A/N: Ah a one-shot. Well here goes nothing lol.

People tell me at the rate that I'm going, I'll end up as a forty-year-old virgin living with twenty cats and three goldfishes.

I beg to differ.

Okay, so I have never involved myself in any romantic relationship; never laced my fingers through a boy's; never pressed my lips against another...

But I'm only sixteen, damn it. Who cares if I am inexperienced in that particular matter?

I voiced my opinion out loud one bright Sunday evening to my best friend, Gabby over a large tub of Ben and Jerry's, and that bloody arse of a friend just laughed.

No, really.

And when I gave her that stare and demanded an explanation to her odd behavior, she rolled her eyes and helped herself to another spoonful of ice-cream. I didn't fail to notice the upward curve that braced her lips during the process.

"You should start picking out your cats, Adrienne," My jaw dropped. "Twenty is quite a big number." She teased lightly, then started chortling to herself like the lady she so obviously is, and I groaned.

I hate cats.

The following Tuesday morning found me on the much adored school bus, yawning as I hugged my thermos of hot cocoa to my chest.

It was 7.30 a.m.

And I'm not exactly a 7.30 a.m. kind of person.

"Mind if I sit?"

I tore my gaze away from the window and turned towards the voice that shook me out of my reverie. It wasn't the typical deep, hoarse tone that I've grown used to hearing.

But it was deep enough, I decided with an inward smile. And it has a melodious hum to it.

Somewhat.

What made said smile grow wider, though, was the owner of the voice.

He has dark spiky hair that covers just the right side of his sky blue eyes, and a smile that would melt any girl's heart. A perfect combination, if you ask me. He's probably at least 6 feet tall, considering the fact that his knees were pressed uncomfortably against the back of the seat in front of him...

Oh, wait. He was already sitting beside me.

Well, so much for seeking permission from a lady.

I hugged my thermos tighter and sent him a glare.

"Looks like you've already made your own decision." I said promptly, then turned to look out the window again. The sun was just peeking shyly from its bed, sending a ray of light and brightening up the sky. It was a picturesque view.

Something I would've taken pleasure in staring at for the next fifteen minutes, had he not spoken.

"I like your bag." He complimented, his blue eyes browsing my face. Despite my will, I found myself praying that his piercing eyes wouldn't be able to spot the ill-concealed zit on the side of my forehead.

"Thank you." I muttered, returning his smile somewhat timidly.

Though honestly, I don't know what he can possibly like about my old, vandalized bag. It was white with dirty black spots splattered all over it from my art class, and random, meaningless words drawn all over it using my fabric markers.

That was when I decided that he had a peculiar taste for bags.

Wait. Was that a pick-up line from him?

"I'm Randy." He continued, extending a large hand. I took it, albeit hesitantly. "Randy Orton."

Randy. Randy. Randy.

I'm starting to like that name.

"I'm Adrienne." I told him, finally deciding against telling him my last name. I released my comparatively tiny hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "But call me Ad."

"Cool." He grinned boyishly, then relaxed against the seat. I smiled lightly and turned away, feeling uneasy that his eyes were still on me. I heard the sound of pen on paper, but didn't dare to look. "I like your eyes, by the way."

Okay, that kinda caught me off guard.

Kinda.

"Uh, thanks?"

"And your shoes."

I quirked an eyebrow. He didn't seem to notice.

"O...Kay."

"And that thermos you have." He continued with a teasing smile that made me slap myself mentally for loving. "Hot cocoa?"

"It's none of your-"

"And your long, wavy black hair."

"What is this, a What-I-Like-About-You game that I don't know about?"

"You should put on some lip gloss, though."

"Okay, so maybe not- Wait. What?" I asked, my voice raised a decibel or two from shock.

At that moment, the school bus pulled to a halt outside our neighbouring school, and Randy stood up from his seat, brushing imaginary dusts off his faded jeans.

"That's my stop." He said with a smile. I noticed he was always smiling. He slung a sling bag over his shoulders and placed his hands on the handle of the seat. I turned the lid of my thermos and took a heavenly sip of my favourite cocoa. "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

I choked on my drink, causing my face to turn a dark shade of crimson.

