The daylight was cutting through the basement window of Gezza like an accusing flashlight and bouncing off discarded energy drinks cans and dusty socks, which were lying scattered on the floor.
The air had a bad mixture of laundry that had not been washed, and dust of nachos, yet Gezza did not mind.
He was still riding the high out of pounding Elena Martinez, her jasmine-scented curves and moaned like a sexy pornographic tape playing in his head.
His swimsuit posters--the smooth-haired Miss July at the head of the pack--appeared to look at him out of the walls.
"I am a king now, ya know, said to himself", and made a middle finger at her bikini scorn.
The social media creep-fest at night before had paid off.
He had extracted the full name of Mia Larson, and that of Mia Elizabeth Larson, out of a wedding announcement of some relative.
On his list came the high school queen who had called him Greasy Gezza.
The Playbook, whose leather cover he felt nearly throbbing with warmth, was in his backpack.
The runes inscribed into it were reflected in the low light of his desk lamp, and winked at each other like being in on his sordid schemes.
He turned to a blank page and wrote Mia Elizabeth Larson in shaky hand. The ink sunk in and burned a little before fading as in the case of Elena.
Round two, baby, he grinned, and already imagined himself holding Mia, with her influencer-perfect curves.
"Gerald! You going to sleep the day through or what? his mom screamed at upstairs, and pots rattled as she was laying war to the kitchen.
"Chill, Ma, I'm up!" crying, he pulled at a hoodie that smelled a little less like a locker room.
He looked at himself in a broken mirror--dubious hair, ragged whiskers, eyes mad with the victory of the previous night.
Playbook, I got you, he said to himself and threw his backpack over his shoulder.
Latest Insta story shows Mia hanging in Brewed Awakening, the downtown hipster coffee shop. It is time to get her to eat her old insults.
There was a buzz of life in the street beyond--honks and the smell of exhaust and warm bread, as the bakery across the way baked its bread.
The pavement on which Gezza was walking was broken, and his mind was keeping time to the keep up, big guy of Elena and how her nails had pricked him.
He had reached half way to the bus-stop, when a purr came, of a sexy voice, and said, "Well, damn, Gezza, where you headed looking so fine?"
He almost fell and turned around to find Elena bent over her fence. Her tight tank top was stuck to her figures, and there was sweat on her collarbone like an invitation to a freak show.
Her hair was in a tangled pony-tail, and some of the curls stuck to her neck in the morning sun, and her eyes--those hungry Playbook eyes--gazed upon him.
"E-Elena, yo, what's good?" he groaned, his heart shifting inside screaming to get her back to her couch.
She strolled nearer with her hips swinging, and the grass crackling beneath her bare feet.
"Ditched Mike last night", she said, in a low, teasing voice as though she were telling a dirty secret. "Kept thinking about you, stud. How you... handled me." His arm was touched, and it shocked him, all the way to his jeans, by her fingers which were warm and electric.
The brain of Gezza short-circued. Broke up because of me? The Playbook was a superpower of a kind. That is, man, that is.
"dope", he said, trying to be cool but only coming off as a nervous adolescent. "You're, like, way better off—."
"Am I?" she jested, going nearer, her coconut shampoo smelliness enveloping him.
His wrist sang in her nails and he said he swore he could feel his pulse in his throat.
You going to make it worth my while, "Gezza? Come over later?",
"Sure, Y-yeah", he said, and my grin was tremulous and smug. His ego was swelling to the extent that Mia was there waiting and he had to test the limits of the book.
"I have some business to do, I will be yours after.* He grinned--shuddered at the witlessness of it--but the smile of Elena became even bigger.
"Don't keep me too long, big guy," she purred, and she blew me a kiss which struck like a punch.
Gezza was stumbling towards the bus half-hard and half-panicked, and his mind was a blend of lust and triumph.
Brewed Awakening was a hipster fever dream, bare brick walls, fairy lights, the aroma of roasted coffee with vanilla syrup and fresh pastries.
His espresso machine was hissing like a mad cat, and indie music was playing beneath the sound of mugs.
Gezza saw Mia sitting at a corner table, the blonde hair falling across a laptop, her crop top revealing a strip of midriff that had a lot of toning and left his mouth dry.
She was typing, most likely writing another post about how to live like an Influencer and had no idea that she was going to be a victim of the loser who used to be her punching bag.
He sat down to a nearby booth, feigning to scroll his phone, and opened the Playbook under the table. Mia Elizabeth Larson looked back and the ink was still wet.
He was waiting, heart pounding, as he waited with Elena pouncing. Nothing.
She continued to type ten minutes later. Come on you dumb book, he said, patting the page, as it were, like a broken vending machine.
Then, Mia looked up and her blue eyes met his. She smiled--not parched, like a thirsty one, as old friends.
"Gezza? No way, is that you?" she called, and slammed her laptop and walked.
Her denim coat swung upon her thighs, her vanilla-floral perfume smacked him like sugar rush. Slipping into his booth, her knee touching his, she gave him a jolt up his leg.
"God, you've changed. You look... kinda hot now."
He blinked, thrown. Hot? Mia, who had called him Greasy and made fun of him by laughing at him during prom?
"Uh, thanks, Mia. And you are even killing it, too, you see", voice cracking. She laughed, playing with one stream of hair, her fingers are soft and well-groomed.
"What's your deal these days? You have such glow up energy about you," she confided, leaning over to inhale the latte foam, her breath so sweet.
They talked and it was... normal. Too normal. She laughed about her influencer pay, inquired about his life (he was lying about a tech job), and touched his hand, and her skin was very warm and soft.
"Oh, you are funnier than I thought", said she, her eyes gleaming but not with lust like Elena.
The brain of Gezza scrambled--the Playbook was functioning, yet it was delicate, as it was heating herself without flicking a light.
Then his pervy side kicked in. He just could not help it, her crop top was tightening around her, and he imagined taking it off, her body in his, her screams even greater than Elena had.
His fantasy struck, his breath rose, his jeans stiffened. That's when Mia's vibe shifted. Her smile became cunning and her eyes grew dark as a storm-cloud.
"You are staring, Gezza", purred she, her voice falling to a husky whisper. She leaned, her lips right on his, suffocating with perfume.
"Guess you are thinking dirty things, huh?"
His jaw dropped. This wasn't Mia. The true Mia would have indicated that he needs to get lost, perhaps spilled her latte on his face. But now?
Her hand was sliding under the table, touching his thigh, her nails going round the circles and burning his skin.
"Never thought you had this side", she teased, her voice heavy with heat. "Wanna get out of here? What have gotten into you...?
Gezza's heart pounded. The Playbook--he was arousing her with lust, like a dial turning her passion to eleven.
It was not merely that the book made her like him, it was that it was feeding its ugly thoughts on his, making her a reflection of his sexual daydream.
But this was Mia, the girl that humiliated him. Moving like she was going to jump on him in a coffee shop?