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This can't be happening.
No way in the seven gates of Hell can this be happening. This is worse than people putting milk in before water when making tea, worse than slow walkers, worse than anything.
I could not be starting to like Brad Simpson romantically.
After our trip to the cinema, I tried distancing myself from him to prove to myself that I didn't like him because I could last a long time without him.
It didn't last long since a few days later he had ended up asking me if he'd done something and I told him I was focusing on my uni work because I got scared and didn't want him to hate me. I shouldn't care about what Brad has to think about me.
It was a week until we broke up for Christmas and also nine days before Christmas and Brad and I hadn't spoken much, mostly due to me not sparking a conversation and also because Brad and I were both drowning in endless amount of essays.
It was a Sunday night and we were both at the dorm on our laptops doing an essay. We had agreed to put on The Wombats while we worked since we liked the same kind of music.
I wasn't in the right mindset to be typing up about fashion, especially when all I could think about was the shirtless, curly-haired boy sat on the bed next to mine.
After a few moments of me tapping my fingers across the laptop, Brad shoots me a glare, telling me to stop, before turning back to his laptop and clicking and typing more and more.
"I give up," I declare after a few more minutes of me being stuck on what I'm going to write. Writer's block can suck on my flat ass. "I give up with university. I'm gonna drop out and become a stripper."
"I'll pay you to be my stripper."
"What?"
"Nothing," he shakes his head. Why was him speaking to me making me nervous all of a sudden? My heart has never been beating so fast while talking to someone, especially someone like Brad.
Brad is an annoying little prick who only cares about himself, I tell myself. I just had to convince myself that I don't like Brad because it would be totally absurd if I did.
"What are you stuck on?" He asks, pushing his laptop off of his lap and moving on to my bed. He sits next to me, one arm around my shoulder while his other hand reaches out to shift the laptop screen so he can read it better.
No, no, no. Please go away so that my body doesn't start having a butterfly attack.
"Uh, I don't know how to start my conclusion," I tell him, tearing my eyes from his face before he notices me staring. I never noticed how undeniably beautiful he is. "I've been trying to start it for the past ten minutes but they're all shit."
"Pass it here," he demands and I quickly give him my laptop. His fingers brush over mine and although I can guarantee that it had no effect on Brad, it send sparks through my skin and I hated myself for it.
