Please Don't Be So Shy

Lips

~Warning:
Mentions of bullying and homophobic slang.~

I slide into Scott's small black car, and he closes the door and walks to the driver's side.

"Such a gentleman," I tease as he jams his keys into the ignition.

He ignores me and says, "Buckle up, Grassi, she's not too easy on the brakes." I stick my tongue out at him and giggle, pulling the belt across my chest.

"Imma bite that tongue off!" I raise my eyebrows as he realizes what he just said. "Shit, I didn't mean that." His face is literally a strawberry.

"Mhmmm," I hum sarcastically through my grin, squinting at him.

The next few minutes of the car ride are quiet and awkward until a very familiar tune drifts through the speakers. Scott gasps and turns the volume up. He starts to softly sing along.

"I been drinkin, I been drinkin..."

I join in for the next lines:

"I get filthy when that liquor get into me
I been thinkin, I been thinkin,
Why can't I keep my fingers off you
Baby I want you
Nah-nah"

Soon we're belting out the lyrics as loud as our voices allow. There are a lot of sensored lines on the radio, but we don't care and holler the dirtier verses. Next thing I know we're laughing our heads off, but still trying to get the lyrics out. I'm voguing and he's head banging, messing up his perfect swirl, transforming it into a mess, but it makes him look exceptionally hot.

He stops at a red light and we both scream the last line, "LOOOOVE!!" We both catch the stare of an old man in the van next to us, and he's giving us a judging look. We catch each other's eyes for a millisecond before we start cracking up at the sight of each other's crazy hair and red face. Tears are streaming down my face as I struggle to breathe.

"Why are you crying?" He laughs, causing me to start cackling even harder. My brain is screaming for oxygen when I finally start breathing again, and we jump at the sound of a car horn. We realize simultaneously that the light is green.

A man in the car behind us gives Scott the bird, and we both return it giggling. He starts driving again, still chuckling a bit. I run my hands under my eyes, smearing the tears all over my face.

"You're a Beyoncé fan?" I question, suprised.

"The biggest! She's, like, the queen. Who wouldn't love her?"

"True."

"Once some guy said she wasn't talented, I literally lectured him until my voice was hoarse. I can't believe he would say that!!" And with that, we're laughing hysterically again.

We're finally settled down when he pulls up to a nice-looking grey house. It's slightly larger than mine, and it has a huge patio off the left side. I pull my bag higher on my shoulder and follow him up the sidewalk to the front door. He digs for his house keys and unlocks the it, pushing it open.

It reveals a spotless living room with a leather couch and an expensive flat screen tv. The hardwood floors are shiny and polished. The small rug is wrinkless, and it's not covered it cat hair like the one in my house. I take a deep breath in, engulfing myself with the warm, sweet smell that is always lingering on Scott.

"My mom is kind of a clean freak, whenever she's not at work she cleans constantly. She's not home, by the way." He says, putting his school bag up on a hanger. "You can set your stuff down where you are, I don't mind."

"And your dad?" I ask.

"He left when I was really little," He sighs, "from what I've heard, he was a world class douche bag. My mom deserved better."