That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Sixteen:

The house looks scarily similar to Buckingham Palace.

No, I haven't actually been gifted with the privilege of travelling to London so I can confirm that it is the same size. But it sure as heck looks like the version I've seen on t.v. It seems to have been made from the same smoothed, aged stones, and the entire block of a building is a whopping three stories high. As the car drives up, the humongous double doors swing open and a man dressed in a simple black tux steps out. 

"You...live here," the statement sounds more like a question. 

Blue-Eyes lets out a heartfelt sigh, "Unfortunately." 

I shoot him a look of surprise, and he chuckles. One shoulder lifts in a shrug, as he sheepishly explains, "It's not fun to clean, which is the usual punishment for whatever I do wrong." 

I snort. The car slows to a stop and he wrenches the key out. I jump in my seat when the passenger door opens, and a white gloved hand is extended to me. Cautious, I take it and allow the man who'd exited the house earlier to pull me from my dream car. He matches my hesitant expression with a curious --and almost painfully polite-- expression of his own.

The man has an old face, wrinkled and well aged. His eyes are cold, though, and a dish-water brown color. His gaze shifts from my face to Blue-Eyes, a silver eyebrow arched. "Welcome home, sir." 

"This is Alice, a friend from school." Blue Eyes rounds the back of the car and takes my hand. I swallow thickly when I feel my cheeks burn and glance down at his hand. His skin is rough against mine, calloused.

It makes the butterflies in my stomach bounce around like they're on crack. 

"We're going to go study," Blue-Eyes tugs me away from the older man, pulling me toward the dark wooden doors. I press my lips together into a firm line. Judging from the expression on his face, even the old guy knew that we would be doing anything but study once Blue-Eyes led me to where ever we were going. 

I almost choke on oxygen. I wonder if he plans to take me to his room.

That was like the universal place for all bad-boys to do their dirty work. The idea of losing my virginity with some guy who I've just kind of met isn't exactly a welcome one. Sure, he's stolen my heart --and has my ovaries about to explode with anticipation-- but he hasn't stolen my brain. I'd never agreed to wait until marriage, but I didn't want to just hand my V-Card over to just anybody. 

He had to be special.

And I had to know him for at least a year, or two. 

There are rules when my V-Card is involved.

My sneakers scruff against the stone steps as we climb up them. All I can think about is how I'm going to say no. Is he going to be a jerk about it? Send me home, or make me walk back to the school for my car? I can feel my heart beating at an unnatural pace inside my chest, like it has been replaced with a hummingbird, and the thoughts that swirl around inside my mind creep closer to hysteria.

Then everything comes to a halt.

I almost smash my palm into my face with the sudden realization. I'm so ahead of myself; this guy hasn't shown any romantic interest in me, other than a simple 'holding-hands' as he drags me away from his creepy butler dude. And even then, it was more of a protective gesture than anything else.

Ice cold air conditioning blasts me in the face as we step inside, and I cool down. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds. Then I open my eyes and look around, jaw dropping. Saying that the inside is just as impressive as the outside is seriously an understatement. Sunlight streams through the windows behind us, and sparkles against the gold trimmed glass tables that spot the room, covered in breathtakingly beautiful flower arrangements. Shimmering gold accents, well, accentuate the room in the form of huge statues, vases, curtains, and picture frames. A massive double staircase sits directly opposite of us, complete with --yes, you've guessed it-- golden railings.

"Wow," I barely remember how to breathe. 

"I know," Blue-Eyes scoffs, "Ostentatious, isn't it?" 

I press my lips together to keep from answering. If his home --mansion, actually-- is decorated like this, covered from floor to ceiling in gold, then his parents have got to be seriously loaded. I wonder what it is that they actually do as Blue-Eyes drags me toward the staircase. We climb the stairs and I touch the railing, marvelling at how smooth the cold metal feels.

"Are you hungry at all? Or thirsty?" Blue-Eyes asks, like the perfect little host that he is. 

I shake my head. The thought of eating or drinking anything inside this house terrifies me. I would be the loser to stain the bleached white carpets the second a cup of anything is handed to me. 

He leads me toward the left, and I walk slower down the hallway. Hesitation still pinches at the back of my mind --plus, I want to get a better look at the spectacular paintings that hang from the walls. Blue-Eyes matches my pace. I notice him watching me from the corners of his eyes, and, like always, my cheeks are the first to react. I swear, he has to think that there's something wrong with me by now from all this blushing I've been doing. 

"This is my room," Blue-Eyes pauses in front of an alabaster door, and meets my gaze. A mischievous gleam sparkles in his vivid baby blues. I gulp and watch him open the door. 

He gestures for me to enter and I take a tentative step inside. I have to literally force my legs to move; it feels like all the muscles inside my legs have been replaced by lead. His bedroom is about as big as my new house, and filled with all things related to Rock 'N' Roll. The walls are painted black, and decorated with retro-themed posters (and a huge image of Elvis Presley, a shrine of posters dedicated to the Beatles, and signed records of The Rolling Stones).

"Impressive," I remark, eyes glued to a guitar claimed to have been signed by King Elvis Presley himself. 

Blue-Eyes gives me a sheepish grin and runs a hand through his hair, "Yeah. I'm quite proud of it. My grandma used to love Rock 'N' Roll." 

I tear my gaze away from the beauty before me and glance over at him, an eyebrow arched.

My 'story-time' senses are tingling.