Then It Hits Me

Chapter 5: Playing Matchmaker

~Chapter Five: Playing Matchmaker~

The weekend reluctantly arrived.

I was the laughing stock at school because of Tasha's blog post. Every time I would go into the washroom, people would snicker and make not-so-funny remarks about how if I didn't go, I would have wet my panties. The only good side to this is that Carter is grounded for being such an asshole to his own sister and not respecting my privacy, or something like that.

Even though I haven't opened my eyes yet, I can already tell that I'm waking up too early for my own good. It feels so unnatural to wake up later than I usually do on Saturdays because my body is used to hauling myself up for dance. The other members of my family are really happy about not waking up as early to make me breakfast because it means that they have the right to sleep until noon. What I don't understand is how they can sleep through the force of their body telling them to get up. That's the reason I'm getting up.

My eyes open to expect my beige-coloured ceiling, but instead, I get a face full of Miller. He is creepily looking at me. Our faces are too close for my liking, his arms are lightly touching my shoulder and supporting his weight on top of me. His legs are almost tangling with mines and I feel like he is squishing my slightly.

I'm surprised I didn't scream.

"What the heck?" I try to push him off, but I think that it's probably impossible to push a football player off of you. They would be really great criminals.

"It's almost eight sleepy head," he feels so close that I swear that I can feel his breathing on my cheek.

He seriously needs to find different ways to wake me up. A good example would be shaking me or calmly waiting downstairs until I decide to drag myself down. Most girls would be delighted to see Miller's face when they wake up and some of them probably do because I heard they actually have posters. Personally, I find it creepy to see a person looking at you when you open your eyes.

"Can you get off of me? Please?" I am almost begging.

He shakes his head with a cocky smile planted on his face, "Hell no. I like the view here. You look so much prettier when you hair is pressed against your face."

I don't know wether to slap him or to blush. Slap would be the more elaborate thing to do, but my mom would kill me, so...

"That's good for you. Now, if you want me to get my ass out if bed, you better get yours off of me," I cover my mouths as I realize how wrong that sounds, "Not in the dirty way that you're probably thinking of."

"You know me so well and it's only been a week," He uses my leg as a launch pad to act as a boost off of my leg.

The pain lasts for nearly five minutes, before I decide that I have to get up. I throw on a old, baggy t-shirt; it's not like anyone important is going to see me in these. Instead of spending the long hours brushing my hair, I just tie it all up into a messy bun.

"Are you sure that you don't want any toast? I can almost see the lust in your eyes." We are sitting at the breakfast counter. The marble countertop feels freezing against my bare skin. A plate of toast is set in front of the two of us and I have started to eat a piece, but Miller is being a stubborn jerk and refusing to eat anything. He claims to have already eaten.

A few short strands of his dirty blonde hair falls in front of his eyes, "Why can't you just have pancakes? They are so much better than toast."

I reach across the table to flick the hair out of his grey eyes, "Pancakes have milk in them and I'm lactose intolerant." It also means that I can't have most cakes and ice cream. It's embarrassing to tell the mom of some kid whose birthday party you're at to not give you cake, while the other kids are just chugging it down. Also, at my own birthday parties, the milk-free cake is so disgusting that people try to stay five feet away from it at all costs.