I'm a little bit squishy.
I'm not going to lie. I haven't been thin since I was a child. I'm not overweight, my BMI is bang on centre, but I definitely have love handles, and my stomach isn't completely flat unless I lie down on my back. I'm fine with this though, sort of. Obviously I'd love to have a flat stomach and get rid of the extra meat to my thighs, but I haven't done exercise in 5 years since I reached the age where P.E. became non-compulsory at school. Dieting doesn't work for me: I'm too picky with my food for most diets and I have no willpower.
So all-in-all, I am a fairly squishy person and not someone that you would see in those envy-inducing romantic comedies everyone loves to watch.
So how is it that a guy with the body of a Greek God is in my bed?
He is lying on his back, fast asleep, his face turned towards me, one hand clutching the sheets a little, which are riding low on his waist. The other is tucked up under the pillow that supports his head, although it had been slung heavily over my waist before I moved to sit up in bed. The light that is peeping under the blind over my window casts shadows on his face, highlighting his straight nose and defined jaw line. Even though his eyes are closed, I know that when open they are a strange cerulean blue that stands out sharply against the dark colour of his hair. He definitely belongs in a movie, or on a catwalk, or on a poster stuck in some school girl's locker. He definitely does not belong in my bed. At least not my bed.
But yet, here he is. And I'm pretty sure my life is not being filmed for a romantic comedy, and by now he has pretty much managed to convince me that there is no bet or dare involved. I haven't ruled out the possibility, but I've decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, mostly because he's started to get annoyed at how many times I bring up the issue. But hey, with a guy who looks like him, you kind of have to wonder what he sees in a girl like me.
I stroke back some of his hair from his face. He likes it when I do that, at least he once said he does. I like it too; it's soothing for me and his hair is always soft and knot-free. I've told him he could make millions if he just sold the secret on how he achieves this, but he just gave me the look I have come to define as the just-smile-and-pat-her-head look.
The first time I met him was in the university library. I'd just dropped a huge stack of books I'd been carrying to the front desk – I'd left a huge assignment till the last minute, again – and everyone, and I mean everyone, had looked up and/or jumped at the loud impact of the books hitting the floor. He was sitting at a table nearby, facing me and watching the whole debacle. Now, I know what you're thinking. Obviously he got up from his table, came over to help me pick up my books, and gave me a soul-stealing smile before asking me out to dinner because I was so damn cute. Well, no. As I said, this is not a romantic comedy movie. Actually, he'd looked up when I'd dropped the books, laughed, shook his head, and gone back to work.
Obviously my first impression of him was not exactly a positive one, but it also hadn't provoked the hate-inspiring he's-going-to-be-my-mortal-enemy-forever reaction either (another common theme of many romantic movies and novels). Instead, it became the subject of much teasing (on his part) and minor embarrassment (on my part) that had helped our friendship to grow. He already knew I was a klutz, so I didn't have to try and hide that aspect of my personality. He has also been witness to many of my other faults, which I won't elaborate on, which culminated in an exceedingly comfortable feeling I experienced whenever I was around him. It is such a relief to be totally yourself with someone, and even stranger that I could be that way around someone who looks like him.
Oh, his name? Hunter. I know. It may not be exotic but it definitely denotes some kind of image of power and beauty. At least I think so. It definitely suits him. Jane, which is my name, perfectly suits me. Jane is a boring plain name. Sorry to all the Jane's out there, but it is. Hunter says that the name is fine, and that I'm anything but a boring person, but then again he's in my bed right now, therefore I don't think I can trust his judgment.
I wouldn't say Hunter is the nicest guy I've ever met. Most good-looking, maybe, but I have other guy friends who are definitely a lot nicer than he is. After all, while Hunter laughed at me and went back to his work after I dropped my books, one of my guy friends working at another table came over to me to help me pick up the books and carry them to the front desk. But he is a good person, hunter I mean; it just shows in other ways. He may laugh at the stupid things I do accidently and more often than not fail to help me get out of a bind, but he always steps in when I'm really in trouble.
Like when Anthony Kerowitz dumped one of my friends in a public and humiliating way and I'd painted "Asshole" on the side of his car. I thought I was actually being rather nice in a way seeing as I could have done something much more horrible, or used a word much worse than that, and the paint was totally washable, but he didn't exactly see it that way as I found out when he stormed over to me as I was trying to read on a bench outside the building where I was about to have a class. He seemed very, very close to blowing a fuse, but then like some kind of stalker knight, Hunter appeared out of no-where and threatened him with all kinds of stuff. I don't know what stuff because he took Anthony out of hearing range while he threatened him, and he still refuses to tell me what he said, but it did the trick. Although he chastised me afterwards for my "stupid" reaction, I could tell he was also sort of proud of me for standing up for my friend. Well, actually I find it very hard to read him, but one of his friends said that Hunter had admitted to him a few days later while very inebriated.
