24 Hours
Nick (03:00 - 04:00)
I knew straight away that she was far too good for me. It was obvious from the first glance.
She's the type of girl who smiles at you with her big brown eyes and wears her long, dark hair in a loose ponytail. The kind of girl who pulls her sleeves over her hands and chews on the inside of her mouth when she thinks nobody is looking. She's the type of girl who speaks very softly and always says thank-you and never loses her temper. The sort of girl who goes to university and works part-time at a 24 hour service station so as not to bother her parents for money. A shy, pretty, nice girl. The kind of girl every boy wants to take home to meet his mother. You know the type.
But I'm the kind of guy who has a nipple piercing and stretched earlobes and a tattoo on his neck. The kind of guy who wears his jeans around his thighs and dyes his hair jet-black and grows it so it covers his eyes. The type of guy who has too much confidence and too little to show for it. A cocky, scruffy ragamuffin. The sort of guy who works a mindless job as a barman and never splits his tips. The kind of guy who will go into the woods late at night with his friends and set fire to stuff and drink beer. You know the type.
So straight away I knew I had to be nice to her. She was serving somebody else already when I walked into the shop and first saw her. Some old dude buying whiskey or something. I don't know. Either way, that was the first time her eyes met mine and I knew that she was a nice girl and I would have to be nice to her.
Most of the girls I talk to are a little skanky so it doesn't matter if I treat them like shit. In fact, they love it if I treat them like shit. But this girl was different. Obviously.
I spent a good ten minutes just standing in front of the beers on the shelves, blinking a little and mentally preparing myself for a conversation with her. She kind of had me spooked, if I'm honest. It wasn't what I was expecting when I offered to make the beer run tonight. I wasn't expecting to walk into the service station and fall in love. I guess nobody ever does. But it happens.
Finally, I grabbed a crate of Budweiser and made my way over to the counter, pretending like I wasn't developing a hernia from the sheer weight of it. Foolish, really, to assume I could carry it under one arm. But I was trying to impress her, I guess. Though god knows why I thought that was the way to go.
"Hey," she said kind of casually but with a breezy smile as I placed the crate down on her checkout. She kind of looked at me sideways through those big brown eyes in a way that made me know that she knew that I was not as strong as I would have liked to appear. It was magical.
"Hey," I replied with a sheepish grin. "How are you?" I pulled my driving license out of my wallet because I anticipated she might ID me for the beer. Because I was blessed with a baby-face despite my nineteen years.
She looked a little taken aback but within a millisecond she had recomposed herself and flashed me another smile. I don't think I could ever get sick of her smiles. She had these amazing dimples and her eyes lit up like Christmas. It was mesmerising.
"I'm great, thanks," she replied, heaving the crate of beer over her scanner thingy on the checkout and then pushing it down to the bag section. You know what I mean, right? I don't know the proper names or anything. "How are you?" I turned my driving license around in my hands nervously. I wasn't sure why I was nervous. I talk to girls all the time. But not nice girls like this. Not nice, beautiful girls like this one.
"I'm also great," I said, still grinning like a moron. I glanced at her nametag and hoped that she didn't notice the quick peek I took at her breasts, too. They were damn good boobs for such a nice girl. I don't know why I assumed that all nice girls have small boobs or something. It just seems that way, I guess, because most skanky girls have huge fake tits. Which is all well and good for that kind of girl. That kind of girl serves a whole different purpose. But I was talking to a nice girl here. A nice girl with a great rack.
Anyway, I digress. Her nametag said Daisy. Isn't that just the nicest name you could ever imagine? I cannot think of a single name that would have suited her better.
"Good," she said, and it took me a second to remember what had previously been said, what with all the chest-ogling and nametag-reading and incessant thoughts bouncing around my stupid head like huge natural boobs. Shut up. She looked back at her screen thing. "That'll be eight-fifty, please," she told me sweetly.
I gave a small laugh. "Don't you want to see my ID?"
