Jaebeom is a perfectionist who has a decent English vocabulary but refuses to speak to anyone, as he knows his accent and skills are not perfect. He is challenged to by the CEO of JYP Entertainment to go to the States for specialty English Language...
It was warm outside, so before he loaded his luggage in the truck, JB stripped off his red hoodie revealing a rather form fitting long-sleeved T-shirt that showed his broad back and muscles that rippled, as he struggled to fit all his luggage in the car. Okay, it was loose around his torso, but those shoulders were so large they were straining the fabric. Down the back of the shirt were the words, "Are you ready." My short answer was NO.
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As I watched him load his suitcases, I decided it wasn't an unpleasant sight, but convinced myself it was no comparison to my favorite anime character who topped my bias list: Makoto Tachibana from "Free," to be precise. Still, it made me wonder why he always hid behind super oversized clothing. 'Ha, like I was one to talk, since I did the very same thing,' I thought to myself, as I glanced down at the military jacket I wore.
JB was tall; tall enough that he had to move the passenger seat back so he could stretch out his legs. He also seemed to think something was very amusing. I assumed it was me and that ticked me off a bit. I hate being judged.
"The traffic in Miami is a bear," I informed him, "so don't speak to me while I try to find my way out of town."
I know I was being a little abrupt. Okay, maybe more than a little, but I was still ticked off at my mother for sending me on this errand, and he was in the line of fire so was getting the brunt of my attitude. I didn't really care, as I wasn't out to impress anyway. Not to mention, I was secretly scared to death of driving in Miami and, when I'm afraid, I tend to lash out at anything and everything as a way to pretend I'm doing fine.
As we started off, I heard JB say, "By the way, I'm Jaebeom. What was your name again? Shara? Or is it pronounced a different way?"
I must have snorted at his attempt to say my name. "Sharay," I corrected him. "Like 'car' but starting with the /sh/ sound and /ay/ like in the song 'Hey'. Nice try though. Everyone butchers it. We'll be working on pronunciation later, so just do our best for now." I lapsed back into silence, as we exited the parking garage.
I had already planned my protest. When my mom tasked me with this chauffeur duty I took all the GOT7 CDs out of the car and replaced them with Super Junior, Astro, Henry, Billy Joel, and Michael Jackson.
"There's a case in the back filled with CD's," I told him. "Alligator Alley has lousy radio reception, so if you want any tunes those will have to do unless you want to be anti-social and put in your headphones." I was in full on B-atch mode.
⊱ ♫ ────── ⋆JB⋆ ────── ♫ ⊰
The weather was warm, so I stripped off my hoodie and was glad to see that, in my haste to get ready, I had worn one of my favorite T-shirts that showed off my back and shoulder muscles. For a moment I mused that it was a pity that it wasn't form fitting across my torso, but given the heat, maybe it was just as well. Why did I care about that when this girl didn't seem exactly enamored with the task of driving me, or me in general for that matter?
