I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

47 - Little Mess of Emotions

"Jerry! Dammit Jerry! That is a fake moose! A fake moose!"

"Muurr! Muuuuuur!"

"Jerry the face is a couch cushion, are you blind?! Get back here!"

"Muur!"

*Gasp* "Jerry! Where the hell did you learn that word?"

*Jerry ignores me, continues trying to flirt with decoy Female Moose*

"Jerry-"

*dodges coffee pot*

*dodges ceiling fan*

"Jerryy!!"

"Muuuur! Muuuurr..."

"The hell you mean her name's 'Loretta'?! She's a pile of couch cushions balanced on broom handles! That wig is right out of 1970! The tutu is pinned on! She's a fake!"

*Jerry continues to ignore me*

"Well fine! Be that way! I hope--"

*gets hit with phone charger*

"Ow! I'm keeping this! You're never getting it back--"

*dodges bookcase that crashes against bunker*

"Christ!!! Jerry I'm locking up, have fun out there with Loretta!"

[So... hi guys. I'm back. I can't even begin to describe how sorry I am for disappearing on you all... there's no excuse really, as I am fine, healthy and living and enjoying life. As my bio says (it needs some slight updating which I've already done somewhat) I'm definitely a sporadic author... which is by no means fair to you, my lovely readers, but unfortunately seems to be my nature. I hope you can forgive my idiotic hiatus to continuing reading... I won't ask for votes, I won't ask for comments, only that you enjoy what I love to do, which is write and share!
Love, Pearlie]

Chapter 47

Well.

This is...interesting.

I'm dancing. With Simon. Well, awkwardly swaying back and forth as we kind-of-sort-of-not-really rotate in a circle.

We've successfully avoided eye contact for the last minute or so, but I have this gut feeling that while dancing, people might, I don't know, look at each other, or hell, talk? I can hear the other couples around us chatting, girly giggles here and there, the flow of conversation. But how the hell to do that?

I mean the kid asked me to dance for christ's sake!!!

I'm still flabbergasted, like completely fucking lost. I don't know how to act! Or what to think about this!! I have no fucking clue! I came to this dance expecting to get to sit on the side and watch all the morons fool around stupidly! Not to have to fucking participate!!

My hands are very lightly resting against his bony little shoulders, and I'm afraid that I'll start sweating and get it on his shirt! His hands are just barely touching my waist, more on my lower ribs frankly. With my heels I'm eye level with him, hell, maybe a little bit taller. Gahhh I don't know what to do.

I take a chance and look to his face, and meet his wide puppy-dog blue eyes. We both look away instantly, me scanning over the dance floor around us (and not seeing fucking anything because I'm not really focusing on that), him seeming to duck his head slightly. My face feels aflame, for God knows fucking why. Why am I blushing? Why would I blush? He's my friend! I shouldn't be blushing that my friend asked me to dance! Curse you stupid face!! Don't blush!!