Cold and Charisma (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Thirty-One [Mature]

Riley's Perspective

"Okay, we're here." The lock next to me on the passenger side clicked loudly. Wait, what? I looked out the window, seeing the familiar sight of my house.

He drove me home? Why would he take me home?! That's the last place I'd wanna be at.

Not just because I was too tired to deal with my mom's bullshit, but also because having a bruised face, bloodied elbow and thigh, was enough for me.

Not like I couldn't take it — obviously I could... It's just I didn't feel like it.

I snapped my head toward him, irritation already flaring. "Are you serious?" I demanded, sitting up straighter in my seat.

"What did I do this time?" Archer asked, genuinely confused, head tilting slightly.

I had to physically restrain myself from slapping the shit out of him.

It wasn't his fault. He didn't know why I didn't want to be here. In his mind, he was probably being thoughtful—dropping me off after a rough game, making sure I got home safe. How considerate.

I opened my mouth, ready to unload everything—my mom, the injuries, the fact that I really didn't need ten more reasons to snap tonight—but instead I scoffed.

"You always ask me to hang out with you," I shot back, my voice rising. "Even when it's late." The words spilled out too fast, too hot. "Are you done with me, Wilson? Did you get tired of me?"

The second the question left my mouth, I regretted it. "No," he said immediately, turning fully toward me.

"You know that's not it. I just thought after such a—" He hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Tiring game, you'd want to go home. I know you don't like being around people right after."

He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, flexing his bicep without trying. I had to rip my gaze off his attractively dorky demeanor.

"Just say you hate me already." Oh god, kill me. I sound like one of those blonde bimbos he tutored.

"What? No," Archer said softly. "Why would you even think that? Don't say that."

That was one thing about him—I could throw every ugly thought I had at him, and he still refused to let me believe them.

One of the things I liked about Archer was the fact that he never stood for my self-deprecation.

Fine, I guess sometimes I liked his attention. I didn't need it to live or anything but... I guess it was nice.

"Then let's hang out some more." I suggested nonchalantly, leaning back against the seat, eyes out the window.

I tried to play it cool, as if I hadn't just initiated a hang-out with him. Usually, it was always him begging me to be around him. I guess things change.

"You... You actually want to? I mean, I—" A loud sigh of annoyance left my lips, as I crossed my arms in irritation.

"What else do you have going for you?! It's eight p.m at night, and you don't party, or do anything fun — so just fucking say yes!" I demanded.

"Unless you'd rather study? Is that why you're so busy? Some big test is more important than me now, huh?" I said, a trail of angry words leaving my mouth before I could stop myself.

Usually, my anger was always contained, minimal at best in order to not waste energy on those that didn't matter.

But it was something about Archer that made more words leave my mouth than I'd intended.