Fueling the Waist Fetish

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A/N MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!! or HAPPY HANUKKAH (did I spell that right?) or whatever you guys might be celebrating today! Hope your day is going well :)

I'm so so sorry I didn't update yesterday! First I woke up at like 10:30, then I laid in bed for another hour watching The Vampire Diaries illegally online (sue me). Then it was lunch time, and then I went to pick out new glasses (they're purple and I love them). Then we went to the store and then I had to shower and then it was dinner and then we went to Mass (#Catholic #JesusSquad), and when we got home we watched a movie and then I was falling asleep so I went to bed. That is my story of yesterday.

But to make up for it, this chapter is almost 2000 words! New record!

Anyway, here is my Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever present to you guys!

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*Kaitlyn MacDonald*

We must have laid there in my bed for at least an hour, me listening to Drew talk about why he doesn't like people going over to his house. The whole time, I was painfully aware of Drew's muscular arm draped around my waist, and how I could feel his warm breath on my head as it was tucked on top of his chest.

For the record, I have no idea how we ended up like this.

(A/N Disclaimer: I have no idea how the NBA draft works, so please work with me here. If you know, and would like to help make my story more accurate, please let me know, so I can fix it.)

Drew begins his story. "It all started when my dad was in the NBA. He played basketball in college at Duke, while at the same time pursuing a business major. But his real dream was to play professional basketball, and so business was his fallback. After he graduated with a Master's degree, he ended up with an offer to be part of the NBA draft. Naturally, he accepted, and was drafted by the Celtics. Even as a rookie, people could tell that he was destined for greatness."

I snort. "That sounds like my elementary school teacher after I won the spelling bee on the word "phlegm". Hard word, I know, but she was impressed."

Drew's chest shakes with laughter. "How did you know how to spell that? I'm pretty sure elementary me didn't even know how to spell "pancake", let alone "phlegm"."

I blush. "I read a lot. After my best friend left, I didn't have much else to do with my time. I had spent most of it with him before."

"Fair enough. May I continue?"

"Please. I'm dying to hear about how your dad's basketball skills are preventing me from going to your house."

"There's no winning with you, is there?" Drew comments, squeezing his arm tight around me. I smile.

"Nope."

"Anyways, as I was saying, my dad was really good, really quickly. He led the Celtics to the Championships in 1986. He still occasionally tells me about it: the glory, the fans, his team. He really misses it."

"Did he quit? Or not make another draft?" I question. I may not know much about basketball, but I don't think you can get fired from a professional team. Can you?

"Hush, doll, and let me finish my story. I'm almost done."

"This is taking longer than one of Mr. Carl's history lessons."

"Are you finished?"

"Yup."

Drew sighs, his warm breath tickling my forehead as he shifts his arm around me. "To answer your question, no, he didn't quit. Nor did he not make another draft. He stopped playing because he physically could not play anymore. During the 1986 Championship, he was leading the Celtics to victory in the last game the two teams would play. By the time the first half was over, he must have had at least 48 points. My dad was relatively short for a pro player, only 6 foot, but he could handle the ball like nobody's business. Crossing people left and right at any opportunity. It must have been funny to watch guys at least half a foot taller than you sliding around on the floor in front of you. Anyway, the other team's coach was getting fed up at how many 3's my dad kept draining. The Houston Rockets were not a bad team in any sense, just the Celtics were better. After the half, my dad continued leading both teams with points. I've seen recordings of that game, and you could see how mad the Rockets were getting. At one point, their coach called a time out, where he can be seen aggressively talking with one of his players. At the time, nobody knew what was going on, but now, nobody could forget."

As if sensing I'm about to open my mouth (which I am), Drew untucks his other arm from behind his head and reaches it over his body, covering my mouth.

"Hnnnh!" is what comes out.

"Let me finish, please, Kaitlyn," he whispers. I roll my eyes in annoyance before nodding in agreement. Drew slowly removes his hand from my mouth, places his arm back behind his head, and pulls me in closer with his other arm.

"The time out ended, with 30 seconds left in the game. The Celtics were up by a lot, and there wasn't much hope of the Rockets coming back for a victory. My dad dribbled the ball up the court, slowly, as you would if you were eating clock. Suddenly, the Rockets' coach yelled out 'Red!'. For the uneducated about sports, that means that you try and foul the other team."

"Doesn't that mean that you get to shoot a free throw?"

"Yes, but that also means you get the ball back. Now hush, or the hand is coming back." I shut up.

"After red was called, the same player the Rockets' coach was talking to barreled towards my dad, who was easily shorter and much smaller than the opposing player by a good 6 inches. He essentially head-butted my dad, who went flying across the court. He landed on the back of his pelvis on a hard metal chair, the kind placed on the sidelines for the teams. Later, the doctors told him he had broken his pelvis and fractured his lower spine so badly that they didn't think he would ever be able to walk again. And they were right."

I gasp. "Drew..."

"I don't need to hear that you're sorry. I've heard that from everyone who's ever been to my house, who knows my dad's story." He sighs. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out like that. I'm just so sick of hearing everyone's sympathy, you know? Well, actually, I don't think you would."

"Drew."

"Yeah, nerd?"

"I don't even have a dad. I understand, I promise you."

"Oh." He squeezes me tightly, and I snuggle in closer.

As a reflex.

