Faster Than Your Bullets

Chapter 18

"Not here. Not now." I whine and scrunch my noise, hoping to make my annoyance obvious. Drew smirks as sitting up.

"Yes, as if I wanted to be here." He rolls his eyes. Spitting out a humorless laugh, I point at the door.

"Then leave."

Drew stands up and throws the frozen pea bags down onto the table. It's only now can I see his face and its injuries. It's nothing very much different from what I've gotten used to, maybe except for the fact that only two percent of his skin has its right color. The rest looks painful. I shrink an inch away from him and his face, which is now wearing an agitated expression that is kinda freaking me out, not that I'd ever admit it.

The asshole takes one step forward me. This is getting seriously like in those Twilight crappy scenes I'm usually forced to watch while hanging out at the Fosters'. And to make it look more like it, the corner of Drew's mouth tugs into a sneer.

My life is a big opera soap.

"The only reason you're being rude is you're jealous."

Okay, what?

I begin to laugh as dryly and sarcastically as I can, finally end up laughing for real because it's hilarious, really.

"You know, I've never believed you've got some sense of humor." I place my hands on my hips. "Give me a reason why I'd be jealous."

The asshole gives a half-shrug and smiles dirtily. "Because I fucked Kristen Holt."

I didn't see that coming.

Act cool, Andrea. Act cool.

"And what does that have anything to do with me?"

"You have a crush on me." The tip of his tongue sticks out between his teeth as the little fucker's mouth breaks into a mischievous grin.

I probably should laugh and tell him he's delusional and what does he even have in mind, someone like me interested in someone like him? Because the last time I checked, that doesn't happen in high school. And also, he's an absolute prick with this thought that every human being wants a piece of him, who, in usual social situation, happens to be the one no one actually wants to make friends with. That's why he's only got me to properly talk to, as far as I'm concerned. And as much as I know, the only reason why I get to do the honor is because he needs a place to crash after every spooky bar fights he takes part in. So yeah, why would I have a crush on him? Why?

I should tell him all that. But I don't. Instead, I pull a face.

"Well, I don't."

A round of applause for you, Andrea. You have just fucking prove his point.

"Well," he mimics my expression and takes another step closer. Instinctively, I take another step back. This, shittily for me, continues until I am pressed against the front door and his body is shadowing over me, bending down so his nose is two and a half inches from mine, "I think you do."

Someone calls the Hollywood producers because the new hit film is in town.

Think something smart, Andrea. It's not that hard.

It is.

I swallow. That is literally everything I can do right now. I mean, who could possibly speak smartly in this kind of situation? You know, the ones when this hot guy shows up and pressed his smoking body against yours and saying you probably have a crush on him and you know he is partially true?

"And," Drew continues, sucking in a deep breath, "you are mad because I fucked someone else."

Like I need to be reminded, son of a biatch.