Smoke And Mirrors

•Four•

We had jumped a few more times before we were both out of breath from swimming and climbing up a huge cliff.

I huff and then say "What do I do with my wet bra and underwear?"

"I don't know, I have extra boxers under my seat along with a flannel, you can wear those."

"I'm not wearing your boxers, I can go commando."

His eyebrows raised, "Ooo hot."

"Jacob-"

"Sorry. That's good though, because I don't want to go calmando in jeans." He makes a face, "It's not a nice fabric for sensitive skin."

We both hide behind different trees to change. I take off my soaked clothes and squeezed them out. I get dressed, the turtle neck wasn't tight and I kept it untucked so it wasn't too obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra. I put the coat on and walked out, he was zipping up his Chelsea boots.

He looks my way—smiling—his wet hair wavy around his face, it dripping cold water onto the ground.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and say, "Ready?"

"Yeah but, just so you know. You were not hiding behind that tree what so ever."

My face gets flushed, "What?"

"You got a cute butt," He smirks and starts walking down the hill.

"Jacob, you watched me change!" I start running after him.
He cackles as he sprints down the cliff, trying not to fall at the same time. He stumbles to the road, catching his breath. I fall into the grass and almost scrap my face on the rounded cement.
He gasps and helps me up, "Are you okay?" He tried not to laugh.

He shoved him off, "I'm fine."

"Did I make you mad?"

"Yes, Jacob. You watched me change!"

"I didn't, I looked over to see if you were coming out because you were rustling around a lot and I saw your backside against the green shrubbery and I thought it would be in your best interest to know that you have a very cute ass."

I can't be mad at him.
Why can't I be mad at him?

"I hate you," I smile, grabbing one of the helmets from a handle bar.

He grabs the other one and says, "No 'thanks Jake' 'What a great compliment' 'You've got a nice ass too.'"

"You don't get any of those, and I'm not complimenting an ass I've never seen."

He turns around, grabbing his waist band and starts pulling down, "I could show y-"

"No!" I yell with a laugh behind my words, I grab his belt loops and say, "Do not moon me."

"Aw, you're no fun." He puts the helmet on, spinning back around to look at me.

"Oh, I can be fun," I put mine on.

"Only when I make you fun, you were sort of a buzzkill when I met you."

"Buzzkill? That's mean."

"You said I was a dirt ball and said because I don't spend money on an iron I was 'unkept'. You always take a little convincing."

"I'm not a buzzkill." I put my hands on my hips.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

I press my lips together.
What can I do?
What will grab his attention and make me seem fun.

I lift up my shirt, flashing him, showing him my bare chest for a measly two seconds. I pull it down immediately and turn my back to him—Embarrassed that the only thing I could think of was flashing him.