Girl Problems

🙌🙌🙌 Yaaassss those men! I needs to get me ones! 😍😫😘

So here's another BEAUTIFUL cover! This one's made by tacolizzy. I love it! Thank you darling!

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I wake up to a feather-like tickle on the bridge of my nose. Instinctively, I slap my hand on my nose, feeling for the culprit. I expect the balled-up carcass of a spider but... nothing. If that isn't enough, I roll onto my stomach to go back to sleep and five minutes pass before I give up. My body's up and there's nothing I can do about it now. Senseless spider. I'm still convinced that's what woke me up. What? Am I supposed to believe there's a touchy ghost in my house? I'll move out before that happens.

I sit up with a groan, stretching my arms above my head. My spine pops loudly. A monster yawn comes out of me and I drop my hand to my mouth.

Mid yawn, I hear a gruff, "Good morning," from below me.

I immediately stop, catching sight of the two socks-covered feet that aren't mine peeking out from the bottom of my covers at the end of the bed. I follow the line of those feet, all the way up his hidden body until I'm graced with his smiling, angelic, annoying face.

A blush coats my cheeks, though I greet him back. "Hi." Why is he still here? Seeing me in the morning...

Subtly, I try glancing down at myself. His shirt is balled around my midsection, showing off my-

Squeaking in horror, I hurriedly try pulling the material down to cover my lower half. Or more of it anyway. Events of the night before come back to me in snippets, making my face burn. I look down at my chest when I feel the fabric too tight there. His shirt hugs my chest, my nipples poking through the fabric because of the chilly morning air

I spin away from him, hopping up to put as much space between us as possible and tugging the shirt down in the same go. Too much is happening and my legs feel like jelly.

Arthur decides it's the best time to tease me with a low whistle. "Can I get a three-sixty, babe?"

"Shut up," I grumble, but I'm less than intimidating because I can hardly stay upright and I'm half naked.

Hands clutch my hips, steadying me. Arthur chuckles and I feel the vibrations against the back of my neck. "I'm kidding," he whispers. And yes, he is that close because his lips are brushing the side of my neck now.

What is going on!

But I can't move cause... it feels so nice. He always feels like heaven.

That's until one of his hands drops to the side of my thigh. Heavily.

I jerk, spinning on him. "Did you just..." He just smacked my thigh. What kind of foolishness-

He sighs in that exaggerated way he does. "You were begging for it last night." He sighs once more, shaking his head. "Seems like it was just a couple of hours ago." He stops, expression brightening in mock realization. "Oh, wait, it was!"

I stand my ground even though I want to stomp myself into it. I stare him down, crossing my arms over my chest. "I was not begging." I can't remember everything yet but I wouldn't call any of it 'begging'.

"Really?" he teases. Both hands are on my hips again, tightening and pulling me against him. He never gets tired does he, I think, as I place my hands on his biceps to steady myself. "Pretty sure you were." His arms snake around my back, one palm pressing against my back and the other snaking down, rubbing the spot dangerously close to my backside, if not on it. I can't tell... Not that well anyway.

I roll my eyes, but for some odd reason, I don't stop him. "You know nothing of being subtle." I'm acting as if I'm unbothered when in reality I'm holding back from jumping his bones. I have a pride. Now, anyway.

"You aren't denying it," he sing-songs with a smile. Only his face is saying, 'You're not pushing me away.'

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth," I tell him. I really don't want to, but whatever's happening is dangerous and I will not navigate it with my mouth feeling the way it does. Not when his breath smells all minty fresh and his face isn't a mess. He's just been laying there, for how long, staring at me? Or waiting?

Those thoughts have me pulling away quickly. His faint chuckle follows me into the bathroom.

In the middle of brushing my teeth, Arthur's tattooed arm wraps around my waist from behind. I give him a deadpan stare through the mirror.

I don't understand him at all. One day, he's all: 'I'm Arthur the gentleman and I won't touch or bother you.' Then the next, he's: 'This right here is mines and I'm a gropey little caveman'. And I won't complain because I feel the same despite not being as touchy as him. I let him do it, don't I? It's been so long, but it's familiar. This is our normal; the sole reason why I stayed away from him for so long. He has this way of knocking down all my walls, making me forget my insecurities, and just want to be with him.

"You can't help it can you?" I retort around a mouth of sud. Toothpaste runs down my chin, making me lean forward, not wanting to drip it on his shirt.

"Nope." Arthur pulls out his phone.

I go back to brushing but seconds later, his arm moves from my waist to my chest, his forearm resting on my breasts and his hand gripping my bicep.

Letting out an appalled sound, I blinked a few times. "What are you doing?" I ask with the toothbrush hanging from my mouth.

It takes a second for me to see the phone in front of us with the camera open. "Don't want nobody seeing your boobs, Gorgeous." He takes the picture.

