Never Been Kissed

Ch.19 ↬ J

Operation Get Madeline to Realise I'd Be Better than Two Squids was set.

Actually, it was set Monday evening when she returned from work and I'd been waiting for her arrival. It was all going so swimmingly until Oscar outed me and told Madeline that not only had I been waiting for twenty minutes—the large tub of popcorn was completely finished by the time I returned to Oscar, damn it—and that I was watching kid's movies to impress her.

But as we continued to watch the movie—my attention waning as my mind raced—I realised that maybe warranting that seed to be planted in her head was a good move. Let her stew over it. It'd hit her again in another moment. Maybe a pivotal one with Noah.

Or maybe I was just a dick for doing that now she had a boyfriend.

Either or, right?

And so far, I'd made it to Friday, getting ready for the group meal and I hadn't made another movement in regard to progress with Operation Get Madeline to Realise I'd Be Better than Two Bongos.

Actually, that was too long of a title. From now on it would be known as Operation Get Madeline.

I realised all I needed to do was just fuck her. Too much pent-up sexual frustration was latching onto my bones and curling tightly around them. No matter who I fucked in the meantime—Vincent was adamant to be my wingman—it didn't shed me of the desperation to fuck Madeline. She was too fucking sexy for her own good and I had a feeling she didn't even realise what she was doing to me.

She just needed to realise that this would be good for the both of us. Her delectable ass and those tug-on-me braids were torturing me. I needed to just get her out of my system and play out to my fantasy. Then I'd be okay.

We'd revert to being friends again afterwards.

All throughout the week she'd arrived home earlier than me—her car already parked up on the apartment block parking lot. Even when I situate myself in my lounge so I can hear shuffling emanating from the hallway, the second I do perceive noise, I virtually leap up from the sofa and gawp through the peephole, only to realise that it's someone from an upstairs apartment descending the stairs. And I leave earlier than she does in the morning more often than not.

I've not seen her since Monday, but I was going to seize the opportunity of sitting beside her tonight.

Having donned skinny jeans, a sleeveless button-up shirt that I knew exhibited my muscles—purely for Madeline's benefit, of course—I was just about to leave so I could knock on her apartment door (I was adamant to drive her tonight so I wouldn't be drinking which was another stage in Operation Get Madeline) when my phone bleated. With a frown, I plucked it from my pocket.

"Mom?" I said in lieu of a greeting.

"You'll never guess what, Joshua!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with pride and an octave or few too high to be unemotional.

"What?"

"Frank! He saved a new-born baby in a fire today! He ran straight back into a burning building and saved a week-old baby from his crib! The mother had downstairs with a baby monitor when the fire broke out."

Mom regularly informed me of heroic stories of Frank saving people during ferocious fires. And by no means am I ever not in awe of his actions—how courageous do you have to be to run head-first into a raging inferno to put someone else's life above yours and give them a second lease at life... while potentially sacrificing your own? It was irrefutably heroic. Frank was nothing short of a hero.

He was a hero through and through.

And that's why I had nothing but compliments to say about the guy. He was great with my mom. He never disrespected her or treated her poorly. He always ensured he viewed my perspective on things and included me. Like I said, he was a hero. Oscar had one of the best role models of a dad to look up to and aspire to be like.