Though in all honesty, I didn't think that was the only reason why I was flushed red.

"WHAT?" I blurted out, and he burst into a polite laughter. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU!"

"Only joking, Adrienne." He said. Then he turned his back towards me and started walking away, but not before he yelled over his shoulder, "Loved the seat!"

I turned towards the empty space beside me that he sat on with an incredulous stare.

And saw a small piece of paper scribbled with his phone number and the words "Call me, I think you're cute" scrawled across it with blue ink.

Still overwhelmed with surprise, I looked out the window watched silently as Randy got down the bus and headed towards the school entrance, careful to note the fact that the moment he got off, girls started swarming towards him like a magnet.

But the thing that I definitely did not fail to catch, though, was the grin he gave me when he turned his head over the crowd and scanned for me on the school bus that started moving once more.

And before I knew it, I smiled.

Running is probably the only thing in my life that preserves my sanity.

The whole theory is rather simple, actually.

Your goldfish died, you go for a run.

The guys in school threw dirt onto your favorite skirt, you go for a run.

Your mum yelled at you for not finishing your meal, you go for a run. (Though I strongly advice against that. The last time I tried I had my appendix removed. Not the best experience, to be frank.)

Your best friend ditched you for a boy she said she'd never like, you go for a run.

The boy you like ended up dating your best friend, you go for a run.

You fail math, you go for a run.

A guy tells you he thinks you're cute, you go for a run.

Which is exactly what I'm doing right now.

It's not like I'm freaking out or anything. I'm sure it's a normal thing for a (very, very, very gorgeous) guy to tell you he thinks you're adorable (because that's what cute means, right?). It's just… I just…

Well, I just need some time to get used to that idea.

I shrugged and ran past the playground, struggling to control my rapid breathing, but to no avail. I haven't been exercising for quite some time, and now I run like an obese pig.

But that's the last thing on my mind right now.

Does this mean Randy likes me? Oh, dear Lord. What should I do if I see him again? Do I hold his hand? Or kiss him? Gasp. I don't even know how to kiss! Oh, wait, he gave me his number! Should I call him, then? Will he think of me as the clingy kind? Because I really don't want to be the clingy and annoying type of girlfriend everyone mocks about.

… Oh my goodness. If this goes on I'll have a wedding planned out and have our kids named already.

Ryan, Megan and Sarah.

Gah. I think I'm going to hyperventilate.

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

"Shit, woman, watch out!" A voice shouted from a distance, followed by a loud screech, then the vision of a huge figure on a bicycle that was a little too small for him, and a loud "plonk".

Oh, wait. That loud "plonk" came from my side.

I looked down at my bruised knee that seemed to have sent a shock of pain through my body, and fell to the ground, groaning a little as I felt my butt hit the hard, rocky pathway.

"Ouch."

That would probably leave a mark on my ass.

I watched as the large figure dismounted his bicycle, and gasped.

Randy. Randy Orton.

I almost literally smacked myself for gaping at him in his navy blue sleeveless jersey and white basketball shorts.

Focus, Adrienne. You're about to die, here.

"Jesus, Ad, are you okay?" He asked, his amazing blue eyes worried and he sat down beside me and started searching for bruises on me.

He almost ran me over and he's asking if I'm feeling okay.

I mean, okay, he's real hot and all, but God. The nerve of this man.

"Randy," I breathed out as calmly as possible, my fingers nursing the bump on my knee lightly. "You just killed my knee."

"It's not even bleeding, Ad." He informed me, his voice just as calm. But he was smiling.

He almost ran me over and he's smiling like he knows a secret I don't.

There goes my fantasy of kissing his lush lips.

"I don't think that's the point, Randy."

He sighed, then bent forward a little and started blowing light air towards my knee, making me relax a little.

Oh, oh. I see the lippy fantasy again. Breathe, Adrienne. Breathe.

"There. Feel better?" He asked, helping me to get off the ground.

"A little." I admitted grudgingly, then glanced at his tiny bicycle. "Is that yours?"

