"Thaasophobia," or the fear of sitting still, being idle, or bored, is something I'm experiencing sitting in my art history class.
Don't get me wrong, I love learning about art and shit, but I am not in the Mona Lisa mood right now. On the bright side, this is my last class today, so...
"All right, class, we will have a small 75 -question quiz tomorrow; you're dismissed."
Never in a million years would I think I'd hear small, 75, and quiz in the same sentence. Well, I'm fucked.
"5:32," the time read on my Apple watch. I should probably start heading to the arena. I pack my study cards and books and head out of the library.
When I arrive at the stadium, it's 5:47, so I'm a little late, but it's okay. I search the cold building for a tall, annoying white male. "Boo," someone says, grabbing my waist.
"Ju-!" I start before turning around," Xander? What the hell?" he flashes me a toothy grin, "sorry Princess, what are you doing here?" he asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
Touchy motherfucker.
"Waiting on Jude," I say, clearing my throat and searching for him. "For what?" he asks, turning my head with two fingers to face him. "He's my ride home," I say, swatting his hand off my face. "I'll give you a ride. You live close by?" He asked, taking his arm off my shoulder to stand in front of me. "It's fine, we have plans," I lie, stepping back from his touchy ass.
Jude, where the hell are you? I ask myself. "Come on. I'm sure he won't mind." He persists, taking a big step toward me. "No, it's fine," I say, pulling my phone out. I don't even have this bitches' number.
Fuck if he doesn't come out, I'm going to have to call 911 on this creep.
He steps closer to me, so I take a step back and place my arm in front of me, blocking him from touching me. "Can you back off, Xander," I say, shoving him back, "you're being fucking weird." I finish.
He puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, "Okay, okay, okay, see you around." He says, walking away from me. Fuck I'm fucking shaking. I sit down on a bench close by to gather myself.
I hate men.
"Ramona?" a familiar voice asks, suddenly appearing before me.
"Yeah?" I asked, pushing my hair out of my face.
"You good?" Jude asks, frowning.
"Yeah, of course, ready?" I ask, trying to disguise my anxiety.
"Yeah," he says, offering me his hand to get up. I take it, trying to keep my hands from shaking in his. He looks down at my hand and frowns slightly. "It's freezing in here," I say, snatching my hand away quickly, offering a small laugh, and rubbing my hands together.
"Yeah, we are in a room with a fat-ass block of ice," he says, scratching his nose sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed," I say, walking out of the arena.
Once again, he opens the door for me, and I slide into the car. "Sorry for making you wait," he says, starting the car. "Yeah, 5:45, my ass," I retort.
"Always got to give me a hard time?" he asks.
"Always?" I say, scoffing. "You muttered your first word to me 10 hours ago," I say, facing him.
"Fair" is all he says before playing music.
We stopped at a red light, and his eyes moved to my leg that was doing the fucking Macarena.
YOU ARE READING
When The Snow Sticks
Romance"You're wearing my jersey," he says with the biggest grin imaginable. "Yeah, I am so don't go out there and embarrass us, Mr. Scott," I say, trying not to smile. "Yes ma'am," He retorts, with a wink and larger smile than before. Ramona transferred c...
