A Natural Disaster

05 walls

BACK IN THIRD GRADE, I sold candy bars for a school fundraiser like they were tickets to a magic show. I had a pitch. A strategy. And I outsold everyone else by a landslide. Marketing was a science, and I understood it, even as a kid. Could sell ice to an eskimo, or however the saying goes.

What I don’t understand is her. And my strange goddamn attraction to her.

Rhia Singh is a puzzle I can’t solve, and it frustrates the hell out of me.

Her smooth brown skin that always has the faint scent of coconut. High cheekbones. Big chocolate eyes, the colour of onyx, always sparking with defiance and determination, like an uncharted fire that refuses to be tamed.

And her lips. Christ. Those red-painted lips. Cupid’s bow, the bottom slightly plumper than the top. Blood rushes to my groin. I can’t count how many times I pictured those lips around my dick.

Observing her has become a habit—a guilty pleasure that I can’t shake. It’s not like I have a choice about seeing her or not. We run in the same circles. I can’t avoid her even if I want to.

She messes around a lot. Flirting, laughing, never quite settling. She’s not one to commit, and I can’t decide whether I should feel relieved or disappointed about that fact.

Not like I can control it. As long as she’s not committing to them.

But it’s highly unlikely that I’ll be her exception. She’s made it clear that relationships aren’t her thing, and I have no reason to believe I’d be any different.

What frustrates me is that I want to be. I want to mould myself into whatever I have to be so this girl can notice me. Want to beat the shit out of any asshole that talks to her. They don’t know her. They don’t know a damn thing.

And now I’ve admitted how inexperienced I am, I think she sees me as some sort of innocent baby lamb that needs to be hand fed. Ha. If she got into my head and saw half of the fucked-up thoughts I have about that body of hers…

I’m a virgin. Not a saint.

Her stomach rumbles, and she pauses for a second, then fakes a cough to play it off. God. Whoever told this girl she couldn’t allow herself to be hungry without being embarrassed needs to be shot.

I lift my gaze to her. “Want to grab something to eat?”

She bristles. “What?”

“You’re hungry.”

“Oh…um.” Her fingers fumble slightly with the hem of her top. She must really be hungry, because she doesn’t refuse me right away, like she normally would. Instead, she says, “Let me text Ever.”

As Rhia finishes typing her message, she glances up at me, uncertainty still dancing in her eyes. She taps the send button and slips her phone back into her pocket, a contemplative expression crossing her features. The music and laughter from the party echo in the background.

Finally, she turns to me, wringing her hands. “Alright, Logan. Lead the way.”

We get up step out of the frat yard, the distant thumps of music and the murmur of voices fading as we move further away. The cool night air wraps around us, a welcome reprieve from the heat and noise of the crowded house.

I glance at her, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights, and I’m struck by how different she seems outside the chaotic atmosphere of the party. Watching her dance at that party, watching her shake those goddamn hips…God, she frustrated me.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

I clear my throat. “There’s a taco truck a couple of blocks from here,” I reply, gesturing in the direction we’re headed. “Best street tacos you’ll ever have.”