Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

// p a r t o n e //

The flight from LAX to Heathrow was nearly eleven hours, and this bizarre sensation of exhaustion and excitement filled my head. I was a California girl, but not from a big city. I had gotten used to it over the past couple years, studing at UCLA, but even packed Los Angeles was nothing compared to the density of bodies in London, I quickly learned.

After what seemed like ages of going through the motions at the terminal, I retrieved my luggage. Although I didn't remember packing concrete blocks, I was sure that was what was in my suitcases. I scanned the crowd of people, looking for George. He had grown exceptionally tall in the last six years since I had seen him, or so I had learned from social media.

After continuing on my path, a small crowd of people dispersed and I saw him. He was dressed in dark gray jeans, a black t-shirt, and he had a wide smile on his face. He also had a piece of paper that read "CLAIRE".

Christ, he was so tall.

And cute.

"Claaaaaaire!" He shouted.

A laugh launched out of me, and I dropped my suitcases then ran towards him.

He opened his long, muscular arms out and picked me up in a friendly embrace, spinning me around.

"George Daniel!" I squealed. "Oh my God, you're so tall!"

George wiggled me around before easing me back down to the ground.

"Yup," he nodded. "Actually, I think you're just short."

I was 5'2 and three quarters, for his information.

"Oh, crap, my bags," I shouted, scrambling my way through people to get to them.

George followed me, and picked most of them up like they were empty.

"Thanks for picking me up," I said. "We should grab lunch after I drop my stuff off at my apartment. God, I hope the pictures do it justice."

George was walking unnnaturally fast and I was struggling to keep up with him. Those damn long legs.

"Yeah, for sure," George replied, his eyes focused on me.

His perfect teeth shown through a smile.

"Agh, Claire," he said, shaking his messy hair. "You look good, kid."

I shook my head. "I'm only three years younger than you, George. And thanks."

After a long ride, George and I made our way to my new apartment, or shall I say "flat", and carried my belongings inside. It was a small place, but cute and kept-up. It was on the sixth floor, and was all furnished with a small, cute sofa and matching chair in the living room. There was a full size bed and decent dresser in the bedroom, and a small but working stove and fridge in the kitchen.

I looked around the room and sighed. Finally, I was here. My classes didn't start for another week, so I had time to settle in, get to know my surroundings.

I unzipped my suitcase as George opened the curtains to my bedroom. I grabbed a handful of panties, trying to discreetly put them in the top dresser drawer.

Of course, I bumped my knee on the bedframe and dropped them all after letting out a loud "fuck!"

George bent down and picked some of the panties up before he even knew what he was doing. He felt the fabric in his hands and chuckled, blushing slightly.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered him. "Can you please put my underwear down?"

George eyed me playfully, carefully examining a pair of black lace boyshorts.

"What the hell did you bring these for?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked offensively.

He still had them in his hand.

"You're gonna break some poor man's heart with these," he smiled.

I swallowed at him.

George Daniel was no longer an awkward, gangly teenage boy that I knew six years ago. He was now a tall, handsome man, with a jawline that could kill and well-defined arms I was picturing wrapped around me.

I was not his mum's best friend's little girl anymore, either. I was a young woman. I was old enough. I wasn't a kid. Would he think I was a kid?

The last time I saw George, I had braces and he had pimples. They never let us play together with the door closed, altough we never did anything remotely naughty.

George cleared his throat and threw them at me.

I wadded them up and threw them in a drawer before shutting it. Something about the way he was holding my panties made me want to jump on him.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him.

George cracked his knuckles. "I'm always hungry. What are you in the mood for?"

Those muscular arms wrapped around my body, I thought.

Instead, I sarcastically immitated his thick British accent. "Aye, a bit of tea."

George's pretty eyes narrowed at me, and he stepped closer to me.

"Are you making fun of me, Claire?"

His voice was so deep.

"What are you going to do about it, George?" I teased him, pronouncing his name with a British accent.

"You have no manners," he whispered, stepping his long legs closer to me. "It's time you ought to be taught some."

Suddenly, he grabbed my hips and started tickling my ferociously. I squealed and swatted at him. He guided me to the bed, and laid me on my back, ticking my ribs, then my legs. I screamed and was out of breath as he let out a loud, deep laugh.

"Stopstopstop!" I shrieked.

He finally showed mercy and ceased the tickling.

I caught my breath and stared up at him, the sunlight beaming on his handsome face.

I gulped, and broke eye contact.

"That's what I thought, mate," he said, sliding his legs off the bed and offering a hand to stand me up.

I took it and laughed nervously.

"Still hungry?" George asked, smoothing back his hair.

"Starved," I replied.

George nodded and cocked his head toward the door.

"C'mon, then."