Cheryl Barnes, Friendly Neighborhood Closeted Pervert Girl

My name is Cheryl, 19 years of age. Bluntly put, I have a thing for hot guys and a vendetta against stacked chicks. And, forgive me if I wasn't paying any attention, but my eyes were currently distracted by a certain Lukas Shaston at the moment: exhibit A in the Hot-Guy department. And I myself may have been getting a little moist at our engrossing case study.

Yeah.

You know where.

...

OKAY. So is that a bit wrong? Was I a bit perverted for thinking what I was thinking?

Well, yes.

Maybe.

You know, I was raised holding a basket of flowers and got slapped for crossing my hands across the handle. Ever since then, Freud would say (paraphrasing here), it all went downhill. Shoot me.

Anyways, back in the present.

I inhaled, gathering myself as well as the courage to look around. The bookstore was sorta-kinda bustling today. People passing. Talking. Laughing and looking at each other with understated, unspoken glimmers of intimate acknowledgement that never in a million years could I have also properly been on one end of, glimmering and blah blah blah, all that stuff.

Usually, just being here would cause me to short-circuit. I had anxiety issues every now and then, you could say; primarily when I was out in public. Alone.

But today was different.

Today, I was un-shoot-able. Invincible. Un-touchable!

A beat in my heart skipped as Lukas turned his head and gripped the ladder on the way down from the shelf he had been adjusting, showcasing a handful of meaty, muscle-licious arm. I wished I had a mnemonic memory. But it was okay.

Yess...

Because today, I was the queen of my world.

Fiddling with a pair of items dangling from my ears, I grinned quietly from one to the other. With these two godsends, I could do anything I want -- and get away with it with not even a single slap on the wrist. Take that with your Budweiser for once, Dad.

Sure, he was pro'lly lying on a ditch somewhere these days, but still. It was a figure of speech!

"Oh..!" My eye caught movement. Quickly I honed my imaginary reticle on the target.

Ruby colored tucked in collar shirt + nicely fit trousers alert.

At that moment, smack in the middle of my internal monologue, thank you, came walking mister McDream himself! Pecs peeking just barely from underneath those top middle buttons, which made my hands twitch with the need for exploratory research as I quietly ogled him. Oh that build... oh that face... oh my gawd, I... I...

I froze, the old locked-up Cheryl creeping back through my simmering arteries.

Then I remembered the earrings at my disposal.

What was I doing?

This...

Yes...

This was my world now!

Which... which meant... so were they. So was everyone!

As he stepped forward past me, Lukas barely spent but a single second-long glance on my own tiny person before looking back forward. Meanwhile, I took in his pleasing scent, and admired his chiseled jaw and clean-cut faux hawk; everything seemed to run in slow motion. When, suddenly, I raised my hand, drew it back, and then, aiming for the impossible-to-miss region below the belt in front of me, swung it forward.

SMACK!

My heavy breaths could've blown up a balloon. I jerked my head up. If this was a dream, pinch me. Pinch me now, I thought.

Spoiler: no pinches came.

My life, in a single second, was justified with all the absolution in all the parishes of the world. There, a solid passing moment after, Lukas 'Heartthrob' Shaston continued, walking forward, moving on... like...

Like I didn't just slap his cute bubble butt.

Or did so in front of everyone in the bookstore, while they nevertheless carried on with their casual coffee-sipping, futile people-watching, mundane literature-browsing, completely, utterly unfazed.

Or put on a toothy smile like some nympho-maniac with a diabolical gleam in her eyes as I intently followed after him to the register.