Watching Her Chapter 19 - Baloo

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Chapter 19 – Baloo – The Jungle Book
Baloo is lazy and laid back. He loves to dance and play games. 

For the first night since this whole thing started with Bella, I leave the house wearing only the cargo shorts and t-shirt I put on after my shower. No hoodie, no beanie, just a well-worn and faded Seattle Mariners ball cap from a game my dad and I went to years ago. Also for the first time, the air is warm, still … and humid, even at this hour. The leaves overhead seem almost wilted, as if weary from the relentless sunshine they've withstood during the unseasonably warm past few days.

Clear skies mean the moon is full and bright; a huge, white polka dot in an onyx sky full of glittery gold stars. My nap has done me a world of good, or maybe it's just the fact that I can't wait to see Bella, but as I jog toward her house, there's barely a change in my breathing. Oh, my heart's beating as fast as a fucking jackhammer, but that has nothing to do with the exertion of running, and everything to do with her.

By the time I see the light from her building, slipping through the trees like my own personal homing beacon, I've slowed down to a walk. My heart screeches to a halt as it does every night when I leave the cover of the forest and make the short walk to the open bay door. After so many days, you'd think my stomach wouldn't threaten to jump out of my throat, but the few seconds I spend out in the open always seem to last a lifetime.

Once I step inside her sanctuary, my heart calms and that sense of more, that pull toward some unknown, inexplicable something springs to life, the same as it has since the first night. With the warmer, moist air, the scent of peppermint and sugar cookies seems to have seeped into every available surface. I can't help but glance toward the far wall of the building where last night I saw what was beneath the tarp for the first time.

"Hottest fucking thing ever." I groan under my breath. I have to adjust my hardening dick when I think about Bella working on her car. Fuck, it was incredible. I'm still surprised she couldn't hear me panting because, Christ Almighty, I was like a dog in heat.

When I saw the door go up then the tarp come off, I thought I was going to lose it. When she popped the hood and cranked up the music, my fingernails dug into the soft bark so hard there was still dirt there even after my shower. When she bent over, her perfect ass raised in the air like a God damn billboard advertising all things hot and sexy, I almost came in my pants. I'm not too ashamed to admit when I got home I had to Google her car and I swear my mouth hit the floor when I saw what kind it was … a 1954 Buick Wildcat II. I'd never seen one before. I still don't know whether it's hers or someone else's, but I'm dying to find out.
Speaking of … I glance down at the notebook in my hand and lift my arm so I can hold it open. I flip to tonight's letter for Bella and read over it one more time.

Drummer Girl,

It was harder than hell to force myself to use her nickname instead of her real name. We've come a long way already, but even so, Bella is still holding back so much and I don't want to freak her out … again. I don't enjoy the fact that it feels like I'm lying to her, but I know without a doubt if I were to bust out with her name, she'd go running in the other direction as fast as her sexy legs could carry her. She wouldn't think twice about it either.

In my letter last night I talked a little bit about my music. I told her about playing the piano and the guitar and I even told her some about soccer. I didn't get into ODP camp in a few weeks or what my dreams are for after high school, but I did admit that #18 is my jersey number. I want to tell her my name so badly it hurts, but I know she's not ready for that either.

You asked me the other day how I found you. Would you believe a little birdie told me to look for you? No? Damn, I didn't think so, but you can't blame a guy for trying. Honestly, it was by accident really. 

Here I debated how honest to be with her. Do I tell her I saw her drive through town and I couldn't stop thinking about her or do I just tell her how I found her, skipping the why? The why of course is important, but she's not ready to hear it yet.

Remember how I told you my parents were out of town for a while? Well, I couldn't sleep one night and decided to go for a run to see if it would tire me out enough so I'd be able to go to bed. I started to run, and after I'd gone a little ways, I heard a strange sound … and followed it until I could figure out what it was. It was you, playing the drums. I watched as long as you stayed outside, thinking I'd never heard anything like it. 

I know it freaks you out that I watch you, but you have no idea how incredible it is to see. Please don't be scared of me. I hope you believe me when I tell you I won't hurt you.

I won't. I promise. 

Will you finish the song? I really want to know how it ends. 

Do you think we'll ever be friends? Will you ever tell me why you play the way you do and why sometimes you look so sad, like your heart is breaking and you might never smile again? 

I want to help you if I can. I hope you'll let me someday. 

I'm a nice guy, I swear I am. Ask anyone, or, well, you could, if you knew my name. Makes you wanna ask me, doesn't it? 

Nah, it's okay. I like being #18. 

'Til tomorrow night ...

I barely have time to find the sweet spot of the tree with my shoulder before the side door of Bella's house opens. My eyes close, for just a second, so that I can savor the way my entire body pulses with anticipation. When she steps through her door every night, and I see her for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, it's like a little kid on Christmas morning. You know there are presents waiting for you under the tree, but seeing them for the first time makes your heart start to pound and the urge to laugh and clap and jump up and down is so strong you can't help but give in.

I don't jump and clap, I'm not that big of an idiot over the girl, but I do smile and I do feel the same way I do just before a big game when the adrenaline is pumping through my veins and it's as if I can fly.

She looks fucking amazing. Not that she doesn't always, but tonight, holy hell, she's out of this world. Her navy blue shorts are so tiny they almost look like those cheeky thingies Emmett talks about Rose wearing … not that I've ever seen them myself, but he talks about them so much I might as well have. Her t-shirt is the tightest I've seen on her yet. Baby blue with a picture of Baloo on the front. She's barefoot again, a fact that makes my dick harden. It stands straight up when I notice the two braids draped over each shoulder.

Jesus.

Normally she takes a few moments to just stand still but tonight it's like she can't wait to get to her drums. Practically skipping down the steps, she hurries toward the building and I swear, fucking swear, she shakes her ass on purpose right before she walks inside. Tease. She's obviously trying to kill me. The smile that hasn't left her face since she walked outside grows bigger when she spies the notebook in its normal spot and after a brief, but no less heart twisty turny inducing action, she holds it to her chest before tossing it on the arm of the loveseat.

I've never been more jealous of an inanimate object in my life.

I know for a fact she's trying to kill me when she glances in my direction as she twirls the sticks around in her fingers before she launches right in and begins to play. No warm up, no tentative taps of the sticks against the skins, she just starts to fucking whale.

After she plays a couple of songs, she stops for just a moment. A few strands of hair have come loose and stick to her forehead and across her face. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and I know with the utmost certainty that if I were sitting on the loveseat, I'd see beads of sweat drip down her chest between her perfect tits. I also know I'd want to lick it off, slowly. That's for fucking sure.

She looks so damned happy, like she's swallowed a whole ball of sunshine and it's just filling her up from the inside and spilling out. It's in the way she moves, the way she smiles, and when she starts playing Someone is Watching Me there is no doubt.

Just like I know she's playing for me.

I watch.

I listen.

I learn with every beat and every smile.

I need with an urgency that should scare the shit out of me, but doesn't.

Tomorrow's my birthday. There's nothing I want more than her.
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