Eighteen Candles (you will remember me)

31.

Billie

If this stupid, puck hurling, my kiss interrupting asshole gets home, I will smash his head through their fucking window. I cannot believe Blake Evans risked a goal just to annoy me. If I want to kiss my fucking boyfriend, I am allowed to do that!

After Blake's attack I dragged Chris with me and we both flew. I joined Flynn at the game to support her as her best friend and to cheer for Julien but this is definitely never happening again.

Blake's Pick up enters the driveway and the lights blind me for a second. I ball my hands. I swear to god, I will punch him in the face.

...

"Come one, Billie. Why are you ignoring me?" Blake follows me, his way to sweet sounding voice balling through my ears.

I hate him. He's the worst. I don't want to be around him anymore. I don't want to talk to him anymore. I don't want him to look at me ever again.

"I don't want to talk to you. Go away."

Blake grabs my wrist and turns me around. "What is it? Why won't you talk to me?"

I hate how his eyes look so stupidly special and I hate the way my eyes seem to see nothing else than his stupid dimple.

"Let go off me." I rip away my wrist and walk away from him.

"What happened?!"

I hate the way I thought he would choose me instead of any other girl.

...

"You!" I rush towards the black haired guy and hit his chest as soon as I reached him.

Blake smirks down at me. "I like how you touch my chest muscles but what did I do to deserve something like that, Biscuit?"

I narrow my eyes at him. I hate him. "I am sick of your stupid jokes, Blake! You piss me of, every fucking day of the year. Every. Fucking. Day!" I hit his chest again. "What is wrong with you? Can't you just leave me alone?"

Blake smiles. "What can I say. I didn't like seeing Lover Boy kiss you. I was in such a big heat because of thinking how my own lips touched the same he touched once."

Such a poet. Fucking Drama Queen. "We were kissing because of a fucking game, Blake. And I was about to smash your head against your car, so stop talking bullshit. Just because you form your words into some poetic sentences, doesn't mean they make any sense."

Blake takes my hand in his and interlaces our fingers. I try to rip it away but he holds onto it, smirking. "That is not the kiss I was talking about, Biscuit," he whispers.

My eyes widen. Every time I think about this stupid first kiss I get sick. Not because of the kiss. I know what I've felt for Blake during that time and his intentions were sweet. Well at least what I believed were his intentions.

"Tell me, Biscuit, does kissing your boyfriend feel as good as kissing me?"

I think there's a small, very tiny peace in my heart that cracked a little. It's the leftover of what were my feelings for Blake Evans a long time ago. And it feels like he's trying to tickle out what's left.

"What makes you think Chris' kisses are comparable to yours?"

My head feels hot. And red. Very red. Cause even though the said kisses between me and Blake were one, when we were both drunk and playing a game and two, when we both weren't well experienced. But I do know an answer to his question.

"Well, your head just turned more red than the fucking mini dress Alisa Johnson wore to her last presentation and I know what I felt kissing you. Your feelings can't be far from mine."