Be Our Guest (Kerli)

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

Soren heaved himself up the stairs. He was a fucking athlete. He was a super cool jock soccer bro. He was supposed to be ripped. Chicks liked dudes who were ripped. So why in fuck’s name was he having so much trouble carrying this box up the stairs? It was only his seventh or eighth, and this was probably the one with all his books and sheet music in it, the one he was going to hide in his closet until all the other boxes had been unpacked and he was sure that no more bastards were going to come the fuck over and see it.

No, goddamnit you idiot, you’re a soccer player. You never use your fucking arms. It’s fucking illegal for you to use your arms. Damnit, he really should have had Ethan or one of the dudes come and help him with this. But still. He was nineteen years old. He pressed three hundred on a good day. Hauling seven or eight giant boxes of shit up twelve flights of stairs should be no sweat.

At least there was no game tonight. Then he’d be completely screwed.

He flung himself into his apartment, dropping the box on the floor and collapsing onto the couch he’d lugged all the way up here earlier this afternoon. So Hot Bookie Chick had agreed to move into the apartment next to this one….Kerli. That was her name, right? Kerli. Kerli. Like Curly, like the hair, but spelled like, with a K and stuff. Like some weird Czech way of spelling it or whatever. God, he hated the fucking Czech soccer team. That fucking Petrzela prick was so lame.

He glanced at the door at the far end of the hallway to his right, tall with a nondescript wooden doorknob. This would lead to her apartment, identical to his, but probably with less fucking boxes in it. Damn damn damn, he really should have brought less crap. He had to unpack all this shit now, and his arms felt like they were about to fucking fall off. Maybe he’d read some Faulkner while he waited for…oh, right, but Hot Bookie Ch-Kerli was coming any minute now, and he definitely couldn’t let her see him reading Faulkner. No, that would make her think he was totally lame and shit.

He sat up on the Couch, ruffling his hair. At least this would be a good way for him to keep his eye on her. Make sure that fucking Dipshit Boyfriend Dude didn’t come knocking around like he always had in the Barrie Dorms. Nope, no way that any shit with Dipshit Boyfriend Dude was going down around here, as long as Soren was around.

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Kerli to arrive.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And maybe I don't know, maybe I love her, maybe I'm losing my own mind
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Know that you are the only one I promise the stars
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soren leaned his head against the wall, feeling tired as all shit, totally not wanting to start unpacking all this fucking shit and knowing that he would have to at some point. If he wanted to, you know, have clothes to put on in the morning. Or not freeze to death tonight because he totally hadn’t paid the heating bill yet, and it was the damn polar ice caps in there. Or have a book to read after he got Kerli all set up and out of the way. Speaking of which, where the fuck-

Hey, think of the devil, man.

“Elevator, eh?” Elevators were for pussy pricks. Seriously. Who took the elevator, besides obese people and little two-year-old fucktards? Nobody, that’s who. Especially not Soren Somersett, Division Three All-League Honorable Mention soccer player for two years running. “Not gonna burn any of those cals today? Not that I’m calling you fat.”

[/color] He bowed theatrically, glancing at some piece of gold wheeled shit she was dragging, hoping he wasn’t blushing, because blushing was something that only gay pussy fucks did.

Really? She’d brought a flat bed? That was a total loser way to move in. “Here, lemme just get that for you.”[/color] He grasped the dresser between his arms, flexing his biceps and hefting it above his head. “And where did you want this?” [/color]

After he’d set the dresser down he glanced around the apartment. She hadn’t brought up anything else yet, evidently. “What’s next, your highness?” [/color]Man she was hot. He laughed slightly, shoving a few strands of hair from his eyes, pulling open the door adjoining her apartment to his. “You hungry? We got…” He reached over and pulled open the minifridge he’d just plugged into the far right wall. Fuck, he’d actually brought a fridge. Why the fuck did you bring a fridge, Soren, you dumb shit? You’re totally never going to be eating in here. “Some lean cuisine, protein shakes, cliff bars, a few Monsters, whatcha up for?”[/color]

“Or I can just grab some of your shit. I’m here to help, after all.”[/color] He flexed his biceps again, hoping she wasn’t as much of a retard as he was and hadn’t brought seventeen million metric tons of shit that was probably never going to get unpacked.


other person talk talk talk talk[/i] you talk talk talk[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

STATUS: Completamente
TAGZIES: Kerli
WORDZIES: 460
CREDIT: Lyrics are Promise the Stars by We the Kings. This template is by MONICA. DON’T BE STEALIN’, YA HEAR?

[/center]

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

Soren grabbed a power bar from the mini fridge, taking a large bite and chewing serenely as he pulled open the first box. His eyes scanned the contents: three slabs of metal, a few plastic bars, a black seat, the glint of freshly-polished weights from the bottom. Fuck, his bench press. Why the fuck had he not set that up already? That was totally more important than like, the god damn refrigerator. He was such a stupid shit. He heaved out the first metal slab, setting it heavily on the ground. Who the fuck had decided to make bench press parts so damn heavy? He was definitely going to strain his back soon this shit.

"I couldn't exactly move that up the stairs alone. But I can move myself in."

