I Sold Myself to the Devil for Vinyls... Pitiful I Know

Chapter Eight

A/N: Alright, so this chapter goes to the one and only Ève! You're the most awesomest friend someone could ever have! 8D 

Oh and by the way the only reason I didn't post this chapter sooner is because I needed her approval so if you want to complain complain to her! 

Mouhaahahahahaha, I know you hate me now ^^

So anyway enjoy, read vote and comment!

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I backed away a little from Blake, not breaking eye contact.

According to my daddy's one-oh-one fighting tips, you had to look at your opponent in the eyes, that way you could see him completely and not miss any move he would make.

My dad might have been out of it but he had always taken seriously the whole a-girl-gotta-know-how-to-kick-some-butt. I guess it made him feel better to know his little girl could defend herself.

Another advice from my wise father was that if you ever hit a guy and he was on the ground, you had to beat him up until he could never get back on his feet otherwise he'd chase after you and do it himself.

The metaphor wasn't lost on me here. I shouldn't have hit Blake and let him get back on his feet. Now I was a dead girl.

Blake's glare turned into one of his own personal smirk as he took a handful of spaghetti.

Alright that's not so bad.

I could easily run away from him. Unfortunately, I couldn't turn my head to see if I had a clear shot to run the hell away, because I would break eye contact and I just knew he would throw it the second I did.

Anyway, I really shouldn't be too confident about this. Blake was a freaking running back after all. He could probably easily catch up with me if I did run.

And then I saw his hand, full of spaghetti, coming towards me.

My automatic reflex was to grab his hand to stop him which was really stupid of me because that was when I lost eye contact. And totally didn't see what he was really going to do.

Blake grabbed his Gatorade and spilled it all over my shirt.

My screaming answer was spontaneous. "YOU ASSHOLE!".

Luckily, my shirt wasn't white and see-through, but it still clung to me uncomfortably.

Next thing I knew, Clark jumped on the table and yelled, "WET T-SHIRT!"

Everyone in the cafeteria stopped what they were doing and turned their attention towards us.

Alright, Lexi is mad now!

"Oh you want a wet t-shirt?" I asked him, while grabbing a can of soda on the table and started to sake it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy girl," Clark said raising his hands in the air.

"You asked for it babe," I said and grabbed the lid.

"Be reasonable! Eaton's the one who spilled the Gatorade," he kept on pleading.

I smiled, and I think that for a second he thought I wasn't going to do anything. "Don't worry, he'll get his punishment soon enough. For now I'm just giving you what you want—a wet t-shirt," and at the same time I said that, since he had his guards down, I pulled the lid and the soda pretty much instantly drenched Clark.

The guys were up from their seats laughing at the scene, Clark dripping wet with soda everywhere on his shirt but also on his pants and in his hair... Maybe I had been a little mean... Whatever Clark was a pig!