[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒]

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐀𝐓,

since my parents weren't home yet. We sat on the floor of the edge of my bed.

"What was your first impression of me?" I suddenly asked.

London covered his mouth with his hand as he chewed before speaking.

"Okay, so from the pictures in the living room that Ezra showed me when he told me he had two daughters, I thought you were beautiful but I could tell that you knew that."

"Wait, what do you mean by that when you say 'I could tell you knew that'?" I mean, it was the truth, I did know I was beautiful, but I wasn't smug about it.

"There's one picture of you, Diane, Ezra, and Brooke. Something about the way you're posed just screams 'This is my world and you're just living in it.' "

"Bro, what?! How did you get that just from one picture?"

I knew which photo he was talking about. When we were taking that photo, my intention was to stick out, in a way.

"Okay, so that's all you got, I'm beautiful and conceited," I continued.

"No, I never said you were conceited. Knowing you're beautiful doesn't make you conceited, it just means you're self-aware of your physical appearance."

It was music to my ears to hear those words.

"Finally! Someone who gets it!" I exclaimed. "I don't understand it when a woman knows she's pretty, she labeled as vain. See, when I get compliments with people saying 'oh you're pretty,' I respond with 'thank you, I know' and I smile, and then the person usually calls me self-absorbed. Like, I'm sorry that I'm pretty and I know I'm pretty, and that you're ugly and you know it."

"See, now, you're right, but that last sentence was unnecessary." It was, I had to admit but stuff like that made me mad. "But moving on, when you opened your mouth, I felt that you had a bad attitude and I just thought that was nasty."

I looked down in embarrassment.

"However, the more I get to know you, the more I don't see that bad attitude," London continued. "Don't feel bad . . . . . . Let's say one thing we like about each other, I'll go first: I like that you can admit your faults and apologize when you know you've done something wrong."

"I love how forgiving you are. I really admire that . . ." I finally looked up at him to see his eyes on me.

Suddenly, I couldn't look away.

I tried to open my mouth to say something foolish, something to make him laugh, shake his head like a disappointed father, or roll his eyes. I couldn't bring myself to do it, something in me was just telling me to just stay quiet. Like a little voice in the back of my head was yelling 'Shut yo' stupid-ass up!"

Maybe I'm crazy, I thought.

London tilted his head to the side, like he was waiting for me to say something. I opened my mouth like I was going to say something and then closed it when I realized that I had nothing to say.

God, what was this boy doing to me?!

All of a sudden I was tongue-twisted and couldn't speak, because I was distracted by his face. His mesmerizing, gorgeous face. He says I'm beautiful and I know it, but does he not understand that with him in the room, I don't compare where I don't compete!

Did he even know that, how fine he was? Or how he made some girls feel? The girls at school? Like the time Nia Zimmerman tried to ask him out at lunch and he replied with, 'I'm good, see you in History though.'

As selfish as this sounds, that made me happy, that he turned down girls and wasn't particularly interested. But does that mean he's gay? I don't think he's gay.

Damn, I really wanted him! I wanted him all to myself!

But would he want me . . .