#flashex3410

#28 “Your socks are mismatched.”

The day was beautiful - the weather finally being consistently warm - and I decided to read outside at a nearby park rather than plunking myself own on the couch as usual. I settled on the grass beneath a large maple tree, its growing buds casting dappled shadows across my lap. Leaning back against the bark, I took my book out of my purse and kicked off my shoes.

Reading like this was peaceful even with the hoard of yelling children crashing through the park’s playground equipment a couple dozen yards away. Sunshine, blue skies, slight breeze. Perfect. Smiling, I found my page and dove in, awash with contentment. 

“Your socks are mismatched.” The young voice shook me from my story a short while later. Looking up, I found a girl, perhaps five or six years old, standing in front of me.

“Of course they are,” I said. “I never wear matching socks.”

Bright green eyes widened under a blonde fringe, blinking with curiosity. She tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

“Because life is too short to wear matching socks.” That seemed to confuse the girl more, so I simplified: “Because it’s more fun.” At that, her face lit up, smile complimenting the spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose. I’m not really one for kids, but I’ll admit she was a cute little bugger.

“I like your socks!” she exclaimed, making me chuckle.

“I do, too,” I said, looking at them myself. I happened to be wearing some of my Boku no Hero Academia ones, sporting a chibi Bakugou on my left foot and Midoriya on my right.

“My name is Jessica but I like ‘Jess’ better,” the girl said. “What’s yours?”

I pulled my legs up to sit cross-legged, giving her some room to plop down in front of me. “I’m Amber. Do you have someone here with you at the park?” Heaven forbid I have to deal with a lost child.

Jess turned and pointed. “My momma is over there with my baby brother.”

A woman about my age was helping a little boy down the slide. As she lifted him up and spun him around, she glanced over at us. Both Jess and I waved. She braced her child on her hip and walked over to us.

“She’s not bothering you, is she?” the woman asked when within easy speaking range.

“Nah, she’s fine,” I replied. “We were just chatting. She likes my socks.” I wriggled my toes, causing the mom to smile. “I’m Amber.”

“Sarah,” she said, reaching down to shake my offered hand. She looked to her daughter. “I don’t mind if you sit and talk,” she told her, “but if Amber needs to leave or wants to be left alone, you come right back over to me, understand?” 

“Yes, Momma!” Jess beamed.

Getting a nod of consent from me, Sarah set the little boy down and chased him back to the slide.

Jess shifted forward to lay on her stomach. Feet kicking the air, she started rapid-firing questions at me: “What’s your favorite color? Do you like dogs or cats? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” 

“Blue, both, and two older sisters,” I laughed. She was disappointed when I told her my nieces and nephews lived in different states and wouldn’t be able to come play.

Jess kept the conversation interesting by flitting from topic to topic with no apparent transitions whatsoever. She told me about her parents, her little brother, their two dogs, what her school was like, what she wanted to be when she grew up. She punctuated her ramblings with thoughts like, “Do butterflies know they’re beautiful?” and “How high do you think birds can fly?” I found myself enjoying this erratic six-year-old’s company. Soon, however, Jess’ mom was calling for her so they could go home. The little girl stood, brushing grass from her hands.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” she asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “but I come here a lot when it’s nice out. You’re welcome to come say ‘hi’ whenever you see me.”

“Okay! Bye-bye!” And with that, Jess turned and skipped away.

15. I just punched you in the face and you’re flirting with me?

Left jab, right cross, jab again, quick right hook. Repeat. The bag rocks slightly in front of me as I pound my bright turquoise gloves into it over and over. I always choose the red bag that reaches the ground in my gym’s “Fit Pit” because it doesn’t move as much as the others. Knowing me, I’d get hit by the bag’s back swing; I know it’s supposed to help you with rhythm, but meh.

Switching my combo to include different hook levels, I barely notice when someone joins me in the Pit. I can see him stretching in my peripheral vision, but I’m focused. Earbuds blast “White Flag” by Bishop Briggs through my brain, part of my Heavy Hitters playlist to get me in the right mood for beating the crap out of the bag. Thoughts focus on pushing all my frustration and angst from the day into the steadily increasing dent in the Title logo.

So when I feel a hand on my shoulder, I don’t really think - I just react. Dropping my left shoulder down, I spin on my right foot and bring my hand across and connect with an unsuspecting jaw. The guy’s head rocks back and to the side with a short cry.

“Shit!” I exclaim when I realize I actually hit a person. “I’m so sorry! You scared the shit out of me! Are you okay?”

Rubbing his bruised jaw - and possibly ego? A girl can hope - he replies with a grin, “Nah, I’m fine. I deserved it.” 

Only a handful of inches taller than my 5′6″ height, he’s dressed in loose blue gym shorts and a black muscle tank top. He’s built without being huge; well-defined muscle lines his arms and legs, and it’s the right amount to fit his frame. A lot of the guys around here are trying to bulge out of their clothes, which might work for some people, but when your bicep is as big as my head, it’s not much of a turn-on for me. 

His face is no disappointment either. Dark hair, bordering on slightly shaggy, frames green (or maybe hazel...) eyes and a sharp nose. Nice cheekbones. Strong jaw. I wince at the bruise beginning to show like a five o’clock shadow.

I start as I realize I’ve been staring. Meeting his eyes, I clear my throat. “Did you, uh, need something?” Real smooth, there, hon. Oh well, he’s prettier than you are, anyway.

“I was just gonna ask if you had the WiFi password, but I think I’ll brave the data usage,” he chuckles. “That was a nice cross. Have you been boxing long?”

“About a year or so? Nothing professional, just personal training here and there.”

“Maybe you could give me a few pointers?” he asks with crooked smile. 

What is it about half-smiles that are so...I don’t know, endearing? Is that the right word? I looked over as his bag, taking in the wraps, gloves, knee pads, and other boxing paraphernalia. “Yeah, looks like you need the help.”

“Well, at least let me buy you a cup of coffee. For scaring you,” he clarifies at my quizzical look.

“Wait,” I say, “I just punched you in the face and you’re flirting with me?”

“Yeah.” He smiles fully. Dammit, he has a dimple on the right side of his mouth. “My name is Blake.” He extends his hand for a shake.

Smirking, I hold my still-gloved hand out for a fist bump. “I’m Amber.”

His grin widens and he knocks his knuckles into the padding. “Nice to meet you, Amber.” Reaching for his own gloves, he asks, “Want to show me that right cross again?”

Oh, this is going to be fun.

I LOVE YOU TOO

I already did this so I won't send it but I'll change the answers

1.) Thunderstorms and rain

2.) giant trees that are climbable and big enough to potentially hold a tree house

3.) going on adventures with my friends

4.) bioluminescent creatures of the deep

It's 1 35 am sorry to answer now but!!! I love it!!! Definetly going to the nostalgic playlist