"Then wait until I'm dressed..." I suggest in confusion, turning to look at him.

"Say cheese!" he chirps. I immediately react by sticking my tongue out, toothbrush in hand. I can't help it, I love pictures.

Arthur laughs and rests his chin on my shoulder. But since I'm a weirdo, I decide I want to make bubbles again this morning. Arthur's smile is wide as he watches me through this camera lens. I laugh, sticking my tongue out at him, then lean down to rinse my mouth out and wash my face, forcing him to move his arm.

I should've known bending over in front of him would have its consequences though.

His hands grip my thighs as his hips lean against me. I feel him press into me as his hands explore my skin. His fingers trace all the way up the back of my thighs, pushing up the shirt until I'm practically bare.

"Arthur, what the heck!" I say, my voice muffled as I rinse the soap off my face.

"What?" he says innocently, despite his hands still smoothing over my skin.

Resting my elbow on the side of the face basin, I drop my cheek in my palm as I stare at him through the mirror. Water drips from my face, down my arm. His expression lit in fascination as if he's seeing a beautiful creature for the first time. It's kind of adorable.

"Are you done?"

"Nah." He starts back up with the smacking again. I'm clueless about his intrigue with that.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. "Y'know, my dad has a gun-"

He drops his hands, stumbling back. "That wasn't cool." He frowns but I can't hide my enjoyment now.

Arthur shakes his head and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me to drown in my laughter. More power to me. I clutched the edge of the face basin, falling to my knees as I laugh. I manage to dry my hands and face while sobering up and find Arthur on my bed when I reenter my room. He's lying on his stomach with his legs dangling off the end, scrolling on his phone.

I press my lips together but that doesn't get rid of my endeared smile. "A?" I climb onto his back, settling my weight on him. It's my first time initiating physical contact while sober and it doesn't feel as weird as I thought it would. I rest my chin on his shoulder. "Are you mad?" I ask softly. He's so cute.

When he doesn't answer, it's obvious he's being a little brat. I run my hands up and down his arms, squeezing his biceps that hardly move because of how firm they are. "I was just kidding." I wasn't kidding. My father has multiple firearms. I place a soft kiss on his jawline, knowing it'll catch his attention. And it did. He peeks at me through the corner of his eye as I pull away.

I push off him and head to my closet to get dressed, closing the double doors after. I dress in a black bralette, shorts, and a loose-cropped tee. I walk out of my closet with Arthur's shirt around my neck.

"Booty shorts? You're really testing me aren't you?"

"Let's go get breakfast," I suggest, knowing my parents are in the kitchen making it if they haven't already.

"Can I get my shirt?"

I smirk, turning on him slowly. "Why?" He's in a black tank top that clings real nicely to his upper body. Muscles, yum.

"To wear," he replies, sassily.

"Fine. Then come get it." I run out of the room, laughing at the sound of him shouting my name.

I take the stairs two at a time, sometimes three, until I'm at the bottom. I take a sharp left at the bottom, sprinting into the kitchen. As I predicted, my parents are leaning against the counter next to the stove, drinking from their respective mugs.

"Good morning!" I greet them brightly and skip through the room to force myself between them like the annoying daughter I am. I lean against the counter with them and patiently watch the entrance in amusement.

I only wait a couple of seconds before Arthur stumbles into the room with a gorgeous glare on his face. When his eyes meet mine, he opens his mouth to say something but stops when he sees my parents are present.

He straightens, obviously blushing, and clears his throat. "Uh, morning."

"Boy, put a shirt on in my house," Dad warns him.

Arthur looks from him to me with purpose. Dad follows the action.

He notices the shirt across my shoulders and shakes his head. "Give the guy his shirt."

"Where's your shirt dad?" I ask, gesturing to his naked torso.

"Don't smart mouth me, kid!" he snaps, hitting me upside the head.

"Ow!" I shout, holding my arms out. "What was that for?"

"Don't like when you backtalk me." He smiles behind his mug because he has the upper hand. The distribution of power in this house is messed up.

My mom reaches behind the both of us, smacking him upside the head. "Don't hit my baby," she reprimands him.

"Babe, what the fuck!" He rubs at the back of his head, eyes wide. Mom had smacked him harder than he did me. Actually, he didn't even hit me hard, I was just offended.

I run away as I snicker under my breath, sticking my tongue out at him. Since I'm not so lucky today, I run right into Arthur who smiles down at me. I try discreetly maneuvering around him but he grabs me before I can.

"Dad?" I call in desperation only for him to look away, sipping obnoxiously at his mug. My jaw drops in betrayal. It shouldn't matter what happens, he's my father, he needs to protect me! I turn to my mom, eyes pleading for next but she only shrugs as if asking me what she's supposed to do.

"I'm gonna start dinner, so you two can go somewhere." She heads to the fridge.

