Alan can't stop looking at you. He almost feels guilty- almost- because he feels like a goddamn creep, but he honest to God can't help himself. You're beautiful. And the way you look in your uniform- that little dress that shows off your thighs just perfectly... it's sinful and innocent and gorgeous all at the same time. And when you bend down? He really needs to start going to church.

The team is out at dinner, celebrating their latest win. The diner is pretty much empty, save for their long table of football players being too rowdy and messy for this time of night. Alan feels sorry for the waitress- the one he's been eyeing all night. She's been taking care of their whole table all by herself, plus the coach's table. And it hasn't been easy. He can see your nervous demeanor, and he knows you can hear some of the sly remarks they make about your body.

You've got curves. Thick thighs, wide hips, a little pudge of fat on your tummy. So goddamn cute. He's losing his mind. He can see stretch marks too, on your thighs and arms, but he couldn't have given less of a shit. You're prettier than any girl he's ever seen at school. You're around his age too, he can tell.

He watches as you place down a fresh cup of pop in front of one of his teammates. The other boy grins mockingly. "Thanks," And his hand comes to pat at your stomach as you flinch away. "Mind bringin' us some pie? Unless you ate it all, of course."