I'm sitting at a little table in the park waiting, and waiting, and waiting for my best friend, Chloe, to get here. She is twenty minutes late! It's beginning to worry me, then I noticed five fit guys playing football (soccer in America). One of them keeps sneaking quick glances over here at me. Well, he thinks he is sneaking, but I keep catching him. I must say, he isn't bad looking. He has black, quaffed hair, wearing a plain black under shirt with a red and black checkered over shirt that was unbuttoned, and flowing in the breeze. He has dark, ripped skinny jeans, accompanied by black converse. And to top it all off, a smile that you could see from a mile away, and it would still be just as detailed as if he were right next to you. I think he may have caught me staring because I saw him talking to one of the other lads, while pointing in my direction.
He started smiling like an idiot. A cute idiot, but still an idiot. Just about that time, I heard an all to familiar voice.
"Perrie!" Chloe yelled.
"Chloe!" I yelled just as loud.
I got up and ran over to her, and gave her a massive bear hug.
We started walking back to the table I was just sitting at, which still had my French vanilla coffee with three creams and four sugars. Yes, I count how much of each I put in my coffee. No, I'm not weird.
"How come you are twenty minutes late?" I ask her.
"I got caught up in the little bakery around the corner. I didn't realize how hard it was to get them to make me one hot chocolate with three marshmallows! I mean seriously! How hard can that be?!" She explains.
"It's okay , it's okay. Calm down." I tried to reassure her.
"I'm sorry. I just don't get what is so hard about making a simple hot chocolate." She said, looking away.
"So...on a higher note, what have you been up to?" I quiz her.
"Oh nothing really. Just trying to get used to Doncaster again. It's so different here then it is in the U.S. How about you Pez?" She asked me, using my nickname she gave me in the fourth grade.
"Well as of five minutes ago, I have been watching five lads playing football and one keeps looking at me and I keep looking at him." I say sneaking a glance at the mystery boy.
After a minute or so of her looking at, I'm guessing the 'one guy', I asked her a question.
"So are you going to tell me which one he is, or are you going to leave me hanging?"
She quickly snaps her head my way with a look of pure terror.
"What?!" I ask.
"T-they are c-c-coming this w-w-way..." She stutters out.
I look over and sure enough, here come five pretty good looking chaps. This should be fun.