Blueprint

P1 - Airborne

The lovely, masculine smell of his cologne was staggering to me. Hair gelled and combed neatly back, exposing the a strong, trimmed jaw and pretty green eyes, adorned by long lashes. I was one for attempting to avoid any male gaze or interaction, but my mother's lawyer was grinning a dimpled, friendly, and handsome smile at us. He was watching his assistant pour us more coffee, though I mumble a sweet, soft and meek refusal in return.

The shadow across his jaw and upper lip increase the noticeable aging. I predicted he was maybe in his early thirties. While his soft, pink, and dewy lips move in slowed speed in my head while he explains some basics to my mother, I watch him...breathing deeply.

My eyes wander down his neck. Unshaven, lightly tanned skin from the sun, Adam's apple bobbing with the deep, sexy baritone of his voice. I inhale deeply and shove my hands between my crossed legs, observing his strong, expansive and ringed hands as they glide a piece of paper towards my mother. I see the decorative jewelry, but not the kind of ring that would discourage my flustering, hot feelings.

"I feel there's not much of a discussion for this," he insists to my mother — her lips are sealed and her cold, bright eyes are gazing at the lawyer in front of us with a nodding head, acknowledging the man's concerns and statements. Her chin raises slightly, fake pearl earrings visible at her ears. Straightened brown hair brushed back into a struggling pony tail. The tacky white sweater beneath her old jacket struggling to compliment whatever "fancy" facade she's attempting to mirror. I glance back and forth between the two adults.

My nineteen years of life have been nothing but quite disappointing. Studies and church, sports and clubs. College is just the same, if not worse, as I am forced, through my psychological routine, to avoid socializing with my peers. Especially my male counterparts. And as I stare at the attractive lawyer in front of me, speaking to my mother with a charming smile, I grimace so subtly and faintly at the overwhelming fact, my eyebrows furrowing at the micro level. Never have I ever sought an adventure. But oh, may the Lord forgive me for the one I'm imagining now.

Green eyes lock with my own, his cheerful and glistening. Mine widened with an innocent, oblivious exterior. I hadn't noticed at all that my mother had gotten up to use the restroom, leaving me with the lawyer, who's name I have yet to pay attention to. Lowering my head and staring at my clasped palms on my lap now, I resist looking at him in the face.

"So you go to a university?" He tries to make conversation with me, exposing a set of white teeth, grinning at me in such a boyish way it was hard not to deviate from the reality of his profession. Charm — that was it.

My clammy hands rub against the fabric of my long skirt, which was such an ugly, tan muted color. Suddenly my brown turtle neck suffocates me, itching my neck and assisting the red hues tinting my cheeks. His eyes wander across my shying face, lowering his head to see if he could get me to talk, goofy grin painted on his kissable lips. "You don't want to talk, got it," he gently nods, leaning into his chair and folding a leg over his lap, shuffling papers in his ring clad hands.

I part my lips, but he doesn't see my attempt to voice anything out because he's busied with circling and scribbling on his papers with a ball-point pen worth more than my entire outfit. At least he's not offended by my inability to properly respond.

"Sit up, Athena," I hear my mother's scolding, and abruptly, I do as she says. Our lawyer glances up from his lowered head, observing the way I blink and my meekness in response to my mother's demands. She takes the seat next to me again, shoving her falsified designer purse into the side of her chair before placing her hands over the surface of the polished, mahogany of the table.

"So, Harry..." my mother speaks in the direction of the lawyer, but she reaches her two hands over to button up my sweater. My cheeks flush so brightly, the deep tan of my skin not concealing the pinking tone. I avert my eyes from Harry, who's name I now know, from the embarrassment. His green eyes watch my mother speak, though I know he ignores the way she conceals my fitted turtle neck with the baggy knitted sweater. Maybe he hadn't figured why, but I knew my mother, and I knew she didn't approve the way my shirt exposed the noticeable round shape of my large breasts. She fixed the golden cross pendant, tapping the jewelry promptly before reaching away, clasping her hands on her lap, sitting up readily to listen to Harry's explanation.