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He’s staring at me.
And working out. But mostly staring.
I was on my way up to the main house for the daily morning meeting when I was stopped by Grace and we started chatting. As usual, Tina was already gone before I even woke up.
Two seconds into the conversation, I realized a presence. Like when the air is so heavy and saturated, and you know that the sun is going to scorch the earth today.
The air seemed full and brimming but I knew it wasn’t the sun.
It was him.
Anyway, right now, he’s by the pool, doing push-ups. In nothing but a pair of black track pants as he watches me talk with Grace.
What’s his aversion to clothes? Why can’t he work out in a shirt or something? Why does he have to put his… sculpted muscles on display?
People who wanna rub one out.
I shake my head and dismiss his crass words. But I can’t dismiss what’s happening in front of me.
With every rep, his arms strain and bulge, and I think that any time those veins of his will pop out of his skin.
Whatever. I don’t care.
Neither do I care about the fact that he’s glistening, and I can see every ripple and groove of his shoulders and back. Even the drops of sweat that are pooling in those ridges.
Why’s he working out in this heat, anyway? The main house has a big gym, for God’s sake.
“Hey, do you want to walk and talk?” I interrupt Grace, loudly, looking away from him.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Okay. But we do have some time before the meeting.”
“I know. Let’s just go. Let’s impress Mrs. S with how early we can arrive.”
Grace smiles. She has light brown hair and kind, brown eyes. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”
I begin walking and with every step, I feel like my thighs are shaking even more than usual. My entire body is bouncing more than it usually does.
It’s him. He makes me conscious of my figure. I thought I’d forgotten all the mean things his minions would say to me when my boobs started growing back in the ninth grade.
But that’s the thing about bullying, isn’t it?
You never forget. Never. You might pretend that everything’s okay now. That it doesn’t affect you anymore, their little insults and jeers. That years might have dulled their effect.
But he’s bringing it all back for me.
“Who’s him?” I ask her nonchalantly.
“The new Mr. Prince.”
Mr. Prince sounds super weird. I only ever think of him as Zach, the asshole.
I decide to walk faster and not think about what that is doing to my body. The sooner I’m out of his sight, the better. “Nope.”
She chuckles. “Okay. Don’t tell me. But just so you know, he was staring at you.”
I try to swallow, push saliva down my throat, but it’s like my heart’s stuck there and it won’t budge.
I know he was staring at me. He still is. I can feel his eyes on my back as I keep walking away, trying not to be self-conscious in my own skin.
