"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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BUCHANAN'S POV
I've been watching them since she walked into the shop.
People aren't streaming everything now? How the fuck a record shop can still be open these days? It's beyond me.
My Sunshine is talking to the owner, her elbows propped on the counter with a big smile on her beautiful face as he checks out her boobs every now and then. And she's not even wearing a bra. Her nipples poking out from the fabric of her yellow silk mini dress.
My dick is hard and I'm fuming. He doesn't deserve her smiles. He simply doesn't deserve her. I'm not saying that I do, but I don't fucking care.
As if he knew she was coming, the fucker with untrimmed sideburns bought her her favorite drink from the coffee shop down the street. Iced Matcha Latte, almond milk based, two pumps of brown sugar syrup with vanilla sweet cream cold foam on top.
Ask me how I fucking know it's her favorite.
I've tried it once. Not really my thing but I bet it would taste better drinking out of her mouth. Just saying.
She has no idea he's trying to fucking flirt with her and it fucking infuriates me. Or maybe she knows, and just decides to play with him like a cat plays with a mouse. No, my sunshine is not like that. I know her. In my story, she's not a cat, except sometimes for the way she purrs my name from her pretty mouth. But she'd rather be the one who gets chased and I'd be the stalker.
"Hey Buck," I hear someone say, pulling me out of my thoughts. "You okay?"
"What?"
I suddenly remember Steve sitting across from me in the booth of the diner across the record shop. We threw some balls to exercise before coming here for burgers and some fries.
From what Steve told me -I already knew that but let me tell you I acted like I didn't, nodding and saying some "really?' 'no way!' here and there; it was pretty convincing- Jolene wasn't a cheerleader.
It had taken me a minute to find the audition tapes from the Emerald City High drama club. I watched hers over and over and over. Sometimes with my hand wrapped around my stiff cock, sometimes just to admire her unique beauty.
Though she usually sat front row during The Gems' games, making the colors of the team her everyday dress code, I know she's not someone who particularly enjoys watching sports. I suspect she said she did only because Steve is a quarterback and she wanted to get closer to him.
I don't even like football myself so she won't have to fake it with me.
"You remember the hit you did against the Red Skulls? Fucking beautiful, man," Steve says as he wipes his salty and greasy hands from the burger and the fries with his wrinkled napkin.
I only nod, and I glance once again through the large window, peeking up at Jolene who's now wandering in the aisles, looking for her next find. Seriously, who prefers CDs over vinyls? I can be quite accommodating when it comes to her for a lot of things. The milk before or after the cereals? Wearing or not wearing socks in sandals? You do you, you know? I'll be your biggest fan. But we'll need to have a serious conversation about that at a certain point in our relationship, don't you think, Sunshine? Enough of that Y2K trend. I'm very old fashioned, what can I do about it?
