Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

//my my, such a sweet thing// I wanna do everything//

My heart was skipping beats. Who in God's earth had to eat cream puffs like that?

"You have whipped cream on your mouth," I informed him.

George smirked at me, stepping closer to where my knees were now parting, enveloping his pelvis that was nearly resting at my navel.

I swiped the whipped cream from his lips, and he blew a raspberry against my fingers as I did so, making me giggle.

"You're twelve," I laughed, moving his hand away from my mouth.

"And you're cute when you laugh," George's brown eyes glistened.

I scoffed, way too dramatically, and playfully pushed his broad chest, adorned by a simple white tank. He was reading me so well, and I hated it.

George yawned. "I'm tired."

The yawn was contagious, and one escaped from my mouth as well. "Same."

"Come take a nap with me?" George invited me.

Bad idea, Claire. Bad idea.

"Alright," I said anyways. "Just a quick one, though. I have an essay to look over."

George moved his snapback backwards, the ends of his hair sticking out adorably, as he brought his forearm around my lower back and pulled me close to him, helping me off the counter.

My body slid down his tall, lean but so muscular frame, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as both of us stood there for a moment, bodies pressed together tightly. When my eyes met his, he bit the corner of his lip immediately, and backed away.

"You want me to roll a spliff first?" he asked, cocking his head to the direction of his room upstairs.

"Yes," I said, despite myself.

=

Lou Reed's voice was humming on the record player, drowning the atmosphere of George's bedroom with "Walk on the Wild Side" as George and I shared a joint. I was scrolling through Pinterest, looking at Halloween costumes.

"What about Matty and I as Danny and Sandy?" I asked George, still trying to hold the smoke in my lungs.

Halloween was in five days and my type-A personality was raging. I'd executed zero plans, and Matty's passive-agressiveness and uninterest in the subject wasn't really helping. He was still so focused on his music. I understood.

George took the joint from me. "That wouldn't even look like a costume on Matty."

"Hmmph," I mumbled.

That was pretty true.

The band had been invited to a big Halloween party at a posh club, and I wanted our costumes to be on point. I'm sure Harper would be attending as well, so I had to bring my A-game.

"What about Aladdin and Jasmine?" I suggested.

Matty would look really cute in the little hat and purple vest.

George exhaled in a supple laugh. "Mmm, I don't wanna picture that."

My eyes narrowed at him, the blurry, giddy feeling settling in my limbs, my body welcoming the effects of George's top-notch weed.

"What does that mean?" I asked him.

George's eyes were focused on a Reservoir Dogs poster, and he crossed one of his long legs over the other. I was lying down fully, my hair all fanned out across his flannel bedspread, enjoying my little high.

"You'd just look really, really nice in a Jasmine costume," he sighed, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he put the end of the joint out in an ashtray.