He'd always known she was beautiful. He's known it from the second he'd laid eyes on her. And then he'd shrugged off the information and focused his attention to countering her wicked tongue and deflecting her wit during banter. Now...well. Now he could think of a few different reasons why her mouth was wicked, starting with the tiny little half-smirk she gave when she went in of the kill during an argument and ending with the way she ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip whenever she did any difficult chemistry work.
There was a lot to be said about the way she put up her hair, for one thing. She'd loosen her hair for a brief few seconds, releasing it from its band and allowing it to tumble over her shoulders. And the way she looked when she tossed it back up, angling her neck to brush the loose strands off her jaw and sweeping her hair back into a ponytail...the way her ponytail brushed the tops of her shoulders when she lifted her chin, the sun glinting off the tousled chocolately ends...the way her throat looked when she tilted her head back, slim with sleek lines along the column...
And no matter how many times he watched her do it, casually running her fingers through her hair as she pulled it back into a careless little ponytail, it never failed to set him on slow burn. Every time, he thought about how badly he wanted to press a kiss right there, in between her exposed collarbones. How he ached to feather kisses along the column of her throat, beneath her jaw, feeling her pulse scramble beneath his lips. How his fingers twitched, desperate to slide a hand behind her neck and kiss her, long and hard while his other hand tangled in her hair.
And then back to her mouth, which was always curving around a fresh sarcastic quip, her tongue flirting with sassy remarks and playful insults. Quick to laugh and equally quick to lash out when provoked.
She was undeniably the whole package, beauty and brains, guts and gumption, but then there were the tiny little things about her that kept him so deeply intrigued. Her musical preference, which ranged from classic 80s rock to classical piano and violin to rap to country and alternative and pop. Her literary interests, as varied and fascinating as her musical tastes; her fashion sense, which reflected her personality as accurately as imaginable. Sexy, fun, youthful. Comfortably, casually athletic.
She was a fascinating cocktail of temperament, ego and intelligence; the original nonconformist. Intense. Passionate. Focused. Cynical. Kind. Intelligent. Vivacious. Loving. Beautiful.
Oh, he had a problem, alright.
A problem with a cocky smirk and killer instincts and long lashes and a hideous temper. A problem with daddy issues and perfect skin and a knack for arguing - and winning. A brazen problem with a sharp tongue and long, lean legs.
Probably, he figured, the worst, and best, kind of problem to have.
The boy was slowly murdering her.
It hadn't escaped her notice that he was handsome, not by a long shot. But she'd been so preoccupied with winning their arguments and challenging his intellect with her own that she hadn't had time to think about it. Now, she was finding it difficult to notice anything else.
The way he sprawled out whenever he occupied any seat, his posture relaxed and lazy. His ankle crossed overtop the opposite knee, head thrown back as he stretched. The hem of his shirt lifted an excruciating few inches, revealing a sliver of toned abs for the briefest few seconds.
Oh, athletic boys were her weakness, but add artist into the mix and it was a done deal. His long fingers wrapped around a pencil, sketching meticulously, brow furrowed. Tiny pout gracing usually smirking lips, eyes narrowed as they examined the sketch critically. The sheer control he had over his hands made her wonder what else he could do with them...
And his body. Mmm. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, and a solid eight inches taller than her. It pissed her off, because she liked to be able to look people in the eyes when she argued, and when they argued, she always found herself looking up. Lean muscle wrapped around his body, his torso driving her insane when he took deep breaths.
She wasn't sure, but she thought it might have begun the day he wore that white button-down. That damn white button-down. One second she had been fine, pretending to pay attention in English, when something in the way he was looking at her made her jolt. Something in his eyes sparked a fire in her gut, and the next second, she'd been itching to tear that shirt in two in order to get it off him fast enough.
That intelligence. She had no defense against intelligence like his. If athletic boys were her weakness, then intelligence boys were her Kryptonite. Witty, clever, argumentative - a tongue like hers had to be sharpened, regularly, and she'd found his more than suitable. Challenging, intelligent, unpredictable, their banter was charged with enough sexual tension to be considered foreplay.
Oh, she'd done it now. There was no easy way out, she thought with a smirk, so she might as well get out with a torn shirt.
A/N: Hey, guys! This is a follow-up to the teenage AU that I haven't updated in a while (sorry!) and it's just a little drabble-ish thing to get the muse going again. I know A LOT of you really liked the college and high school AUs, and so did I, so I'll be working on those for the next few weeks. It's hard not to love the hormone-crazy, adorably affectionate atmosphere, right?!
As always, thanks for reading, please review, and leave me prompts for the high school AU! I love ya guys. :)