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FOURTEEN; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐-𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒌!
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SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE warned Peter about the aftermath of a kiss. About how much he would end up wanting more of it, overthinking every moment, weaselling around his thoughts until it ultimately gave him an aneurysm. It took a mere two minutes of attention to keep him busy before a certain brown-eyed girl monopolised his mind.
Two mornings after turbulent sleep, he ran smack into Clara Rose in the hallway.
"Hey..." he strained out.
"Hi."
"Um." This is going swell. A new low, Parker!
"Uh." She patted her bag. "School?"
He nodded unexpectedly. "Yeah, school. Have fun."
She gulped, cringing to herself as she walked off. "Yeah. Bye."
"Be back"—the front door slammed shut—"soon...damn it!" He began to kick at a wall to make up for his stupidity. "You stupid, stupid, stupid, grr!"
And he didn't get to see her that weekend, she was out the door by six and came home when he was running patrol. She was working late shifts and still scraped a mere handful of cash.
One time, he courageously coordinated his schedule with hers by planning his exit and waltzed by her slightly ajar room door. And when he did, he stopped right in his tracks and quietly plastered his back against the wall by the jamb. He shut his eyes with a sigh.
Don't do it, man.
Don't.
Privacy matters, Peter.
Please, don't—...ah, goddamnit!
Anticipation swirled as he peered in through the gap, and look—Peter is not a creep. He wouldn't do this. This isn't him. But god, could you blame him? He was still a boy, ruled by his hormones. He watched, open-mouthed, as Clara Rose oh-so-carefully rolled off her worn black stockings from under her skirt, gliding them one by one, off her thighs, knees, shin and ankles. So unfair this was playing out in slow-motion, to a soft Brent Faiyaz ballad, and amber hues for him. And even more balls to the wall stoked that he was about to date the hottest girl in the freaking universe. He didn't care what the others thought.
Clara Rose, blissfully oblivious, went off on scatting the signature opening adlibs for 'The Way You Make Me Feel', and quite adequately so, sang for Peter. He smothered a laugh.
