Sequel to 'Choices'.
When he said, "It's no where near enough-" he really did mean it after all.
Hardin Scott has held a stunning record at breaking hearts, especially when he is served Theresa Young's.
Bleeding in love, Tessa has concluded that pe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He continues to hold his stare, and then raises his eyebrows- sadly; with a hard look and a humoured chuckle in an attempt to diffuse the tension, before turning back to his paper.
"I deserved that one." He flicks his pen at me, and then runs it along the sheet vigorously.
Yes, you did. I'm tempted. I'm so tempted to pull his face up, slap it black and blue, and shout into it, that yes he bloody deserved it. But I know he doesn't mean it. Nor that he ever will. And I just, have to get out of here.
"Hardin, please can we-"
"Brandon doesn't need to worry. We have an excellent graphics designing team, you know. You should come watch, someday. And what was- Sienna, right. She's heading it-"
He pauses abruptly, looking straight ahead with a boyish smile on his face. The hell-
"-what a bright, beautiful young woman." He purses his lips together, after closing his eyes briefly in admiration, almost as if he's devouring her inside his head. Oh god- no. I chew on my own lips hatefully, with an irritated turn of my head sideways, and from the corner of my eye, I sense him turning to me.
"You know her?"
"I do not know her." I reply immediately.
Sienna Clarisse. Graphics design major. Sophomore year. Member of the Debate team. Lily's height. Blonde. Straight A. Responsible. Easy going. I had had a few conversations with her at the library. Sweet voice. Smart mind.
I look at the side wall, mindlessly examining the strokes of the paintbrush on it.
"Shame. She's magical, really."
Pfft. Magical?! I shake my head in a surrendered displeasure, so over Hardin's stupid antiques.
He's just trying to get on your nerves, Tessa.
And succeeding at that.
I shake my head in admonishment, suddenly feeling too eager to get rid of this topic of conversation. Why is he so goddamned impossible to converse to?! Why can't he talk, strictly limited to relevant topics. Like what is the progress. How much work is left. When will it be done. No, what, is the need of that?
"So when are you doing it?" I ask him looking at him straight, not even bothering to hide my urgency to end this.
"Her?" I feel sick. He asks with immense seriousness, raising one brow suggestively and I close my eyes, trying to force the picture out.
"No. When are you starting to talk useful?"
He chuckles and places his pen down on the sheet; then turns completely towards me, taking a step forward, and I warn him with a threatening look. He doesn't stop anyway. The irony is not lost on me.
He stops inches from me, and slowly tucks my hair behind my ear, and I stiffen. I feel the feathery touch of his fingertips on my skin, and I immediately smack his hand violently, removing it with a hard look.