"All right, Mrs. Kingston." Arthur circles his arms around my waist and lifts my feet off the ground. He carries me outside through the open backdoor. He only sets me down when we're on the back porch, pulling the door shut behind us.

"I can't believe it," I say, brushing invisible dust from my shorts. "Their own child. Only one for now." I shake my head in disappointment. "Why is she even cooking dinner so early!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up.

"It's three in the evening."

Arthur's leaning against the side of the house, taking me in. The way he's looking at me is all weird though. Almost dreamy.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask hesitantly. He has a look in his eyes that I've never seen before and it bothers me because I don't know what it is. I hate not knowing things.

"Like what?" He tilts his head to the side, still giving me that look.

"Like..." I trail off, gesturing wildly to his face with my hand, "That."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugs, straightening his posture and walking away. I gape at him as he jogs down the porch steps onto the lawn.

"Little butt face," I mumble under my breath, following.

"Wanna shoot some hoops?" He stops on the patch of concrete where my dad had set up a mini basketball court years ago.

"Sure."

Arthur did not go easy on me. So I lost. Only by a couple of points and I took it like a boss.

Okay, I didn't. I screamed at him because he was a cheater. And he did! He kept rubbing on my butt with his junk, knowing it'll distract me, or he'd just grab on it. It was the most frustrating game of my life and I've played with other people.

We played for a few hours, ending around six-thirty. We lay on the court, sweaty and spent, until we cooled down. But he still had to go home and I went upstairs to shower.

After about forty-five minutes in the bathroom, I come out in loose shorts and an oversized shirt. Then decide to start my History paper. I already had all my research so it doesn't take too long for me to get to Page 2.

When the doorbell rings, I don't bother to get up because my parents are downstairs.

"Grace! Get the door!" That's my mother.

I drop my forehead onto the pad of my computer with a groan. I take a moment to regroup before getting up from my desk.

As I'm passing the living room, I catch a glimpse of my parents snuggled up on the couch and backtracked. Hands on my hips, I give them a look. "Seriously?" I can't act like I'm not annoyed. They're both sitting right there and call me to open the door? They know I hate getting the door.

"I know it ain't for us," Dad explains. "People know better."

Instead of getting into this, I throw my hands up and let it go. One or two friends show up unexpected a few times and now you gotta get the door every time the bell rings. I basically yank the door open in my frustration.

My eyebrows shoot up at the sight of John standing on my doorstep. He knows he's not welcome here anymore...  Oh, this has to be good if he's risking everything coming here. At this time?

"You want to die, don't you?" I can't stop the grin from splitting my face because this is... it's something.

"I need to talk to you," he says firmly. It's not demanding, almost panicked. "I tried calling and texting but you weren't picking up."

My smile fades as I eye him. "Kitchen," I tell him simply. "Quietly."

He does as I say and thankfully my parents don't even ask who it is when I close the door and follow him.

"Who was it?" Dad shouts from the living room when me and John are safely in the other room. Darn it!

I'm tempted to say, "Some kid got the wrong house."  I don't. My parents aren't stupid, they'll know something's up.

I settle on, "Someone asking for directions!"

"Oh. Aight!"

John hasn't stopped pacing the kitchen while running his hands through his hair every few seconds.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, rounding the island to go be nosey and see what my parents made.  Rice, barbeque chicken, steamed veggies. Nice. I'm already getting a plate to share my dinner.

"Sarah," John sighs. He doesn't usually say her name like she's a problem but when he does, I can always guess what the problem is.

I bite back the urge to groan. Sarah's a handful when she decides to be insecure. And when this happens I'm usually brought into the picture because I'm his ex and we're friends. It bothers her sometimes, which is understandable, but it's not like John and I did anything after we broke up. We hardly did anything when we were together. Nothing sexual anyway.

She doesn't see how much he likes her and I'm tired of telling her that John and I are done. I don't even think about our past relationship anymore. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't just end our friendship to make her happy.

"Again?" I retort. "You can't keep coming to me. I'm running out of speeches." He always asks me to talk to her when she gets like this and isn't listening to what he says. She usually does listen to me because we're friends (I think) and she believes me... It's kind of sad she doesn't trust him though.

"I know, I know. She just... it's so frustrating. Why can't she trust me?" He says the words more to himself, his voice hard.

I put my plate of food in the microwave, cover it, and put it on two minutes. "Sorry." I turn to him, leaning against the counter. I really do feel bad for him but I don't make myself say what I really want to. I don't have the heart to.

"No, need for that." He runs a hand down his face. "Can you talk to her again? This last time? Promise." He sounds so tired that all I can do is nod wordlessly. Then we sit in this familiar silence with only the sound of the microwave filling it.

"The fuck is this?" Arthur stands in the kitchen doorway, wearing a fierce glare that I haven't seen on him for a long time.