Jisoo
I admire Jennie in my bed like a stalker from a Lifetime movie. The sheet is pushed up her chest as she faces me, sleeping. I'm pushing a strong eight on the creep scale. I don't stare at women like this.
She's beautiful—drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
The first time I saw her was in elementary school. She was front and center of the classroom, sitting there before anyone else arrived, with her attention on the book sitting on her desk. She was a stranger. I'd never seen her at any birthday parties or playdates. I was nervous when I took the seat next to her, but she never once glimpsed in my direction.
Her social isolation continued into middle school. Anytime I attempted to strike up a conversation, I was given short responses, and then she would go back into her shell of solitude.
Then, high school hit, and she talked to me. It wasn't the conversation I had been hoping for. It was about grades. We held the top GPAs in our class, and grades were something she took seriously. She studied her ass off. Her attention was always focused on school, and everyone knew her end game was to be valedictorian. She wanted it enough to step out of her comfort zone and ask me to compare test grades.
She needed to become valedictorian more than me. You didn't need to know her backstory to know she wasn't as fortunate as I was. She walked to school, her off-brand sneakers were always in poor condition, and she never attended a field trip. She needed the scholarships more than me. I was headed to college whether or not I had them, so at times, I'd answer questions wrong to lower my test scores.
I liked her. I wanted to know more about her. She was naturally beautiful, both inside and out, and intelligent. She was kind to everyone, not just to those she deemed worthy, like most kids in my circle.
I finally gained the courage to ask her to the dance after Lisa told me to stop pussyfooting around. She knew I crushed on her, and like me, she didn't give a shit about outside influence. When she said yes, I was ecstatic. Sure, a few assholes made snide comments, but I didn't care. I wanted to know more about Jennie Kim, about the girl who seemed to be a shining star among others who dimmed with nothing.
Then, everything fell apart. I hate myself for how it went down.
After the dance, I had no way to contact her. She had no phone or email, and all anyone knew was that she lived in a trailer court on the west side.
It got worse when she came back to school and gave me the smack I deserved. I was pissed, my friends were making fun of me, and I was a stupid-ass teenager, so I lied. I joked at her expense because of my embarrassment that she wanted nothing to do with me.
Over time, we became rivals. I led her to believe I was vying for valedictorian while still throwing tests. On the day of graduation, when she shyly gave a short speech, I grinned.
Jennie isn't just an attractive woman. I liked her before I knew about sex or relationships or status. I wanted her to be my girlfriend then. Now, I want to make her more. After having all of her, there's no way I'm letting her go this time.
I've never touched skin as soft as hers or experienced a connection so strong with someone—both inside and outside of the bedroom. I've never had sex without a condom or wanted to keep a woman in my bed, like I do her.
Fuck me. My feelings for her are stronger than I thought.
She stirs when I press my lips against her cheek.
"Good morning," I whisper.
Her eyes don't open, but she releases a sleepy laugh. "Fuck off."
"As much as I love our porch routine, I love this one so much better. Say fuck in this bed as often as you like."