Damn, she sounded pissed. Still, Soren couldn't really blame her. She WAS really only here because he was totally going to beat the shit out of Old Inventor Guy if she didn't didn't move into the apartment next-door. But he honestly didn't care, at the moment. There was no fucking way that Dipshit Boyfriend Dude was ever laying eyes on Kerli again.

Fuck, he hated Dipshit Boyfriend Dude. So much. Seriously. What a fucking prick.

"Alright, well, whatever floats your boat." He shrugged and pulled out the cable to his bench press, beginning to wind it around the spool that would then attach to the weights. Fuck, he was totally not stacking up all like, 600 pounds of those weights either. Maybe he'd have Ethan come over and do it. Though if he even touched Soren's new bookshelf, he was cutting a bitch. Seriously. There were volumes of Falkner on that shit. Also, his Twilight books were hidden in the back compartment, and if Ethan found those, well...he wasn't going to.

Yes, Soren did own the Twilight series. Because fuck you, that's why.

"Ya know," he added, as he hefted the first leg of the bench into the base. "Some soccer dudes and I're heading out in a while for, well, you know, Chinese, maybe. Movie, some other shit. You're welcome to come if it sounds like your deal." Soren winked, then returned to his bench press humming Moonlight Sonata and hoping that he could go to a few minutes of his Advanced German I class before they left, because he hadn't been to that class all month, and there was a really fucking hot blonde in the back row.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

The chick made a noise of disapproval. Well well fucking well. So Soren wasn’t good enough for her, was that it? All-League Honorable Mention Soccer Player for three years running, lead in the school’s biggest drama production, lead bass in the school’s most popular a capella group, section leader of the choir, straight A student except for fucking math because math was a goddamn shit subject that Soren fucking sucked at, and he wasn’t good enough for this happy little cheerleader in a blue dress? Well. Too fucking bad for her. She could suck his dick and go find some perfect little prince Charming if she wanted to, while he chilled here and set up his bench press, went to a few minutes of German so he could turn in his paper, and partied the night away in the city that never slept.

Provided that the perfect prince Charming she found wasn’t Dipshit Boyfriend Dude, because Soren really hated that bastard. So much. Seriously.

He whistled the most angry song he could think of, Mozart’s Eine kleine Nactmusik, which he’d been playing on the piano yesterday after finding the sheet music in an empty locker in the band room. It was pretty damn intense, man. Totally his jam.

“Only if I won't be the only girl.”

Soren was about to make a snide remark about how her mom was the only girl, when he paused for a minute. Wait a sec. This chick was a cheerleader, right? And cheerleaders…knew other cheerleaders, right? Of course they did, fuck, that was a retarded question. So potentially…

Yes. A night out with the soccer bros, this chick, and a shit ton of hot cheerleaders. Yes. Fuck yes.

”Course not, you don’t have to be the only girl.” Soren laughed to himself, as if the very thought were simply ludicrous. ”Go ahead and invite some of your friends. I won’t mind. And I’m sure the soccer bros will…” His mind wandered to the last time he’d gone on a double date with a few of his bros. Oh man, that’d been great. ”Call ‘em up. It’ll be a blast. We'll show you all how to have a good time, Somersett-style.” He winked, grinning.

[SOREN SOMERSETT]

This was going to be a great night, Soren could tell already. Damnit, he fucking loved living in New York City. How had he ever thought that Grandin was a good town to live in? Sure, his old soccer dudes, and his bro-for-life Sebastien weren’t here, and fuck, he missed Sebastien like all hell, but seriously? New York was where the fuck it was at, man. All the fucking clubs and cheerleaders and Hot Bookie Chicks.

Well, one Hot Bookie Chick in particular.

What the fuck are you doing, Soren?

Of course, he knew what the fuck he was doing. She was a sophomore. Nineteen, probably. A nerd. Books. Music. All the good shit. A cheerleader. Strong. Athletic. Feminine. Hot.

Hot. And smart. And athletic. And…well. Soren wasn’t exactly sure. But he knew that even with all of those things set aside, there was still something deeply desirable, deeply magnetic about Kerli Stewart. Something Soren wanted. Something he fucking wanted, more than he’d ever wanted any hot girlfriend or hookup he’d ever had before.

Did that make him a total creep?

Course it does, you idiot.

“I texted the girls. Five of them are on their way over. They want to get ready as a group. I’ll have to close the door when they get here, or they’ll be weirded out.”

”No prob, honey buns.” His insides crunched at the remark, but Soren knew that he couldn’t drop the act. Not yet, anyway. He’d never dropped the act in front of a chick before, not since his freshman year of high school. And sure, this particular chick was smart, and hot, and popular and all that shit, but…why should she be any different?

If she wanted him, she wanted the sex and the pretty face. That was all they ever fucking wanted.

Soren pulled out his phone and called John, watching as Kerli texted her friends. ”Hey man, we got us some company tonight. Yep, Kerli Stewart, sophomore, ever met her? Yep, yep, and a bunch of her little cheerleader friends. I know, man, I know, right? Sure thing, see ya then.” Soren hung up, grinning. ”Gonna be ready in thirty?” he asked Kerli offhandedly, hurrying over to his half-assembled bench press. If he finished this shit quickly, he could still make it to about ten minutes of class.