But there was something in that brief moment that made it hard for me to look away from Denise.
Maybe it was the confidence. Or the take-no-shit attitude.
Hell, it could’ve even just been that I’m probably a masochist and the thought of her berating me turned me on.
But there was also this way that Denise softened whenever she was talking to Amiyah. Or her dad. Even Joshey was granted that look a handful of times.
It wasn’t this grand thing. I don’t even think she noticed she did it. Whenever Amiyah laughed, the corner of Denise’s mouth would slightly twitch, as if she couldn’t help herself.
It happened after that moment with Cash.
Amiyah made a joke. Denise tried not to smile.
I’ve caught it when her dad passionately goes over plays.
Or when Sarah or Bethany dish her shit right back.
I chalked it up to me just finding her hot.
Who wouldn’t?
The way her blonde shoulder-length hair practically glows in the sunlight would stupefy anyone. And her seafoam green eyes constantly look like they’re either judging or assessing if you’re going to be a problem for her or not.
Sure, she always has her makeup, hair, and nails done. Always dressed as if she has somewhere better to be. But behind all of that, I always got this sense that there was more to uncover.
I thought that maybe after finally getting a chance with her that this ache in my chest would go away. The need to constantly try and be around her would dissipate. The addictiveness of needing her to say anything as long as it’s directed toward me would disappear.
If anything, it made it worse.
I want more.
Not just sex but of her unguarded laugh.
Her eyes on me.
The way her teasing grows just a little softer, like for once she might actually care about hurting my feelings.
I know this essentially means I’m screwed.
This shouldn’t even be a big deal. I should be able to say I’ve had her once and I’ll find someone else.
Someone that doesn’t scowl when I look at her too long or someone who is a little nicer.
The rational part of me knows that wanting Denise isn’t the safest option. Because there’s a very high chance that she’ll never want me back. Not in the way I want her.
Hopelessly desperate.
But then there’s also a part of me that’s fine with being whatever she wants me to be, as long as I’m hers in some way.
I run a hand over my face, letting out a deep sigh. The apartment has now grown quiet. My blanket still rests on my hips. My body continues to tingle and burn just at the memory of where Denise’s hands had been.
And a smile still rests on my lips just from thinking of when I’ll get to see her again.
I’m fucked.
Screwed.
Utterly and acceptingly pathetic.