𝔹𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➂

𝟛.

I grab my luggage from the overhead compartment and stand in the aisle. I fidget nervously as I wait to exit the airplane. I'm anxious to get off this thing. I'm anxious to see Jamie. I've never been anxious to see him but the funny thing my stomach is doing right now is definitely anxiety related.

Speaking of funny things my stomach is doing, it was definitely doing some really funny things when Jamie had picked up the phone last week too. When he'd answered the phone in nothing but a towel, water dripping down his perfectly toned abdomen, my mouth went dry. Remembering that I was sitting next to his fifteen-year-old sister made me forget those particular feelings though. Not that I have any particular feelings about him shirtless and wet anyway.

No, I don't have any of those type of feelings for him. I don't think about him doing particular things to me. Nope, I don't think about how sweet his skin tasted when I'd bitten into his shoulder while he was doing particular things rather roughly.

Stop thinking about it, Amelia. I scold myself as I clench my thighs. I remember the bright pink thong on his bed which helps rid my mind of the things I wasn't thinking about.

Jamie isn't the relationship type of guy, I've always known that. He's never really had a girlfriend and when he kind of did they all hated me. None of them could stand the fact that his best friend was a female. They all thought he was sleeping with me, that there was something more than just friendship going on between us.

I guess I don't blame girls for assuming that though. I know everything about Jamie. He knows everything about me. We can finish each other's sentences without even thinking about it. He and I are extremely close. Now, well, we're a hell of a lot closer and any girl that asks him if he's slept with me before, like they all had, he'd have to tell them the truth. The moment he does our friendship will most likely be over.

I hate that most women see me as competition for Jamie's affection. Now that we've done what we've done they're definitely not going to want to have me sticking around. Especially with the way I look on top of the fact I've slept with Jamie. I look identical to my mother. Well, I'm not one-hundred percent sure about that since I have no idea who my real father is.

I am my mother's exact height; 5'6. I am her exact same build as well. I'm fit, perfectly-toned from head to toe, high cheek bones, big bright caramel-colored eyes, perfect teeth, and all of those other superficial things that make most other females look at me and glare. They have an automatic disdain for my existence. Men, on the other hand, look at me like they want to devour me; I hate it.

A lot of my teenage years I spent in baggy sweatshirts and loose-fitting jeans because I felt almost ashamed of being attractive. I was uncomfortable with myself. I didn't like the way people treated me because of my looks, so I covered them up. It wasn't until later on, when I got my first boyfriend, did I venture out of my usual sweats and a t-shirt, tom-boyish attire.