Faster Than Your Bullets

Chapter 15

 Chapter 15

Drew's esay got me an A+.

A-fucking-plus.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?

"You should fucking adore me. Seriously." He laughs as rolling up the window after a businessman gave us the finger and an angry 'Dammed teenagers!'

"I am. Showing my adoration by allowing you to take this beauty home." I reply in a mock sugarcoated voice.

Drew turns to me with a puzzled look. I roll my eyes.

"The beauty is me."

As soon as he gets to joke, sassy reply is shot back almost immediately.

"The beauty only happens to be in my truck because she cannot drive a car." Then, with a low laugh: "How pathetic is that?"

I lift my chin up. "Unlike some poorer commoners who can only afford a beat rusty old pickup, rich people needn't drive. They have private drivers." Gosh I sound like my neighbors.

Drew stabs his heart with a imaginary knife. "Ouch. I think my heart just broke. The 'private driver' here," he says this phrase while casting a sneering glance on me, "is me, isn't it?"

I smirk. "Isn't it obvious?"

It suddenly comes to me that I might have said the wrong thing. Drew's eyes, I can see them in the mirror, lighten, the way eyes usually do when their owner is winning an argument.

"Tragically, sweetheart, I wouldn't be here if your best friend isn't kissing his girlfriend's arse."

That's some blow. This guy is like a professional in making people feel stupid.

"I see the reason why you never got a girlfriend." I mutter and shift my position so I am further away from the asshole.

Ignoring my comment, Drew just chuckles, which only makes me wants to kick him.

"Have he ever thought of the situation and taught you how to drive? Just a lesson?"

I shake my head and turn my eyes to the window. The sun can be seen setting half way down behind the top of the trees in the park, red and orange and yellow, like the yolk of a gigantic egg.

"Nah. Never thought I'd need it. Always said he'd drive me anywhere for the rest of my life. Or when Dad's finally got me a real private driver." I add, trying to push away the heavy feeling inside.

Drew pushes his lower lip out to what of a pout, but not really. "I'd be narked if I were you."

"Narked?" I raise my brows.

"You yank would use the word 'pissed'. But I'd like to stick to my Brit language."

"Again, 'yank'?"

With a dramatic sigh, Drew rolls his eyes. "It means Americans."

"You need driving lessons, though." He starts again. "Can't just be..." The corner of his mouth tugs, "pathetic forever."

I slap his forearm. "I am not pathetic. A guy making fun of girls is pathetic. For instance, you."

Drew brows raise a little. "But you're not very girly, aren't you?"

Feeling the tickling feeling of dejà-vu, I imitate his expression. "Haven't we gone through this before?"

He nods. "Yeah. And we agreed that you aren't exactly girly. Thinking like a bloke."