How to Catch an Oppa (#Wattys2015)

Christian                    

  

            I'd been told that self-control was my most formidable trait. The rock of Gibralter, friends called me-unshaken by the strongest wind. I'd accepted that I'd never be the guy in a bar fight or even the Oppa who dragged a girl by the wrist...until today.

            I searched my brain for an explanation of my actions, but only found a cliché: I don't know what came over me.  It would be easy to say it was because that jerk disrespected her, but I'd been in those situations before and had easily maintained an air of indifference. Yet this time, when I'd seen the myriad of emotions cross her face-hope, resentment, pain, anger-the thought that crossed my mind was simple, not her.

            It was cool outside so I'd put us both into my car. In the confines of such a small space, her scent-a delicate bouquet like sun-dried flowers dipped in peaches-left me...aroused.

Catrina sat quietly wringing her hands then smoothing them over toned thighs. As if feeling my gaze on them, she crossed her legs.

            "Thank you." She said, her voice smaller than I'd expected.

            "It was nothing, I just...can't stand-that guy is a jerk."

She smiled and I gripped the steering wheel to keep myself from caressing her face. I'd already done enough "inappropriate touching" for the day. My gaze slipped from her lips to the swell of her breast as I recalled how close I'd been to their fullness earlier.

            "Do you want to kiss them?"

            "Uh, wh-what?" I looked up.

            "You're staring at my breast," she said, a touch of humor in her gaze.

            "Was I?" I smoothed back my hair then turned to hide the flames on my cheeks. What was wrong with me? I'd never stared so openly at a woman's chest before...not in public at least.

            "It's alright. It happens all the time."

Again, I clenched the steering wheel though not because she'd relegated me to a class of perverts. Instead, I thought about what I'd do when I got my hands on them...the perverts, not her breast. Ok, those too, but jenjang what is wrong with me?

            After mind-singing several rounds of Kim Soo Han Moon to calm my brain and other parts down, I let go of the wheel and relaxed. From the corner of my eye I saw that she'd turned her body to face me, one leg propped in the black leather seat.

            "Sorry, but-uh, would you...mind," I motioned to the leg.

            "Oh-sorry." She eased her leg down and her smile with it. "Guess you're one of those guys."

            "What guys?"

            "You know, don't eat in my car, don't chew gum in my car, don't breathe in my car-those guys."

Instead of waiting for my answer, she leaned over the console to look at the dashboard.

            "Whoa! 7,249 miles! Is this thing new? No, no, you probably don't even drive it, do you?" She turned to me, sending a rush of her scent across my nose.

            Was I aware I'd been asked a question? Yes. Did I realize she expected an answer? Yes. Was I in any way capable of providing one? No. Somewhere between her leaning over: breast threatening to escape their lacey prison and warm breath brushing against my face, everything turned to mush. Body. Brain. Tongue. Mush. All made worse by the proximity of her mouth to mine.  She must have realized it too because she quickly moved back to her seat.