It was a sparkling new bicycle, the tiny size was probably meant for kids who're twelve and under. There were little flowers draping around the brake, and the entire bicycle was painted a shocking shade of pink and yellow stripes.

So gay.

"It's my sister's." He answered, patting the seat of the bicycle fondly. "Or at least, it's going to be. I'm giving this to her as a birthday present."

My eyes widened a considerable amount, and I flicked a strand of black hair from my face from obstructing the perfect view of Randy ducking his head like a coy school boy.

"You have a sister?" I asked out of curiosity, trying to remember the last time my older brother bought me anything as close to a bicycle. He bought me a collection of dead bugs on my fifteenth birthday. Gross. "That's really nice of you."

Randy gave me a long, piercing stare that sent shivers down my spine. Then he laughed.

"No, I'm just trying to annoy her. She hates pink and yellow." Randy explained, and then patted on the seat once more. "Come on, Ad, I'll give you a ride home."

"On that?" I asked in bewilderment, point at the pink and yellow piece of scrap.

"Oh, no, of course not. We're going on my invisible car." He replied sardonically. "Just get on the bike, Ad. I won't rape you or anything. Promise."

"Yeah, I'm not too worried about that." I told him as I sat on the seat right above the wheel (Technically, it isn't even a seat. Just some piece of metal in pink.) and placed my hands shyly on his strong, broad shoulders. "I'm just worried that this little tire would puncture on us."

And that was exactly what happened five minutes later, when we were around 100 meters from my house.

"Shit." Randy cussed loudly as he got off the bicycle and stared at it in disbelief. "I can't believe this is happening."

And there it was, his lovely present-to-be for his sister, glimmering under the fading sunlight, with its back tire punctured.

I swear I wasn't the cause of it.

"Well, this is a bicycle for younger kids." I reasoned, forcing myself not to laugh at that comical expression on his face that looked torn between amusement and devastation. "Not meant for two sixteen-year old teenagers."

"Shut up, Ad." He kicked the bike to the side of the road and pulled my arm gently, tugging me forward. "Let's just walk the remaining distance."

"What about the bike?"

He turned and took one last glance at it, and shook his head.

"I'll return to get it later, I guess." He muttered, tucking his hands into his shorts.

"Why did you sit next to me on that bus the other day?" I blurted out, and blushed instantly. Not the smartest question to ask, perhaps.

"Uh…" He trailed off, probably just to annoy me. "Well, actually there weren't any other seats left on the bus."

… Oh. Right. Crap. God. Die.

This is so humiliating.

"Okay." I answered faintly.

"And maybe because I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever met." He continued, and I could detect the smile in his words.

That was definitely a pick-up line.

"Do you use that on all the girls you meet?" I asked with renewed bravery.

He smirked and stared straight into my green orbs.

"Well, is it working?"

Oh, of course. That classic question.

"Not really." I told him. Not really was a lie. My heart is literally doing summersaults and dancing cha-chas.

Not really, my ass.

"Oh, darn it." He smacked his thigh lightly for the effect, and I grinned.

The remaining walk was silent, something I felt rather uneasy with. I crossed my arms to protect myself from the chilly evening breeze, and forced myself to look away from him.

Even when I felt his eyes on me.

"Thanks for the ride." I mumbled incoherently as we reached the door to my house, staring at my feet. "Or walk. Ride-walk thing."

"It's the least I can do." He said earnestly, then leaned against the doorframe. "So… Will you miss me when I'm not around?"

"I don't know, Randy. Will you miss someone who almost killed you?"

I would, I added silently.

"Just checking." He grinned, and walked towards the bicycle. "See you soon!"

I watched solemnly as he rode away from my house, and chuckled a little as he tripped over thin air and fell flat on his knee.

And then I realized that was the first time a boy walked me to my door and wonder if I've fallen in love with him.

It was my birthday.

I detest birthday, because really, now, what's the point of celebrating it when you have no one to celebrate it with?

I woke up grumpily and sat up on my bed with my arms crossed. The sun was shining, too bright for my liking today. I spared a glance around my messy, unruly room only to find everything as untidy as before…

All except for my dressing table.

