London Calling

Chapter 4

“Who’s lug---“ the guy muttered with an irritable voice.

“Who are you?” We asked each other at the same time. We almost synced perfectly. If only he had an American accent.

I sat frozen on the couch, taken aback by his appearance. And I meant literally by his appearance. But then I quickly stood up after having realized I was about to just stare at his godly looks.

“This is where I live,” we said the same words at the exact time again.

He smirked. The kind that can annoy you. “I’m not sure you are sure about that, little girl.”

Did he just call me a little girl?

I scoffed. “I am not a little girl,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m at 501, right?” I walked towards the door and shoved him aside. He lightly stumbled. Well, he was blocking the way. I felt the hard muscles of his arm despite his thick leather jacket.

The numbers said “501”. I was in the right apartment.

“Uhm. Are you sure you live here?” I asked the guy again.

He raised one eyebrow and replied, “absolutely.”

Okay so he was a bit cocky.

 “Well, I’m supposed to be living in the same apartment with a girl,” I argued, crossing my arms.

Seconds passed and we just stared at each other. His eyes were gray—just like the color of the gloomy sky. Or I just couldn’t manage to think of a better comparison because his eyes didn’t look gloomy at all.

It just got awkward when neither of us spoke. He just stared, just like I was staring at him. Though his look made me slightly feel heavy in the chest. I had never had a staring game with a guy before—much less than with a guy with his looks.

“You mean you live here?” I barely whispered, putting the pieces up together.

He still didn’t speak a work. He just rolled his eyes and turned his back to me. What the heck?

My eyes followed him. He was tall, maybe about 6 feet, and his jeans fit him perfectly. I had seen a lot of tall guys who just can’t pull of denims. His looked like a designer’s. His hair was also a beautiful mess. Slightly tousled, a blend of short and long strands, and had shades of chocolate brown and gold. How did that happen? If only I wasn’t that confused about what was happening, I would have been star struck. Is he some kind of a model or an actor? I scoffed at myself. Probably, but it was no business of mine. Anyway, back to the situation.

He took his enormous guitar-shaped bag off his back and placed it on the couch.

“Bobby. You’re Bobby?” He asked, walking to the fridge. Finally! A word from him.

I was still by the door. “Yeah,” I replied.

He took out a pitcher and poured himself a glass of water. Then let out a laugh like something stupid had just happened.

I walked towards the kitchen and stood behind the counter-top. “Well, I didn’t find anything funny so I’m pretty sure that little sort of laugh of yours was unnecessary.” I was so confused I started talking like I was pre-menopausal.

“Woah,” he raised his hands like he was backing up. I must really have sounded like a total bitch. “Calm down. You’re not mental are you?”

He DID not just ask me that. First he called me a little girl. Second he asked me if I was a psycho. I wondered what his third insult would be. Not that I wanted to hear another one.