It's Not Over (RusAme Story)

Chapter 8- The Jersey

CHAPTER EIGHT

~America's POV~

What...? Did Russia just? I peer up at him, his body posture rigid and arms crossed over his chest. His tight black turtleneck stretched perfectly over his form and his silver eyes gleamed captivatingly in the light as he watched North Korea stalk off.

My heart thumped in my chest. What the heck was that?

Russia turned around and I changed my expression quickly to one of surprise. His expression revealed nothing as he cocked his head. "Let's go."

I paused, raising a defiant eyebrow . "Where exactly?"

His silver eyes sliced into me. "Your house. To get my jersey."

I rolled my eyes, turning around and opening my locker. "Um.. I don't want you in my house."

"You think I want to come to your house?"

"Judging by the fact that you keep bothering me about it, yes," I say sasilly, slamming my locker door shut and starting in the direction of the doors.

Suddenly Russia was in front of me, eyebrows slanted downwards. "My jersey."

Freaking out, I shoved him from the proximity. "What is it with everyone getting in my personal space?" I questioned, voice sharp.

He rolled his eyes and bent down to my eye level. "I need my jersey, and then I'll leave you alone."

He thought for a second. "For now," a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and I flushed.

"Whatever," I say, pushing past him. I feel his eyes on me, probably with that stupid expression on his face. Oh man, was my dad going to freak at seeing Russia at our house. Shaking my head, we made the steady march to my house.

"So why are you so up on keeping my jersey? You really like me that much?" he questions, wanting a reaction.

Well, I'm not going to give him one. "Just so I have more time to think of how I can destroy it," I retort.

His eyes narrow again. "You better not have."

I shrug. "IDK," I taunt, trying hard not to laugh.

"You're too afraid of me to do that," he states confidently.

Oh, how I hate how right he is.

"Oh really?" I ask, leaning challengingly towards him.

"Да, that is right." His eyes sparkle as he leans closer to me.

'Woah, woah, woah, space, space, SPACE,' my brain screams, but I don't answer, not wanting to back down. His face continues to get closer to me, expression challenging.

Ashamedly, I finally whip my head in the other direction, face visibly burning.

'What is wrong with me?' I chastise myself. He's a player, and you can't be attracted to him. If his dad ever found out...

"Did you get detention today?" Russia asks me.

"No."

"That's surprising," he says thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I was just telling the truth."

I glare.

His expression is unreadable, but aggravating as usual.

"My lord, I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," he nodded back.