Lizzie

I open my laptop and my notebook and start on my assignment. "I told you, Brandon. I'm not doing yours as well. Deadline is next week, so I suggest you get your butt off my bed and start doing some work." I flick to my music app on my mobile and begin playing one of my favorite artists, Taylor Swift.

"Yeah, in a minute," he says, still with his eyes closed. I roll my eyes. I know I'm going to have a late night whilst he is out at practice, then with Jennie, doing his too.

I hear his mobile ring and then his voice. "Yeah, what's up, babe?" Who is he talking to, and why is he calling them "babe"? It makes my stomach drop, and my chest tighten. Those are the words I want to hear him saying to me. I bet it's fucking Jennie.

"Sure, tonight after practice. I'm still on. I'll swing by and pick you up from yours." He is silent; no doubt Jennie's big tits is telling him all sorts of mind-blowing things she's going to do to Brandon tonight. I feel sick. Physically sick.

"Yeah, no problem. It'll be fun. I can bring a bottle of Vodka with me." Now I'm just getting downright mad. He's going to be driving his damn truck; he can't be drinking. "Sure. I can't wait, oh and wear something sexy," he drawls. I could throw his phone out of the window. I'm so pissed off right now and hurt. Really hurt.

"Suppose that was Jennie," I say whilst typing away on my assignment, which I actually ought to be doing some more research on. I hate history though; it bores me. Why do I want to know what happened over two hundred years ago? It doesn't affect me today. What is affecting me today is Brandon and Jennie. This stupid teenage crush that has been going on for a couple of years. I want to cry. It's just ridiculous. So stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Don't be like that. Just because you don't like her." I can feel his eyes on me but still don't look at him.

"Course I don't. She's only with you because of who you are and what you represent to the school as a jock." He hates it when I call him that, but tough shit. "And you shouldn't be drinking if you're driving, Brandon. You know you could get killed, and your dad would ground you. Then where will you be?" Satisfied, I got that off my flat chest. Take that then, big shot.

"Nah, I'm not drinking. We've got a game this weekend. I can't afford to throw it. There's going to be some scouts there. She can drink, besides it'll loosen her up a bit."

Before I even think the words are out of my mouth, like razors. "That girl doesn't need any more loosening up, Brandon. She's as loose as they come. I'm surprised you're sticking anything in her. I hope you wear two condoms to not get something icky and nasty."

He laughs. "You're so funny, Lizzie. You got me pissing my damn pants." I flick my finger at him. That's the end of the conversation. But I do know that Brandon does like a drink. He got into trouble with his old man a few weeks back when we went to a house party. Boy, was he so drunk. He couldn't even stand up.

It took Denver to haul his sorry butt into his pick-up truck and drive him home. He had to ring on Brandon's doorbell, and who do you suppose opened it? That's right, Brandon's dad. One look at the state of his son and Denver was out of there, practically dropping Brandon on the floor. I was the only one in the truck watching who wasn't giggling. Tammy and Lilly thought it was funny. I can tell you, there is nothing funny about seeing your best friend wasted, unable to stand up themselves and on the brink of puking up yesterday's dinner. It's sad. So damn sad.

"What about my assignment, will you help me? Only I've got to shoot in ten minutes to get ready for practice and my hot date tonight." I think he's actually getting off on teasing me mercilessly. But he doesn't know I'm crushing on him. How would he? I haven't said anything. Do you think guys just know this kind of thing? According to my romance books, they usually don't have a frigging clue.

I turn round in my chair; our eyes meet. I go mushy inside. Again. "I suppose so. But only if you promise not to drink a sip of that Vodka you are intending on taking out tonight. You know if your dad finds out, you're going to be in deep shit. Right?" I pause. "I may have to do it tomorrow; I want to go out with the girls later and speak with Dexter about prom." His smile slides right off his face.

"Yeah, yeah." He runs his hands through his jet-black hair. I see how his biceps bulge and it spreads a warm glow from the bottom of my stomach, up through my chest and into my throat. Brandon is sexy.

So. Damn. Sexy.

"Thanks, Lizzie Baby. I love you. You're the best." I wish desperately the words meant something. I know he means them only insofar as I am his bestie, nothing else. I want to gasp for air, because right now, looking at him directly in his electric blue eyes, proud biceps and the way his hips wriggle as he does an excited wriggle on the bed, it makes me crush even harder. I don't think I'm ever going to find someone else in my entire life that is going to make me feel this way. That makes me sad.

Brandon is going to find a girl one day, no doubt at college, and they'll be glued together at the hip. Bile runs up my throat, and I am so conflicted emotionally and physically between desire for him and sick at the thought of him being with a girl for life.

Crushing on someone you can't have sucks. It fucking sucks.