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I stared, I gawked, and then I tried to pull myself together. But the way she nervously ran the tip of her tongue along her lush upper lip is playing on repeat in my head still. I want her, but I can’t do this because she’s just a kid.
But I know that isn’t true. No kid has large, jiggly breasts and big hips the way she does. Zoe’s blossomed fully, to put it politely, and I’d love to sink into that fragrant nectar.
But this is wrong. Zoe doesn’t think of me that way. Instead, she’s still shy and girlish. She seemed shocked that Patty and I were play-fighting, and was exceedingly polite when my dad came out. That’s the Zoe I know. That’s the Zoe that actually exists, and not the vixen that I’ve been envisioning in my mind.
Nonetheless, I’m toying with the idea of approaching her at the party this weekend. It’s something I would never dream of if I still lived under my parent’s roof because it would be downright dirty to hook up with her while my parents are outside. But the thought of the scandal it could cause just makes it even more intriguing to me.
What can I say? I’m a red-blooded man, and she’s a minx.
Then again, if memory serves, Zoe isn’t my normal type. She’s serious, mature, and intelligent. She actually takes school seriously and does her homework, unlike the floozies that usually decorate my arm. Those women don’t even graduate from high school, although it’s never bothered me before. But I know better. Zoe would never put up with my usual bullshit. With her, it would be the real thing.
Unfortunately, relationships scare the living crap out of me. I truly enjoy my freedom. I love my bachelor pad, and I love coming home to my solitude and a cold beer after work. I like being able to have the boys over for poker nights. The thought of having to check in with a girlfriend and getting my nights out pre-approved has always irked me. No thanks.
I’m also the type of asshole-ish guy that generally waits for a girl to come to me. Not to sound like an egotistical maniac, but frankly, the women come. They swan over to where I’m standing, lashes fluttering while shaking their ta-tas in my face. But once again, Zoe doesn’t fall into this category. She’s just too good for this kind of rancid foreplay, and has too much dignity and honor. Usually, this would put me off but for the first time, that fact is intriguing me even more.
Finally, it’s time to head home. I snort ruefully while packing my bag. I got shit done today, and customers were happy with my work. Yet, even as I take off on my bike, I think of Zoe again. Should I talk to her this weekend? Should I put the moves on the innocent girl? Damn, I’m dirty.
Once home, I order a pizza, pop open a beer, and sit down to a tv show. Yet instead of laughing to some corny sitcom, I find myself thinking that it would be nice to have someone to share this moment with. What the hell is wrong with me?
Man, we’ve barely spoken to each other in the past. What on Earth is going on?
I eventually decide to call it a night and click the TV off before heading to my room. I climb into bed and the last thing that crosses my mind before I close my eyes is how wrong these thoughts I’m having about Zoe are. But wrong or right, they are there, and in the space between sleep and wakefulness, my mind drifts.
I close my eyes and the image flashes again. I see Zoe leaning against a white wall with that sexy tongue tracing its way along those pink lips I’d love to taste for myself. I see the way she looks at me, throwing her head back and laughing as I make some inane comment. I see her nude, on her knees, kneeling between my thighs and she bends her head.
Oh shit. I slip a hand under the covers and begin to increase the tension beneath my boxers, pumping my hand rapidly up and down until I release with a roar. The image of her curvy body sates me, but it’s only temporary. Now I need her even worse, and I groan while battering my pillow with confusion. Shit. What’s happening? Finally, I drift off into an uneasy sleep, Zoe still haunting my dreams.
3
Zoe
I’m at home in my room, doodling in my diary. My parents are always urging me to hangout downstairs and do my drawing in the family room because they’re very social.
“We never get to see you!” my dad Conrad jokes. “You’re always locked away in your room, nose to canvas. Why not be nose to canvas with a different set of four walls around you?”
