Equivalent

9 | Revealed

Henry

She opens the door with annoyance etched on her face. She expected me not to hear her number and dash up the steps, but here I was, practically drenched and beginning to sweat. Her soft brunette hair caresses her back as she walks away, swinging her hips beneath the oversized tee shirt she wore. I think that was just the way she walked, but my eyes followed every movement making it seem more apparent than it was. 

I follow behind her, removing my shoes from habit. She doesn't say a word before she slips into a single couch seat as though she's afraid of sitting next to me on the loveseat. Her t-shirt rides up her thigh, and I see a small peaking pair of black Nike pros. God. 

This was the girl who practically had Campionem engraved in her veins. I knew exactly who she was when I heard her name. A Lancaster. Her brothers were absolutely ruthless, they played dirty and knew exactly how to play against the rules. I wonder if she's the same. 

Her small, slender fingers press buttons on the remote as she refuses to look up from the tv. She lets out a small huff when the remote doesn't quite connect with the responder.

"So, are you going to tell me the real reason you're here?" She asks, glancing at me as I make my way to the couch. "Wait," She says before I sit. She walks quickly to the bathroom and pulls out a large forest-green towel from a linen closet. She shoves it against my chest before making her way to the three-seater to get a better angle at the tv for her remote signal. 

I lifted up the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head because that was the wettest of my clothes.  My sweatpants weren't drenched, which I was grateful for because I wasn't sure how crazy it would be if I removed them right here. She'd probably knock my ass to the curb.

Most girls wouldn't, but I knew she would. 

I toss the towel through my wet hair first before dabbing my upper body and throwing myself on the couch, actively moving it backward, earning a glare in my direction.

"So?" She turns to me when she's able to unpause her movie, a classic, 21 Jumpstreet. She lowers the volume waiting for me to speak, and I shrug.

"Can't I come to see the girl who stalked me?" A cheeky grin swipes over my face as I look at her unmoving blank expression. Damn, this girl was a tough cookie.

"First of all, I did not stalk you. Second, you ruined my car!" She flails her arms, exasperated, and I almost feel guilty for doing it to her. It was a harmless prank, and her Camry barely suffered.

I laugh a little, but it's cut short when she grabs a small couch pillow and smacks it across my head. "That's abuse."

"You know what abuse is? What you and your little bitches did to Patrice," She replies in an irritated tone, and that's when I know her nerves have been itching to bombard me about this. 

"It was just a harmless prank," I say, putting my wet tee on her coffee table. I angle my body towards her and watch as her eyes rake over me, practically eye fucking. I couldn't lie that I wasn't doing the same thing because this girl has got to be one of the most gorgeous I've ever seen. Her features were subtle, and her annoyance pushed her lips out, making her that much more attractive.

"Besides, Lila," I say her name for the first time and watch as she fidgets before making eye contact with me. "You had it coming from someone else if it wasn't me."

Confusion takes over her face. "What's that supposed to mean?" She shifts her body to face me fully and sits criss-cross apple sauce. Her tits move beneath her shirt, and it becomes clear she isn't wearing a bra. Her nipples dance in the material as she adjusts herself, and I force myself not to stare. I feel my fingertips getting hot, like I'm itching to reach out and squeeze her nipple, suck on it, and watch her fall apart right under me. I wonder if she looks at me the way I am right now.