The Makeover

20 | A Little More Me

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Chapter Twenty | A Little More Me

I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But all the words in the dictionary betrayed me. No words fell out. I closed my mouth and closed my eyes in mortification.

Never in my gruelling eighteen years of life have I been more embarrassed than I was at the moment. And likewise, I basically snatched the bold red th- fucking -ong and the white bralette in his other hand and the clothes, sprinting all the way back to the bathroom and snapping the door shut after me. Only then could I breathe.

Fully clothed, I suddenly took interest in my newly found doorknob friend, Mr Plinky. He had really nice, round pectorals and playing handsie with him was very interesting. I'm telling a very big lie and I'm very sure you're not buying it... But heck! THE THOUGHT OF FACING HAZE AFTER WHAT JUST HAPPENED MAKES ME SHUDDER!

But now it was time to suck it up, act like an adult!  Plunge into a decision and stick to it! Own it! No pain, no gain! It's just underwear afterall. And so, with feminist confidence, I walked into my room and took a seat in front of the mirror, applying lipstick to my lips and wondering what to do with my hair, ignoring the feeling of his eyes drilling into sweet little me.

Before I knew it, after two swift long strides, he was right behind me. And before I could nearly open my mouth to say anything, my breath hitched and knoted in my wind pipe as I felt long, lean, firm fingers sliding freely through my damp hair slowly, straightening the raven locks at a rather pleasureable pace.

Suddenly, I didn't want to say anything anymore. His fingers glided through my hair with such gentleness and certainty that I didn't think an hairbrush or hair straightener could have been more effective, plus; No hair straightener could possibly possess the ability to make my knees buckle and my ovaries tingle. No description could qualify how giddy I was feeling and how our proximity made my brain go back in time.

To the first time we met. I mean, it wasn't exactly how a dictionary would describe the word met. Clash or collide is very much more like it. His world and my destitute one. How I never thought in my wildest dreams that he'd bother to look for a girl like me; well, the girl I was back then.

It doesn't really matter if I admit it or not, but he was and still the major element of change in my life. How much he cares about me; about our friendship. How he holds my hand all the time like it's nothing, our first secret lunch rendezvous and the subsequent ones. Our little teasing contests and this sweet hair ruffling thing he does some of the time. Arrrrgggg...

You are not allowed to have sweet romantic, ovary-tingling thoughts about your Greekgod Comb that has freaking abs of steel!  Damn it Elzara!

"There you go," He breathed, dragging me up the reality lane, whilst sliding a lock of waifing hair beneath my ear with a swipe of his right index finger(That once held a certain bold red underwear). "Yer' hair luwks really noice when it's down." We both knew quite well that he was mimicking Ali with the British accent. The jerk!

I chuckled. Haze is so very hopeless. He was just making me queasy all over with his scalp tingling actions and now he was making me want to laugh my non-existent cleavage off and slap the silly goofiness out of his pretty face for knowing all there was to know about the stuff I was wearing underneath my clothes, all at the same time.

"Thanks, but we really should get going," I smiled and got up, smoothing out the crumpled parts of my shorts that resulted from sitting for long.

"I'm the life of the party. The party doesn't start without me," He said smugly and leisurely threw an arm around my shoulders.