Cheeky

№ 4. Leaky Faucet

"Are you just going to stand there staring love?"

I swallowed, clamping my mouth shut as I tried to look cool and collected. But god damn, I was anything but collected, I was all over the place -  I was spastic and this guy was in my apartment. What am I supposed to do? Or say? Should I play with my hair, or maybe laugh? Cassidy! Get a hold of your hormones and just walk away. Okay okay, walk away...where? I can't go to my room, he's blocking my way. I will use deadly force if I have to, but he looks stronger, and taller...and sexier and - snap out of it! Jesus girl, one whiff of testosterone and you're already gone. Get a friggin' grip Cass.

"So, you're not the talking type I see. That's alright. I'm much more physical myself if you know what I mean," George winked and I groaned sarcastically in response.

"No, I don't know what you mean and I don't care to find out. Now, if you would kindly get out of my apartment, I would be very appreciative."

George chuckled and pointed lazily at me, "You're apartment?"

I placed one hand on the counter and one on my hip, "Yes, my apartment. Look, if you're following me which you clearly are, I'll call the police. I'm not interested."

George held my gaze for a minute, and then burst out laughing. What is with everyone laughing at me this week? I was getting annoyed and I spotted a phone in the living room. I walked over to it, past George who was dying and approached the phone, but looked at it with a frown. It was one of those old ones where you had to dial in circles and an added benefit was that I had no idea what the number of the police was in Britain. This is pathetic - officially. But I figured I had went this far so I picked up the reciever and pressed the phone to my ear.

"I'm calling the police!" I called out to him, pretending of course but he wouldn't know the difference.

"Haha, wait I-I, ga haha," George was bent over, hands on knees, still laughing but he approached me, trying to get proper speech out. I tried to turn from him but he came up behind and grabbed the reciever from my hand.

"Hey! Give that back!"

George slammed the reciever back on the telephone and shook his head with a grin, "Oh, that was good."

I tried reaching for the phone again but George stepped in front of me, defending the phone as I tried grabbing around him. This was hopeless.

"Move!"

"What are you going to do about it?" George smirked, standing mightily over me.

"What are you, five?" I cried, trying again to get the phone, but George grabbed my hands instead and twirled me. I was dizzy again and the room spun and suddenly I was pressed against his chest with his nose in my hair.

"Familiar?"

I shoved him off, giving a grunt of disgust, "God, you're unbearable!"

"Oh please, tell me more sweatheart!" He cooed, getting on his knees with his hands clasped together. Who the hell was this guy! I had never met anyone so, so- so, ugh!

"Well then, I see you've met George."

Both George and I turned to Chelsea who was standing in the middle of the entrance to the apartment, dressed in shorts and a tee with her hair down and green converse on her feet. She was smiling and George got up, walking over to her where they kissed each other on the cheek and she roughed up his hair.

"Oy, don't manhandle the hair Chels!"

She laughed, "Don't worry, there's not much of it."

He faked mock horror, "What do you mean?"