She gave a small laugh back at me. "Sure, why not."
I handed over my driving license, feeling suddenly extremely embarrassed for practically forcing it upon her. But love can make us do silly things, right?
Daisy gave my ID a quick glance-over before handing it back, still smiling that hypnotising smile. "Your birthday is the day before mine," she informed me as I slipped the card back into my wallet.
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows even though I guess it wasn't that surprising. I mean, there are only 365 days a year, right?
She nodded and I think I saw her blush a little.
I pulled out a tenner and handed it over to her and our hands briefly grazed and I know it's really corny but it felt awesome and cool and her skin was so soft that I wanted to rub it all over mine but not in a pervy way because I respected Daisy. She would never be a mindless fuck. I wouldn't even necessarily need to have sex with her but if we did then we would make love. Real love. And it would be magical.
"That's one-fifty change," she said, snapping me out of my daydreams (although it was early morning so maybe night-dreams?) and pouring change into my open palm.
"Oh right, thanks," I said, giving her my most charming of smiles and shoving all of the money into my pockets.
"You're very welcome," she replied. She was smiling with her eyes again. I wanted to stay and talk but there was a middle-aged woman waiting in the queue giving me a death-stare.
"Have a good night," Daisy beamed at me. Beamed. It was like the sun was inside the store or some other weird cliche shit, I dunno. But either way, it was amazing.
"You too," I grinned, picking up my crate of beer, which now seemed almost weightless with Daisy's smile spurring me on. "Goodbye, Daisy."
She laughed a little and then I had to go.
For the whole drive home I considered turning around and going back to the checkout and writing my number on Daisy's arm with her biro pen and begging for her to call me. But I knew I wouldn't do it. Because that's not me. I'm not the type of guy who just walks into a store and talks to nice, pretty girl for a couple of minutes and then goes chasing after her like an animal. I'm the type of guy who goes back to the party, has a couple of beers, and then goes home with some skanky girl with bleach-blonde hair and false tits and a tongue piercing.
You know the type.
She's the type of girl who smiles at you with her big brown eyes and wears her long, dark hair in a loose ponytail. The kind of girl who pulls her sleeves over her hands and chews on the inside of her mouth when she thinks nobody is looking. She's the type of girl who speaks very softly and always says thank-you and never loses her temper. The sort of girl who goes to university and works part-time at a 24 hour service station so as not to bother her parents for money. A shy, pretty, nice girl. The kind of girl every boy wants to take home to meet his mother. You know the type.
But I'm the kind of guy who has a nipple piercing and stretched earlobes and a tattoo on his neck. The kind of guy who wears his jeans around his thighs and dyes his hair jet-black and grows it so it covers his eyes. The type of guy who has too much confidence and too little to show for it. A cocky, scruffy ragamuffin. The sort of guy who works a mindless job as a barman and never splits his tips. The kind of guy who will go into the woods late at night with his friends and set fire to stuff and drink beer. You know the type.
So straight away I knew I had to be nice to her. She was serving somebody else already when I walked into the shop and first saw her. Some old dude buying whiskey or something. I don't know. Either way, that was the first time her eyes met mine and I knew that she was a nice girl and I would have to be nice to her.
Most of the girls I talk to are a little skanky so it doesn't matter if I treat them like shit. In fact, they love it if I treat them like shit. But this girl was different. Obviously.
I spent a good ten minutes just standing in front of the beers on the shelves, blinking a little and mentally preparing myself for a conversation with her. She kind of had me spooked, if I'm honest. It wasn't what I was expecting when I offered to make the beer run tonight. I wasn't expecting to walk into the service station and fall in love. I guess nobody ever does. But it happens.
Finally, I grabbed a crate of Budweiser and made my way over to the counter, pretending like I wasn't developing a hernia from the sheer weight of it. Foolish, really, to assume I could carry it under one arm. But I was trying to impress her, I guess. Though god knows why I thought that was the way to go.
