Bits and Pieces - An Unedited Collection

One Shot - Soaked

S O A K E D

f a r r a h   &   l a n c e

Farrah stood frozen, processing what just happened. She was wet, well at least her shirt was, so that means water. And the slight sting on her chest made her believe she was hit by... something.

Snapping out of her daze, she turned towards the initial direction of the projectile and instead of glaring at the assailant, she was struck (yet again!) by a bare chest who pulled her to the ground.

"I am so sor-" the chest tried to say before gravity did its thing and they were both on their backs in pain. Farrah, not being as athletically inclined as the chest - bare... with a six-pack - must have been because milliseconds after her ass hit the grass, so did the back of her head.

She let out a low groan and slowly reached to the back of her head. She heard laughter coming from behind her, but all she could think about was the throbbing ache from her occipital lobe.

The person responsible for the chaos, who had fallen beside her, quickly got to his side and leaned over her.

"Are you okay? I am so sorry about that!"

He was really close. And wet. And cute. And did I mention really close?

She wheezed out a pathetic "I'm fine," and tried to sit up. Thankfully he gave her some space and backed away.

Had she been holding her breath? Because once he was distanced from her and she was upright, she felt faint.

"Woah, woah, woah," nameless cutie cautioned as he reached out to support her. One of his hands was now on her back, while the other was on the shoulder farthest from him, meaning he was reaching across her chest. The cold water had soaked through the back of her shirt because of the wet grass they landed on, so the place where his hand rested felt like the sun burning holes in her back; hot.

She exhaled deeply and thought to herself, why did I have to go through Greek row again?

"My latte," she frowned. Her iced vanilla latte which was now on the ground, had been her reason for trekking across campus on her free day.

Mr. I'm-Sorry, turned to where she was staring at her spilled drink, and even more guilt covered washed over his face.

Turning back to her, he sincerely stared into her eyes, and apologized once more. "Shit, I really am sorry, can I help you stand?"

She took another deep breath and nodded. She grabbed his forearm, and he helped hoister her fully vertical. Once she was standing, she had expected him to release her, but he kept his grip firm.

"Do you need to get your head checked? I can take you. And I'll reimburse your drink cost, or just get you a new one."

"No, it's fine really. I just need a nap now," she assured him, subtly trying to get out of his grip.

"Hold on, look at me," he demanded softly.

Her eyes met his, and boy were they intense. She probably would've literally fallen too if he wasn't holding her up. He broke the staredown, but still looked unconvinced.

"Can you walk properly?"

"Probably," Not with you holding me though.

"Are you sure you don't need any assistance, you can take a seat on the porch until you feel a bit better," he offered, gesturing to the house behind him.

"I'm fine, really," she said, finally breaking away from his grip. To show him she truly was fine, she took a few steady steps back and did a little twirl. "See, fine."

He sighed in defeat, but still opened his mouth to say something.

"At least let me give you a shirt."

"Huh?" she quizzed, but he has already run off and grabbed a shirt that was hanging off the porch railing. He jogged back and handed her the shirt, but she still had a puzzled look on her face.

"I swear it's clean, plus it's dry and not..." he trailed gesturing to her top. She looked down. Oh yeah, white plus water equal bra show.

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. She really didn't want to complete the walk back to her dorm with her bralette for viewing, so she took the shirt from his hands and pulled it over her head. It was clean. She let the shirt fall around her without sticking her arms in so she could take off the wet tank under cover. Then the tank sleeves were off, she stuck her arms in the arm holes, then shimmied the tank down her legs and wadded it into a soggy ball.

"Thanks..." she trailed, phishing for a name.

"Lance. And I'm serious about that drink offer, can I get your number?" He must have seen the hesitation in my face so he quickly added, "Or an instagram handle, or even just your name?"

"It's Farrah."