"If it helps, I'm sorry." At this I push myself up and out of his grip.

"Did you really just say that to me, Drew McCarthy? After your whole spiel about "I'm sick of hearing everyone's sympathy"?"

He laughs, and as I'm leaning over him, almost shouting in his face, he reaches up and grabs my waist again, pulling my down this time so that I'm on top of him.

"Careful there, jerk. Don't want people thinking we're making babies, hmm?" I tease.

"Oh, but you'd love that, wouldn't you, doll?"

"I'm thinking about a few choice places where I could stick my knee right now. Would you care to find out?" My victory is short-lived as Drew hooks his arms underneath mine and his left leg around my right before effectively flipping us over, with him on top. I close my eyes and sigh as I feel his hard body pressing into mine.

Drew leans in close and I feel his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, "Let's keep my child-making ability intact, hmm? Otherwise, what are you supposed to do when you get older? Run off to your 'childhood best friend'?"

I laugh. "I seriously doubt Asher would ever like me enough to have kids with me. Heck, I haven't even seen him since he left. And okay, I may have had a tiny crush on him, but we were like 7 at the time."

Suddenly, Drew sits up and gets off of me. "Asher?" he questions.

"Yes," I say, confused. "Asher Luvalle. Best friend, accomplice extraordinaire, occasional partner-in-crime of yours truly. Why, do you know him?"

Drew is silent for a few moments before shaking his head. "Never you mind, doll," he says, before grabbing my waist and pulling me up to sit next to him. I think he has a waist fetish.

"Question," I say, turning to look Drew in the eye. "If your dad couldn't walk, how did your mother get pregnant with you?"

Drew laughs. "Just because someone can't walk, doesn't mean they can't have sex, my dear."

I gasp and put my hands over my ears. "What if one of my brothers heard you say that? All three of them would probably kill you."

"Three?"

"Oh, yeah. I have a brother older than Jordan who's in his junior year of college. Coincidentally, he's at Duke. Even though he's in the same state as us, I haven't seen Keith in a while." Focus, Kaitlyn! "Oh, yeah. So how did your parents meet?"

Drew runs a hand through his hair and I find myself entranced. "My mom was a nurse at the hospital where my dad was taken. But eventually, she became taken by him, and would spend long hours sitting by his bedside talking with him during his recovery. On the last day in the hospital before he was dismissed, my dad asked for her number and after taking it down, proceeded to take my then-unmarried mother with him. She quit her job at the hospital and they got married. They then proceeded to have me in 1999, and here I am now."

"What do your parents do now?" I ask, curious.

"Turns out that business degree my dad had came in handy after his accident. He is now the CEO of a large power tool company based in Raleigh, and my mom went back to work at the hospital here. How about your mom?"

"My mom is deployed in Iraq right now. Do you have any other siblings?"

"One, yes. Veronica is a freshman in high school, just like Sam, I think. Maybe we should get them together, hmm?" Drew says suggestively, raising both of his eyebrows. I laugh and hit his arm without thinking.

"Ow!" I slowly uncurl my hand. My thumb is red and hurts.

"Kaitlyn, why are you such an idiot? Everybody knows you're not supposed to punch with your thumb tucked into your fingers. Where have I gone wrong?" cries Drew, inspecting my throbbing hand.

"Hey, it's not my fault that I never punched anybody before! Would you rather have me be a street fighter? I mean then, I wouldn't be tutoring you. We'd probably be getting tutored together." I argue, ignoring the soothing feeling of Drew's thumb stroking my hand as he holds it in his.

"You never cease to amuse me, doll," Drew mutters, his dark eyes now on mine. My mouth goes dry.

Why is this boy so attractive? And more importantly, am I attractive to him?

"You really need to work on not saying things out loud, Kaitlyn," drawls Drew. My face turns a bright red (Seriously? Again?) and I turn away.

"Never you mind, Drew," I stammer. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"I believe you need to tell me what was wrong on Monday when you were so grumpy. That was the deal, was it not?" Drew says.

At that moment my stomach growls, and I roll off the bed onto the floor. "I believe it is time for you to carry me to the kitchen so I can eat something. I'll tell you then."

I hear Drew chuckling from on top of my bed, and I feel a hard thump as he lands on my bedroom floor. I landed face down in the carpet, so all I see is black until I feel strong arms wrap around my waist and I am hoisted over his shoulder.

Why do I always seem to fuel his waist fetish?

"My waist fetish isn't the only thing you fuel, doll."

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A/N Oh boy this was a fun chapter to write

I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much :)

Also, can you guys please pray for my uncle? He's in the hospital right now :(

Thanks <3

-i ate way too much at dinner and now i feel like a bowling ball

P.S. My favorite Christmas present was a set of 36 Russian flower decorating tips. They're so cool and also huge!

For those of you that celebrate Christmas, what was your favorite gift?

And for anybody who wants to share anything, go for it!

P.P.S I know I said the two new characters would debut in today's chapter, but I wasn't planning on not updating yesterday. So they will appear in tomorrow's chapter. (Hint- they've already appeared in one recent chapter, but no names or speaking have happened yet. See if you can find them!)

MERRY CHRISTMAS

HAPPY HANUKKAH

HAPPY WHATEVER ELSE HAPPENS TO BE TODAY <3

why are you still reading this go spend time with your family :)

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