Page 12 of Grease Monkey
Shay:I’d never go after him knowing you like him.
Shay:I might be a bitch but never to you.
Morgana:It’s not like that.
Shay:What is it like then? He’s hot, you’re hot, ergo, you bang.
Morgana:Ergo? Really?
Shay:Oh, c’mon, you big prude! You don’t want to be the only eighteen-year-old still holding their V-card.
Me:I’m not eighteen yet.
Shay:Oh good, there’s still time for you to get rid of it. I vote for the hottie next door.
Me:It’s not a game show where the winner gets my virginity, Shay. Besides, why would he be interested in me? The creep who watched him get a BJ?
Shay:HAHAHAHA. Oh, my sweet, innocent Morgs. Maybe he was into you watching. Were you into watching him?
Yes.
But that is one thing I can’t tell her.
I wait to reply, needing to carefully think of a response that doesn’t open up to ridicule, choosing to watch Teddy instead as he bends in half under the hood of his car, giving me an unobstructed view of his butt. Only when I hear muffled voices, do my eyes unglue themselves to watch Miles join his son, handing him a bottle and clapping Teddy’s shoulder so hard you can see him buckle from the weight. Miles laughs, so loud and animated, that it can be heard clearly through the closed window, and a pang of longing threatens a sob that wants to choke me. If Skip chose to stay, would he and our dad have ever been like them?
Miles grabs Teddy in a headlock, the colorful tattoos decorating his long arms dancing in the winter sun, his salt and pepper hair flopping about as they wrestle. Face red and laughing, Teddy frees himself, snatches his fallen cap from the ground, and shoves it on his head. The pair of them sip their drinks and set them to the side before returning their attention to the car.
Teddy stretches his arms above his head, and I’m spellbound. My lips part, and a gust of air fogs up the glass just as he grips the back of his sweat-soaked hoodie, tugging it over his head, the tee pulling up along with it to reveal his muscled back. They ripple as he works to untangle himself, then tosses the hoodie to the ground. I want to run my fingertips across his shoulder blades and down his spine, feel each contoured ridge of muscle against my skin. I didn’t think I had a thing for backs, but I definitely have something for Teddy’s back.I have something for many things about Teddy, it seems.
I bite down hard on my thumbnail, wanting him to face me while he’s still not fixed his tee. I want to see the front without Brittany’s stupid head in the way.
Please turn round.
Please turn round.
Please turn round.
Holy…
His front is even better than his back and much more defined in the sunlight, even when his muscles are relaxed. He wipes at his forehead with the bottom of his Henley, before pulling it down and covering himself back up. No longer is the tingling in my legs from loss of circulation. Pressure builds, and my body begs for some release. Today has awoken something dormant inside me, something I’ve never felt before. Teddy isn’t doing anything sexual, and I don’t understand how guys never seem to feel the cold in short-sleeved shirts, but as my mind drifts, so does my hand, lower and lower to the hem of my sweatshirt, dipping under so I can run my fingertips along the waistband of my yoga pants. My skin pebbles with goosebumps as my fingers tickle along my sensitive skin, slipping beneath to feel the lace of my panties. I know what I’m about to do is wrong, but I’m too far gone to care. I need this. I need to feel a fraction of the pleasure he had when our eyes met and I witnessed his release. Just as my fingers press lower, his stormy orbs look up straight at me like, somehow, he knewagainthat I was watching.
Losing my balance, I squeal, hand catching in my pants, as my free arm and legs flail and I crash to the floor. My phone smacks the side of my face, and the clip in my hair digs painfully into the back of my head. Mortification and shame crush me as I lie still, rubbing my smarting cheek and panting like I’ve just run a marathon. Muted laughter from outside hits my ears again, and I groan.
Of course, they must be laughing at me.
I dig around my hair, tug the broken clip from my curls, throw the mangled plastic across the room, and pull my hair over my face. Embarrassed and foolish, I lie on my plush pink carpet, quietly wishing I’d never need to see Teddy again.My phone buzzes from beside me, and I blindly smack along the floor, trying to find it.
Shay:YOU WERE SO INTO IT TOO, WEREN’T YOU?
I whine and put the device face down on my chest, wanting the world to swallow me. But worlds don’t open up, and instead, fate decides I’ve not suffered enough as my phone buzzes again. I don’t want to read Shay’s ribbing messages, but the fear of missing something important quickly turns into full-blown anxiety as I stare at the screen.
“GreaseMonkey69 started following you.”
Sitting up fast, I swivel until my back slams against the window seat. What the hell?
I quickly pull up Instagram, and my body turns numb instantly. So, this is what having a stroke feels like. Shining bright, mocking me like it has a pulse, is the little heart filled in red. I liked a photo on his feed from a year ago, and I have no idea how. Stupid-stupidtouch screen. And now he’s following me. How can I go back in time to stop completely embarrassing myself…
@GreaseMonkey69:Why’d you stop staring, babe? You’ve already seen the main attraction. Don’t get shy with me now.
