I've Got A Problem

My name is Olivia Scout and I have a problem. A six-foot-four-two-hundred-twenty-pound-Canadian-wants-to-get-in-my-size-fourteen-pants problem. Yeah, that about sums it up. I met Milan Lucic when I moved into the apartment across from his. It was pretty obvious that his idea of ‘borrowing a cup of sugar’ was code for checking out the new neighbor. You know, I never asked him what he would have done if it was some fat guy who had answered the door. I’m not sure I want to know his reaction. I don’t know what his deal is. I mean, he’s made it abundantly clear that he wants in my pants. He flat out told me ‘I want in your pants…just so you know’, but I’m confused as to why he picked me. Milan Lucic does not strike me as the desperate type, but I guess when all of this (full-fledged body motion to all of my curves and extras) is the only thing available you take what you can get. This brings me to six months into our friendship and he’s still going strong. He spends every waking moment that he’s not playing hockey (not that I’m complaining, of course) with me. Just me. Little old me.

We never go out, like on dates or anything. We just hang out in my apartment or his playing video games (I’ll have you know I’m the reigning champ of our NHL battles) or watching movies. We’re comfortable. We friends. That’s it. Just friends. I’d like to emphasize that now. We are only friends and it’s going to stay that way…for now anyway. Speaking of the devil, here he comes now. Walking in like he owns the place. Well, considering I’m in his apartment he kind of does, but that’s beside the point. He just has that kind of personality. Overly confident and so very sure of himself, something that I most definitely am not. I’m absolutely a self-conscience person. I think being a size fourteen does that to me. But that’s not important. I’m telling you this as documentation to my downfall. And by downfall I mean that I fell hard and fast for Looch, and I lived to tell about it.