"Hey," she said kind of casually but with a breezy smile as I placed the crate down on her checkout. She kind of looked at me sideways through those big brown eyes in a way that made me know that she knew that I was not as strong as I would have liked to appear. It was magical.
"Hey," I replied with a sheepish grin. "How are you?" I pulled my driving license out of my wallet because I anticipated she might ID me for the beer. Because I was blessed with a baby-face despite my nineteen years.
She looked a little taken aback but within a millisecond she had recomposed herself and flashed me another smile. I don't think I could ever get sick of her smiles. She had these amazing dimples and her eyes lit up like Christmas. It was mesmerising.
"I'm great, thanks," she replied, heaving the crate of beer over her scanner thingy on the checkout and then pushing it down to the bag section. You know what I mean, right? I don't know the proper names or anything. "How are you?" I turned my driving license around in my hands nervously. I wasn't sure why I was nervous. I talk to girls all the time. But not nice girls like this. Not nice, beautiful girls like this one.
"I'm also great," I said, still grinning like a moron. I glanced at her nametag and hoped that she didn't notice the quick peek I took at her breasts, too. They were damn good boobs for such a nice girl. I don't know why I assumed that all nice girls have small boobs or something. It just seems that way, I guess, because most skanky girls have huge fake tits. Which is all well and good for that kind of girl. That kind of girl serves a whole different purpose. But I was talking to a nice girl here. A nice girl with a great rack.
Anyway, I digress. Her nametag said Daisy. Isn't that just the nicest name you could ever imagine? I cannot think of a single name that would have suited her better.
"Good," she said, and it took me a second to remember what had previously been said, what with all the chest-ogling and nametag-reading and incessant thoughts bouncing around my stupid head like huge natural boobs. Shut up. She looked back at her screen thing. "That'll be eight-fifty, please," she told me sweetly.
I gave a small laugh. "Don't you want to see my ID?"
She gave a small laugh back at me. "Sure, why not."
I handed over my driving license, feeling suddenly extremely embarrassed for practically forcing it upon her. But love can make us do silly things, right?
Daisy gave my ID a quick glance-over before handing it back, still smiling that hypnotising smile. "Your birthday is the day before mine," she informed me as I slipped the card back into my wallet.
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows even though I guess it wasn't that surprising. I mean, there are only 365 days a year, right?
She nodded and I think I saw her blush a little.
I pulled out a tenner and handed it over to her and our hands briefly grazed and I know it's really corny but it felt awesome and cool and her skin was so soft that I wanted to rub it all over mine but not in a pervy way because I respected Daisy. She would never be a mindless fuck. I wouldn't even necessarily need to have sex with her but if we did then we would make love. Real love. And it would be magical.
"That's one-fifty change," she said, snapping me out of my daydreams (although it was early morning so maybe night-dreams?) and pouring change into my open palm.
"Oh right, thanks," I said, giving her my most charming of smiles and shoving all of the money into my pockets.
"You're very welcome," she replied. She was smiling with her eyes again. I wanted to stay and talk but there was a middle-aged woman waiting in the queue giving me a death-stare.
"Have a good night," Daisy beamed at me. Beamed. It was like the sun was inside the store or some other weird cliche shit, I dunno. But either way, it was amazing.
"You too," I grinned, picking up my crate of beer, which now seemed almost weightless with Daisy's smile spurring me on. "Goodbye, Daisy."
She laughed a little and then I had to go.
For the whole drive home I considered turning around and going back to the checkout and writing my number on Daisy's arm with her biro pen and begging for her to call me. But I knew I wouldn't do it. Because that's not me. I'm not the type of guy who just walks into a store and talks to nice, pretty girl for a couple of minutes and then goes chasing after her like an animal. I'm the type of guy who goes back to the party, has a couple of beers, and then goes home with some skanky girl with bleach-blonde hair and false tits and a tongue piercing.
You know the type.