One Last Shot

chapter fourteen: personal rules

• • •
Noah

I've never been one to get nervous. In fact, I specifically remember the exact last time I got that stupid fucking feeling in my chest. It was my first middle school dance and a week before, I had still yet to ask a chick out. It wouldn't of been such a big deal, in fact I was planning on just ditching the stupid thing all together, but Everett made sure to make it a competition.

     For like a month leading up to it all E did was nag me about asking a chick to be my date. Anytime I would see him, which was a shit ton because all I ever did was hang out with the guy, he would just keep on fucking shoving in my face that he already got one of the most popular girls to go with him. I wasn't even a tiny bit jealous of him, but he sure fucking treated me like I was, so finally a week before that night, I grew a pair and decided to ask a hot chick, who happened to be best friends with E's date, out.

You're stupid when you are 11. You don't got the right mind to be talking to chicks, that's for damn sure. No one taught me how to hit on them, most definitely not my old man. He made sure any time my dating life came up he would beat it into my head that chicks are just distractions from basketball, so I had to wing it.

I meet her by her locker after school that day. The main feeling I remember was looking down at my hands, which fucking felt like they were dripping with sweat, and felt the urge to shit my brains out. She walked up to me, I rambled on about some crappy short talk, and eventually asked her out.

I haven't felt that nervous in over fifteen years. That is until fucking Tayla Arabella-Cove Madden came along.

     When she came back into the bathroom, I felt like I went back in time and became that scrawny 6th grader again. She looked fucking stunning. The white silk made her tan skin glow against it as it clung onto every single fucking curve of her body, and fuck does that girl have some damn good curves. Every girl I've been with has had some type of surgery to enhance them, but Tayla, that girl is as fucking perfectly natural as you can get.

     It's been five minutes in this car, and the only thing I can focus on are those legs. Tayla sits to the left of me, her gaze towards the windows, one of her legs crossed over the other. She subconsciously sways her foot back and forth, forcing my eyes to go to her feet. I fucking despise feet, you'd never find me sucking on toes or some shit, but anytime Tayla wears heels, she looks like she was made for them. I can't help but chuckle to myself, remember the first time we met and how she constantly wobbled in her heels. I wonder if I'll be seeing her walk like that tonight.

     "What's so funny hot shot?" I finally rip my eyes off of Tayla's bare legs and meet those big blue eyes of hers. The darkness of the makeup she put on her eyelashes causes the color in her irises look like the fucking sea. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She frantically asks, tucking her hair away from her face.

     I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. "You got a shit ton of piercings midge." It's true. Both of her ears are decked out with a shit ton of silver. It was one of the first things I noticed the night we met.

She raises her eyebrow to question me. "Uh yeah. Twenty four of em'. Twelve on one, twelve on the other." She answers my questions before I'm able to ask it.

"Shit that's a lot." I blow out a breath of air. Since when did talking to chicks feel so weird?

"Well you got a lot of tattoos." She nudges her head towards my ink. I can't help but look down and smirk at the black peeking through my rolled up sleeves. Every single one of them is another fuck you to my dad.