And the fact that he's one year older than me just makes him all the more desirable.
So have I a painted a pretty picture of Hunter by now? Pretty much?
So now it must be more obvious why I am so puzzled as to how he could possibly be in my bed. As I've said, I'm squishy and clumsy, and I know that Stephanie Davis has been trying to get him to take her on a date since freshman year, and she definitely isn't squishy. She does track.
Hunter's eyelashes flutter and his hand lets go of the sheet to reach up and rub his face. And then he's awake. He's usually like this. He can be in the dead of sleep one minute and then be totally awake the next. I used to find it disconcerting, but I've gotten used to it by now. He sees that I am sitting up in bed, and frowns.
"Why are you staring at me?"
I could make something up, but he usually sees through my lies and bugs me until I tell him the truth. Well, less of the bugging, more like he stares me down until I feel guilty for even thinking of lying to him, even about the smallest thing.
"I'm wondering why you're in my bed."
"Because we were at a party till 4am, by which time you were so trashed I had to carry you to the car, and then from the car to your house, and then we had 2 hours of sex until you finally crashed out."
I smack him on the forehead, to which he actually winces a bit.
"I know how you got here. I can remember that despite getting absolutely 'trashed' last night, but look at me."
I poke my little belly pooch to alert him to my squishiness.
"And look at you," I continue.
I reach over and poke him in the stomach too, which definitely does not feel the least bit squishy. Before I can pull back he grabs my hand and yanks me forward so that I land awkwardly across his chest and have to somehow angle my elbow on the mattress between his arm and his chest to support myself while avoiding digging it into his ribs. Hunter rolls his eyes.
"We are not having this conversation again."
He tucks me under his arm so that my head is resting on his chest and I can hear his heartbeat faintly.
There is a pause where neither of us says anything. Then he sighs.
"I don't get it. How can you be such a vixen in bed at night and then wake up with all these insecurities?"
"But look at-"
"Don't tell me to 'look at you and then look at me'. I've been looking at you all night, and many nights before this. I don't see anything wrong with you."
"Stephanie Davis can kiss my ass."
"Well, that is part of what she wants to do to you."
I giggle and know he is smiling, even though I can't see it.
"Maybe so, but the only lips I want on my ass are yours."
"That's kind of weird."
"You get the picture."
His hand lazily strokes up and down my back and it gives me goose bumps. I'm glad that I was too trashed last night to shove a t-shirt on after sex as I normally do. His hand on my bare back feels so good. We're silent for long minutes and I fight off sleep. Morning-afters are when Hunter is at his most relaxed. He had a lot of them, apparently, before he met me. Morning-afters that is. Even after he met me, he had a lot of them. I know this; his exploits weren't exactly a secret on campus, not with someone who looks like Hunter. He has a lot of morning-afters now, except now it's only with me. I trust him on this. I may still be confused as to why he would choose me, but I know he's telling the truth. Partly because instead of bragging about having slept with him, as all the girls did, now they just complain that he won't touch them with a barge pole. Mostly, it's because I can tell. He's very good at hiding emotions, but I can always tell when he's telling the truth. I smile and try to press myself even closer to him.
"Being with you is kind of like having a pet."
I stop smiling.
His laugh rumbles in his chest below my ear.
"You're like a crazy young puppy full of energy during the day, falling over yourself and causing chaos."
I'm not sure whether or not to be offended by this but he continues.
"Then at night you turn into a cat. A sexy, wild cat that purrs when stroked in the right places."
Actually, I'm beginning to think this is the nicest thing he's ever said to me.
In an uncharacteristic move for Hunter, he kind of gathers me up tightly in his arms until my head is forced back and I'm looking up at him, and slowly rubs his lips over mine. It's not exactly a kiss, but it's damn teasing. I flick me tongue against his upper lip, and then he is finally kissing me properly, and leaving me breathless. It felt like days passed, but more realistically it is more like a few minutes before he pulls away.
"You'd better listen this time," he says looking into my eyes. I'm all ears.
"I like you. All of you. All your mistakes, all your weird little habits, all your... 'squishiness–" here he rolls his eyes again. "I like taking you out, I like listening to you ramble on, I like making out with you, I like the incredible sex, and in a way I even like having to look after you. Hear it. Believe it. I am not saying this again."
He makes me smile. I think I'm going to have to attack him now. In the really, really good way.
A/N: Thank you for reading my story. I know it's fluffy, but I'm romance deprived right now so I needed in outlet. It's been a long time since I've written anything, so if you liked it/didn't like it, please could you take just a few minutes and let me know something you liked about it or what you didn't and could be improved. Thanks!