Playing the Player

Chapter 2: Yard and the Mall

Previously on Playing the Player

It has litterally been five minutes since any of us said a word. I cleared my throat. I stood up to make a announcement. "This is a mistake." I declared. Hurt flashed through his eyes. I started to walk away when he grabbed my arm, eyes pleading. Three words made me stop in my tracks.

"I'm sorry, Danica,"

---

I turned around to face him. His usual grin was gone, replaced with a genuine look of apollogy. I walked over to him and slapped him on the face as hard as I could, earning a loud, satisfying smack. I glowered at him. He was rubbing his cheek, and there was an obvious red mark on his face.

"Well, I completely deserved that," he said, still rubbing his cheek. "Let me explain."

Should I let him? Should I listen to his sorry excuse of an explaination? What if he lies again?

I shuddered at that thought. Let me explain: Kenn and I were childhood friendss, until Junior Prom, when her got mad because I went with Alex instead of him. He threw a fit, and he let it slip that he liked me. I, being the people pleaser I am, agreed to go out with him. My feelings developed, and I was in love, until one night, three weeks ago when I saw him texting Britney. He promised me he would never cheat on me. Being the logical person I am, I spayed a glass of coke into his face and called for Kaitlyn to pick me up. Kaitlyn, being the kind, supportive friend she is, drove over the speed limit like a great best friend. but her act of kindness led her to getting caught. I had to walk home that night.

I made a decision: I would hear him, to move on.

I took a deep breath, and tasted something salty.

Tears. I was crying, and I didn't even realize it. People were staring, but didn't give a damn what they thought. I felt Kenn wrap his coat around me.

"Lets do this somewhere else," he whispered into my ear.

I nodded my head. He helped me into his Ferrari.

He started driving. After a few moments of silence, I looked at him, driving the car calmly. How dare he be so calm? For some reason, the fact that he didn't look nervous or scared pissed me off. It was as if he was so damn confident that he could win me back. I scowled. I was sitting in the same car as a cocky, selfish idiot. I crossed my arms and pouted like a toddler having a tantrum. I could see him peeking through his rear vision.

There was a trace of a smile on his mouth. That was when I lost it. As loud as I could, pouring all my anger into one sentence, I shouted. "WHY ARE YOU SO DAMN CALM?"    
    Seriousness returned to his face. "Because I'm confident that you would forgive me," he said.
    "We are never ever getting back together," I said.

    He stopped the car, there in the middle of a highway. The tires screeched. "I was expecting us to get back together," he said, sincere and all. I stared at him, shocked. He continued to drive.

    After what seemed like hours, I asked, for what seemed like the fiftieth time, "Where are we going?

    "I told you I'm not telling you," he said. After a few moments, I saw him smirk. "Unless you want to give up?"

    Now, kids story time. I NEVER give up. He sure did know me well, he knew how high my pride was, I didn't like relying on people, and I concidered asking relying.