"You're the worst kind of obsession, Jolene. My obsession. One I can't seem to find a cure for and if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I ever want to find one."
***
My initial plan is to get far away from here. I emphasize on the word 'initial', becau...
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I'm trying to read a book in my bedroom as I eagerly wait for my best friend's return. He texted me before he got behind the wheel, leaving his campus until the start of the new school year, and I texted him back with a drive safe message.
He should arrive any minute now.
My bedroom window is on the side of his parents' house and I can see the Rogers' driveway from up here. I rise from my seating position on the windowsill, throwing myself on the bed instead to prevent my eyes from flickering down to that land of concrete for the thousandth time in the last five minutes.
Sighing, I tell myself to rather focus on the ink of my book rather than the distant ticking of the clock downstairs.
But then I freeze.
I hear an engine then I don't, and doors slamming shut.
I don't bother looking through my window to see him get out of his blue truck as I hurtle down the stairs, my bare feet hitting the green lawn outside in a matter of seconds and I'm lucky I didn't twist my ankle in the process.
I blindly run until I collide with his chest and my arms immediately circle his neck. He stumbles a few steps backwards but his arms automatically wrap around my waist and I stand on my toes as he lifts me to accommodate his height.
God, I swear he gets taller every time I see him. And stronger, apparently. I can feel the muscled torso through the fabric of his t-shirt and the size of the arms around my waist...
He squeezes me tight but I pull back first at those intrusive thoughts, his hands brushing my hips as I do so. A weird feeling invades me, hair rising up on my arms.
"Missed me?" Steve asks, his tone teasing.
"Never," I reply, fighting a wide grin while he chuckles. We text and facetime each other everyday during the months we're apart, but nothing really competes with us being physically reunited. That's my own way of admitting that I missed him. A lot.
"Hey, buddy," Steve calls. "Lena's here. You know, the friend I talked to you about?"
I open my mouth to correct him -because I'm not just a friend, I'm his best friend, the best he will ever have- but I stop dead in my tracks.
As soon as my gaze lands on him, my heart stops beating.
He's unloading Steve's pickup trunk and I immediately spot the muscle of his arms flexing when he lifts some bags. He slowly puts them down and starts walking in my direction. From what I can see, he seems relaxed, absolutely not mirroring my reaction.
Stoic. Shocked. My knees within an inch of collapsing beneath my weight.
Because what is he doing here?
A while ago I came to the conclusion that I had dreamed about that night in the airport with him, laying the blame for my hallucination on my exhaustion due to my revisions and exams.
But he is real, isn't he?
He doesn't say anything and only acknowledges me with a curt nod, the nonchalant yet heart-melting smirk I fantasized about for months nowhere to be seen.
I'm too stunned to speak, to even move, so I just stand there. Dumb. My mouth slightly open.
"Lena, this is -"
Buchanan.
His friends call him Bucky.
I know that.
I know that because we already met seven months ago and he simply looks at me like we didn't, not an ounce of recognition in his eyes. And it hurts. It fucking hurts.
Is it possible that he has a twin brother, with whom he shares that exact, same sexy freaking dimple on his chin? It would somehow explain why he acts like this. Like we're strangers. Like our short time shared together didn't mean anything to him, while he was the only one I could think about.
"He's gonna stay at my place for the summer," Steve continues just as Buchanan turns around, giving me his back and the trunk of the truck his whole attention.
I suddenly feel aware of my worn out pajama top and shorts and my messy hair, as though I shouldn't. I've always been comfortable with my body and the way I look. But at that moment, not so much.
I try to speak but no sound comes out of my mouth so I clear my throat.
"I'll let you guys unpack and settle down," I say, slowly walking backwards to where I come from with a blush of my face.
"See ya later," Steve winks at me as he bends down and grabs a suitcase.
Bracing myself in the kitchen a minute later, I allow myself to glance once last time through the window towards the Rogers' driveway.
His dark brown hair falling down on his forehead, my heart beats fast and I'm growing hot at the sight.
Do I have a fever?
Am I on drugs?
I already know the answer to the latter so why even after I put the back of my hand to my forehead and come out without any worrying temperature, do I still see the stranger that I met in an airport thousands of miles away from here in front of my neighbor's house?
My best friend's house.
But when his gaze meets mine, as if he sensed I was here, I'm now sure about one thing.
