze scared me to the core. I held my breath, hoping that he wouldn't catch my fear.