And the freckles? Can you say swoon!?
Not to mention the shallow dimple in his cheek. It’s not a deep one, but I’d lick it anyways.
Holy shit – Oh. No. I. Did. Not!
I’d lick it anyways? What the hell is wrong with me?!
Shocked with myself, I slap a hand over my mouth and stifle a groan. Shit. Guess I have a dirtier mind than I give myself credit for…
Then I think about his white, toothy grin – the one he gives so freely, even when he’s being a prick.
Alright, alright! Enough already!
So - even though we spent the good part the week sending each other what basically equaled, well - hate mail - I would still never have the nerve to venture to his side of the room. Or publicly acknowledge him.
Or say hello.
Or for that matter, look directly at him.
Not on purpose, anyways.
Some girls might have the lady balls to do it, but I am not one of them.
So I stand here, taking in every detail but pretending not to watch him. Which - believe me - is a skill that few have achieved at my level - but not impossible to learn.
Want to know what my secrets are? Simple:
I always make sure I’m looking above the person I’m watching. Like, above the top of their head. Find something fascinating on the wall behind them; trust me – you can stare at someone without ever looking directly at them. And whoa! Never in the face. That could be the kiss of death: I mean, do you really want to be caught staring?
And if you are caught? Do. Not. Panic. Do not find the nearest exit. Do not run away. Stiffen your spine, raise your chin a notch and give a wave. No, no no! NOT TO HIM. Pick someone near the object of your affection… Anyone! The bartender… the wingman – Give them a wave. This will give the illusion that you were staring at someone else the entire time. Crisis averted. Congrats, you no longer look like the Stalkarazzi.
Or, if you’re feeling brave; Go right ahead and keep on staring. One of two things is sure to happen:
The person you’re staring at will freak out and think you’re a creepy stalker, and it’s possible he will tell his friends to steer clear of you. Which is terrible. Especially if his friends are cute.
Or! The person you’re staring at will think you’re cute. Yay you! He will be intrigued and stare back. Which could turn into either a staring contest, or (if you’re lucky) he will have big enough balls to walk over and strike up a conversation.
Now, I wouldn’t exactly call these proven methods, and if you try to pull this off and fail miserably, don’t blame me. Plus, I wouldn’t recommend trying them straight out of the gate: practicing on a friend first is probably your best bet. It’s also important to note (while we’re on the subject of these mundane details), that I’m sharing all this because girls have to stick together. I mean hey, it’s entirely possible you don’t have a friend who is sharing dating bits of wisdom with you.
So for now I’ll consider it my civic duty to inform you some of the things I’ve picked up on over the years.
But I digress…
Back to Matthew.
I can hear the deep baritone of his vulgar voice booming over the crowd, and even though I can’t understand what he’s saying from here, it must be pretty freaking hilarious because the throng of groupies hanging on him is nothing short of obnoxious. Their giggling and laughter isn’t charming. It isn’t cute. It’s downright aggravating.
It’s not just girls either – guys are laughing at him too, like he’s a damn comedian.
Well I have news for you: there’s a difference between being funny because well… you’re actually funny - and then there’s having people laugh at you because they feel forced into it by some messed up obligation to kiss your famous ass. I have a feeling with Matt, it’s the latter.
I don’t know if I would want to be popular because I’m a conceited asshole; it isn’t exactly an endearing quality and eventually it does catch up to you. Professional athlete or not, karma can be a bitch.
Even with the ridiculously loud music being pumped through the speakers and people shouting to be heard, I can tell a lot of the laughter surrounding Matthew is fake – mostly because he’s surrounding himself with groupies.
And we all know those types (see: desperate) will force out a laugh over anything to get attention, even if it’s not remotely funny.
Ugh, I bet the arrogant ass is telling stories about himself.
Figures.
It occurs to me that I am being judgmental, and for a nanosecond I am overcome with guilt, so what do I do? Shoot up a quick prayer towards the ceiling of the bar, of course…