Duckie

Chapter 3: As The Romans

I can't believe he saw my behind...

My. Behind.

I hadn't left my room in three hours as the mortification of it sunk in. The thought kept spinning in my mind like a hamster on its wheel, and for some reason, that hamster had mad stamina. Finally, the hamster flew off of the wheel and I wailed into my palms pathetically. I groaned, dragging my hands down my face and dragging the skin under my eyes down until I looked like a bulldog in my vanity mirror. Following the bulldog face was a fish face as I squished my cheeks towards my mouth, causing my lips to pucker as my eyebrows creased in frustration. How was I ever going to live this down? He saw my tushie, for cripe's sake!

As I sat silently at my vanity, rethinking the same thought like a broken record, I heard voices downstairs. I recognized Maddox's annoying voice first and rolled my eyes instinctively, but an elated gasp escaped my lips when I heard the other voice.

All embarrassing thoughts in my head forgotten, I stampeded down the stairs and spotted the ponytail of corkscrew curls sitting at the counter. Without a second thought, I threw myself onto Oliver's shoulders, giggling into the curve of his neck. His deep and resounding laugh bounced off of the tile walls of the kitchen and rang delightfully in my ears.

Oliver turned his warm jade eyes towards me and flashed me a smile with his blindingly white teeth. "Hi Duckie, how's it goin'?" He asked me casually, his smooth tenor voice like chocolate to my strawberry.

I closed my eyes as I listened intently to his enrapturing voice. I wiggled my finger in a circular motion through the air, a content smile on my lips, "Say that again," I hummed.

Again, that unearthly laugh filled my ears and I sighed, looking into his eyes as he repeated, "Hi Duckie, how's it goin'?"

I shrugged nonchalantly strolling over to the stool around the corner of the counter. It never got less embarrassing when I had to hop—with a little more oomph than most people, might I say—to land atop the kitchen stools. "I start college tomorrow, so there's that," I mentioned, pretending that it was no big deal when, inside, I was dancing like a madman, excited beyond words for the whole new world that I was about to be exposed to.

Oliver noticed instantly and played along, shrugging his own amazingly broad shoulders as he leaned an elbow on the counter and crossed his arms, "True, it's not all it's cracked up to be." He winked at me, his long and dark eyelashes creating enough wind to blow me off my stool.

I jest, but the reason I am constantly talking about the beauty of this creature is because his beauty deserves to be talked about. Oliver has been a model since he was seventeen, and I don't blame him or the agency that scouted him, because he is gorgeous. His skin is a warm and glowing bronze that accents the long chocolate ringlets that hang to his shoulders. His hair isn't an afro, but still has a lot of volume, with some curls towards the front cut shorter in order for him to see. He has a strong and chiseled jaw with high cheekbones and cute little dimples that appear when he smiles. His shimmering jade green eyes are slightly hooded, making him more masculine when paired with the long, straight bridge of his nose. His full lips shine a deep, warm pink, his top lip slightly smaller than the bottom, and his eyebrows are dark and the perfect amount of thick and straight.

All in all, he's a blessing sent from the heavens, a perfect specimen. He has the face, the personality, the shoulders, and the stature, rivaling Nico's towering height. And did I mention the shoulders?

That model-esque stature was put on display when he stood to saunter to the refrigerator with a relaxed grace that only a model could possess. I sighed in admiration while I watched him openly.