Infatuation (Kehlani x y/n)

Chapter One

I don't know what woke me up tonight. Not the branch of the spewed out tree, knocking against my window. Not my dog scratching the door in the room over. Maybe it was the ghosts of noises heard when i first met you. swept up by the wind, carried across the ocean to knock on my consciousness. Maybe. What i do think of is the face that my memory conjures up with its soft outlines and fine details, details that fit in so faultlessly with her baseball cap and flowing blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to her forearm's to reveal an arrangement of flowers and other small designs with meanings unbeknownst to me tattooed atop of her tanned skin.

She stepped out of the small, cream E30, her open shoes asking, Which way to your pool? with every step. My dad's struggling friend, already a bore. She takes a quick look back to the car which had driven her here from what i assume was a frat house or skatepark hangout "Later!" she said, waving with three of her fingers before turning to me and nodding her head. I cannot believe we have to put up with her for six weeks, i'm thoroughly intimidated. From her walk to her tattoos and short brisk and blunt goodbyes, she is the unlike able sort. I could grow to tolerate her or even grow to like her but in the same amount of time, i could grow to hate her, from her baseball cap to her open shoes. My father had said she was a promising individual with a very successful career in music and a passion for writing and literature, i suppose we shared two interests. But, literature cannot cover up the lack of care and passion that surfaced more with every step she took across our small, rock covered driveway.

The least excited part about this is that i would have to vacate my bedroom for six weeks in order to make her feel more at home. During these six long weeks, i would have to stay in a small study attached to my bedroom. What a joy to be so close to the woman who i knew nothing about other than that she had paid someone to permanently draw over every inch of her skin. Whenever my father would have a guest stay, his one requirement was that they worked in music for at least an hour or so a day. It seemed to be a sensible arrangement seeing as he would turn our home into a "writing camp" every few months. This became very standard to me, seeing celebrities come in and hunker down to create their next chart-topper while creating a family bond with some of us until they finished their work, then we'd be forgotten except for my father who they worked for. I was sure this 'Kehlani' would be no different.