Wingman

Douchebag

Chapter Ten

"You dropped your pen." His voice was shaking from halting a run. His smile was cocked in a twisting glint, and his eyes were once moving up and down my body. Beautiful in his school-tank, black shorts, and sweating skin. He was a first-year like me.

I remember having blushed. My hands moved away from the brand-new textbooks I bought and twisted my fingers to grab the black pen. "Wow I uh, thank you," I said. Hearts fluttered when accidentally touching fingers.

His eyelashes batted. Then he snorted and had moved his glistening hair away from his forehead. Slicked his hair back, he said, "Yikes I," then he had rubbed his neck, "I just realized that I ran a block to return a pen—okay, this is awkward, I—" I had found him awkward and adorable. Projecting and reflecting, I hugged my textbooks to my chest and smiled large myself.

"Yeah." Then I blushed harder, "N-No, it's fine. Thank you." Then I blushed harder than hard, "Let me know when you start your hero-origins as 'Pen Man'." I remember hating myself for laughing at my lame joke.

"Pen Man?" His strong arms moved to wrap behind his head. He was sexy, built, and the muscles at my shoulders sunk in awe. Beauty at first obvious sight. I said, "Yeah, I'd watch the movie adaption." Again, hating myself for another lame joke.

He laughed with me. He laughed at my jokes and my heart fluttered in butterflies. No one normally laughed with me. Then he went big and better, lamely adding, "Hopefully the journey ends in my final evolution: dun dun dun! Turning into a pen." I giggled and said, "The biggest and baddest!" He said, "The greatest notes, the strongest ink, and the shiniest shaping body." We both smiled.

"This is turning weird." I said.

"Totally." He said.

I tried not to smile. "What would be your catch phrase though?" He grinned large, "Pen Man speaks for itself no? It's so mysterious! It's arbitrary on its own." I laughed, "But you've got to have something!" He teased me, glared playfully, "Easy there. Don't make me ink all over you." I said, "What are you? A squid?" He said, "No silly. Pen Man." I said, "Then the in—" He said, "Yes, you wouldn't be able to handle my pen." We had both blushed immediately. No more laughter. His hand was back at his neck. I was hugging my textbooks tighter.

"I didn't mean—"

"It's okay if you did."

"What?"

"What?" I swallowed hard.

He tried not to smile. It went silent. I didn't want him to leave so I asked, "Who's behind the mask Pen Man carries?" The boy, I remember, had smiled. He told me, "Oki. The name's Oki."

I bit my lip. "That's an interesting name."

Innocent eyes, innocent smile, shy body language, the boy asked, "What about you?" Then he flirted and made my stomach leap in twirls. "What's the name of Pen Man's possible Mary Jane?" I said, "Oh." He said, "Smooth, I know."

I smiled and told Oki my name.

.

"Yo, quit staring at your ex dawg." Oki is now nudged in the arm, whispered to, and instantly brought out of his daze. Glancing at his friend sitting awkward beside him, Oki swallows a mumble, "I wasn't," before staring at you getting settled in the lecture room.

You're in the front, in the corner. He wonders if you sit there because it's easier to run out once class ends. He stares at the empty seats around you. Oki recalls the times he'd easily take those seats. Palms sweating, and his black pen being held, all hesitant between fingertips.