Page 39 of The F*ck-It List

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Bea, I can’t—”

“No, of course, I wasn’t trying to um—”

“I’m not interested in—"

“Oh god, no. I really didn’t mean to kiss you!” I somewhat lie. “I mean, I was just going for your cheek, I was just saying thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did.”Except for the fact I kind of want to rub my naked body against your naked body.

He nods, unable now to look me in the eye. “Okay, well, that’s fine then.” He clears his throat. “We’re uh, friends.”

“Friends,” I agree, feeling regret for the word I’d been pushing so hard to hear from his lips.

“Great. So, I’m going to go.” He steps around me, giving me a wide berth, and he’s gone. All the joy I’d been feeling minutes ago out the door with him.

twelve

No. 12: Ride a horse

August

This is a bad idea. I’ve made up for my shitty behaviour, I don’t need to do anything more for Bea, and should be keeping a distance. As much as I pushed her away and told her I didn’t want her, I do. God help me, I do want her. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be at her front door early in the morning, ready to spend more time with her. But apparently, I’m a slut for punishment because I just can’t seem to stay away. I’m determined to stay strong though, nothing can happen between me and Bea, I will not be the heart of Port Doone’s gossip, and I will not get involved with someone from the village…again.

Despite my reservations, I knock on Bea’s door, hoping she’s up. When the door swings open, my breath catches in my throat, and my eyes bug out of their sockets. A makeup free Bea stands in front of me, her bubble-gum pink hair piled messily atop of her head, her kind of mean black cat curled around her neck like a travel pillow. She’swearing a ribbed white tank top that stretches over her tits in a way that makes it painfully obvious she’s not wearing a bra, the protrusion of her tight little nipples testing both the stability of the fabric and my waning willpower. The oversized, fluffy cardigan she wears has dropped off one shoulder, showing the creamy skin there, her pyjama shorts have cartoon coffee cups on them, and the smooth skin of her thighs is incredibly inviting. Her feet are covered by fluffy socks in pink and yellow stripes, one is pulled up straight, all the way to her knee, but the other has slouched down to her shin. Her lips form a perfect ‘o,’ clearly surprised to see me at her door after I walked away from her the other day, and in the hand not holding the open door, a steaming mug that says ‘Read books, have morals.’

“Hi,” she says, a little breathy, a shy smile tipping up the side of her mouth.

“Hi,” I practically choke out the word, my eyes still roaming over her body. Why do they keep dipping to those ridiculous socks?

I realise she’s probably waiting for me to say more as I’m the one who knocked on her door, so I give myself a mental slap on the cheek to snap me out of the hypnosis she seems to have put me under.

“I uh…are you busy today?” I say, trying to force my face into something neutral and sending a prayer into the universe that she didn’t notice me practically drooling over her.

“I have the coffee machine repair guy coming later this afternoon. Why?” She tilts her head kind of adorably and her cat meows in protest.

“I wanted to take you somewhere.” Her eyes widen and I stutter to clarify. “Not like a date, like a surprise. I mean, I think you’ll like it.It’s just a thing…from your list. I wanted to, uh, help.”Stop talking, you almighty nincompoop.

Her sunshine smile lights up her whole face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I croak, the badness of this idea growing like a balloon ready to pop.

“Um, okay. Come in.” She steps aside and I slide against the door jam in an attempt to keep as much distance between us as possible. “You want a coffee?”

“No, thank you.” I look around the downstairs room, purposefully avoiding glimpses of smooth thighs or fluffy socks. “We best make a move if you want to get back for your coffee machine repair guy.”

“Okay,” she chirps and takes a large gulp of her coffee before placing her mug in the sink. The cat gives up trying to hold on and jumps down to the counter in front of me, staring with unimpressed yellow eyes. Bea practically runs up the stairs, and my heart jumps up to my throat.

“Don’t slip!” I shout out of instinct.

She stops halfway up the stairs and smiles at me over her shoulder before kicking a foot up behind her. “It’s okay, they have grippies, see?”

Not knowing what the hell grippies are but knowing I don’t want to inspect her too closely, I just nod and turn away to the sound of her thudding footsteps. Bad idea, this is such a bad idea.

“Oh,” Bea breathes, less excited and more nervous than I was expecting.

“Oh?” I look down at her to see her wringing her hands in front of her, her bottom lip pinched tight between her teeth.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” she says quietly, and I get this sinking feeling in my gut that this was an even bigger mistake than I initially thought.