A gasp left my mouth as I saw all my belongings piled in one side, leaving the table almost empty. On top of it sat a large, wrapped present.

And as far as I'm concerned, today isn't my birthday.

I slipped my foot into my bedroom slippers and walked quietly towards the parcel.

Wrapped in a light pink sugar paper with slightly torn edges and cellophane tape all over it, I concluded that whoever wrapped this needs an emergency wrapping class.

I picked up the handmade card that lay on top of it and flipped it over to see who it was from.

Adrienne,

I like you.

Please don't freak out and read what I have to say (or write, really.) before you make any drastic decisions.

You know, I wasn't lying when I told you the reason why I sat beside you on the bus the other day was because I thought you were pretty. The prettiest girl I've ever met, actually.

I like the way your green eyes twinkle every time your lips curl even slightly upwards.

I like the way your long, black hair curls naturally and frames your face like a delicate picture.

I like the way your nose crinkled slightly, that time when I accidentally ran into you (Or, in your words, attempted murder… It was just a little bicycle, Ad. Not a freaking truck.), and you bruised your knee. Speaking of which, I hope its feeling better now.

I like the fact that you're overly-dramatic at times. They make me laugh.

And that's the main reason. You make me smile. You make me laugh. You make me… Me.

And I really want the opportunity to get to know you better.

To get to know us better.

Happy Birthday!

Love,
Randy.

P.S. I hope you like cocoa-related food.

And underneath that card was a box of my all-time favorite, white chocolate.

It was an immediate effect.

I pulled open my drawer and looked for a certain piece of paper with a very important number in it. In haste I accidentally stepped on my comforter and fell, but I didn't stop to whine over it. I ran over to the cordless phone and dialed, waiting impatiently for him to pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Randy, it's me, Adrienne." I said, rushing all my words into probably an incoherent sentence, but it didn't matter. I sat on my bed and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. "Hey."

Over the phone, he grinned lightly, and I smiled along. I love his care-free laughter.

"Hey, stranger. Got my present?" He asked softly. I walked over to my dressing table once more, and cradled the box of chocolate in my arms.

"Right here." I told him, my voice just as soft, almost a whisper. "Thanks, Randy. I love it."

"'s okay, Ad." He answered, and then there it was. The silence. I fiddled with my thumb nervously. "So…"

"So…" I mimicked, my heart beat racing.

"Whatcha think?" Came his melodious voice. It sounded nervous.

"What, about the chocolate?" I tried, hoping to lighten up the atmosphere.

He laughed.

"Well, that, too, but I was referring to the card."

"Oh. Yeah." I smoothed the card fondly in my hand. "It's pretty."

"Adrienne."

"Randy."

"Go out on a date with me tonight." It was more of a statement than a question, but I could still hear the question in his voice. I found myself smiling once more.

"Are you sure you want that?" I teased. "I eat like a deranged woman and dirty all my clothes. I throw popcorns during movies and I like to skip my steps. A lot. And I sing like a banshee. Scream like one, too. I love screaming. Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes, Ad. More than anything." Came his simple reply, and the summersaults resumed once more.

"Randy," I started, and then halted for a while, trying to form the sentence I want to say in my head. "Randy, I've never dated."

"Then try me." His voice was soothing, a voice I found myself loving more and more by each second. "Please?"

I didn't reply his question immediately. Instead, I made myself comfortable on the bed, and tried imagining him. His sparkling blue eyes, his messy, dirty-blonde hair, his irresistible smile, that box of chocolate, the words he wrote on the card he made…

"Okay." I said shyly, feeling ashamed that my cheeks were going red again.

Randy sighed over the phone, and laughed once more.

"Thank God." He exclaimed happily. "I'll pick you up at seven, okay?"

"Yeah." I've decided that I should just answer his questions in one word from now onwards to avoid any embarrassing moments. Which I know would happen if I speak too much. "See you, Randy."

"I'll be missing you for another nine hours, Adrienne. I won't stop missing you until I see your face." I giggled at his cheesy line. "Will you miss me, too?"

Will you miss me, too?

"Maaaaybe." I teased, knowing full well that it's a lie. Not just a maybe.

Definitely.

"You'd better be."