What a Wicked Game

There was a boy on the bus today, I'd never seen him take the 37 before. I was sitting in the single seats, he was sitting across the aisle in the double seats with a friend – a stoic young man who seldom opened his mouth to utter a word, quite the opposite of the boy who had a stronghold on my attention. I listened to him speak to the boy beside him, rambling loudly and then speaking quite words meant only for a friendly ear.

He was at least two years my senior, and that made me nervous. I didn't like the older kids, they were rude and brash and I had better things to do than waste my time on them, but then why was he the center of my world all of a sudden? Why? Because he was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on.

He was clad in black leather, it made him look dangerous – and the danger made him all the more appealing because no one else on the bus dared to make such a bold statement with their clothes. His hair was long and oddly well kept, considering he was a fifteen year old boy and I assumed he had better things to do than play beauty-school drop-out. When I caught a glimpse of his eyes, they were a shade of blue I had never seen before, an entrancing color that belonged lost somewhere between the midnight sky and the depths of the ocean. The way his lips curled into a grin that could have made the Devil jealous made my blood run cold and my heart beat faster.

I watched his friend peer around him and look at me. I paled and looked down at my lap, and when I looked up again, the other boy was grinning that grin at me. I blushed turned my attention to the dirty window beside me, hoping the filthy streets outside would save me from him. Even as I stared outside, I found my eyes drawn to one certain design in the glass and I cursed myself for staring at his faded reflection in the window. And he was staring back at me, the grin still on his lips and a playfulness in his eyes that made my heart skip beats.

Very slowly, I turned to look at him again. He winked at me and turned his attention back to his friend, leaving me with hot blood rushing through my veins and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I fisted my hands on my lap and kept my eyes on him, unable to help myself anymore. And I knew he knew I was watching him.

The bus came to a halt too soon and I was forced from my seat as the other teenagers on the bus were, ushered towards the back door of the bus in a frantic sea of youthful bodies. I looked over my shoulder in vain, hoping to catch another glimpse of him before I disappeared for the day into the school across the street. I didn't see him but the brush of fine leather against my hand was more than I could have asked for.

-End