10 Things: A Cody Simpson Fan Fiction

Thirty

“So. . ."

          "Let me guess, you’re going to serenade me with a song on your guitar, once we’ve gotten ourselves comfortably seated on the picnic mattress laid on the sand,” I suggested as he drove us down town, towards the beach area.

          There’s no way he won’t be serenading me with that precious guitar of his lying at the backseat of his baby for a car. It’s just—I can’t imagine that not happening, you feel me?

          Letting out a loud laugh, he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair while his other hand rested on the steering wheel; fingers curled tightly around it. He began shaking his head, “Babe, have you read too much fan fictions about me before we met?”

          Of all the things I expected coming from him, that was totally not any of them. In fact, it caught me so off guard that I began blushing like there’s no tomorrow because he was right.

          As embarrassing as it may sound, yes; I used to read fan fictions about my boyfriend.

          Main words though: Used to.

          I mean, what the hell? Who would’ve expected for the both of us to meet? I definitely never expected that, much less knew. Hence, I decided to ease my high hopes by reading them.

          And strange enough, I’m having my very own love story with him—and this time, it’s non-fiction.

          “Hello, lover girl ninety-seven—you there?” Cody’s soft chuckle and gentle nudge on my head sent me back down to earth, causing me to clear my throat.

          I’ve always detested zoning out whenever I’m with him; I just think, I should cherish every moment I have with him, you know?

          “Yup, you’ve definitely gone to space again.” Snicker.

          “No,” I giggled slightly, “no. I’m not in space, at the moment.”

          “Good,” he swiftly slid his fingers into my hair and slid them down till the very end until our fingers found their way together. Pulling my hand up to his face, he brushed his lips lightly against my knuckles, melting my insides. “Anyway, we’ve reached. Ready to go?”

          “Oh, trust me,” I pulled a fist onto my chest above my heart, “yes.”

          Untwining our fingers unwillingly, I quickly pushed open the car door for exit and rushed forward, waiting for him to catch up so that I could hook my arm with his. Lately, I just can’t stand not having my skin in contact with his.

          Somehow, I’ll just lose the sense of security I have inside of me that eats me up entirely.

          Walking us forward, he rounded his arm around my waist and led me towards, I guess, where we would be sitting (question mark) or rather, dining tonight.

          And you’d be surprised with his pick of location.

          Okay, so maybe I’ve read too many fan fictions in the past, but don’t they always end up having the picnic mattress laid by the sea with a long, romantic candle in the middle of it and a pretty brown basket sitting on one of the corners?

          Not to mention a guitar for him to perform for the night.

          I promise, he’s even admitted that fact in one of the interviews he did. Not so recent, but a couple years ago, where’s the difference in that?