Thanks to The Boots

Chapter Thirteen

I stand up and set my empty bowl in the sink. I rinse it out, then turn to Ryder. I jump back when practically run into him.

"A terrible person? Do you think that hurts my feelings?"

"I don't care if it does or doesn't, but it's true. You're mean. You're selfish-"

"Selfish? How would you even know if I'm selfish?"

"I've seen how you act. I saw you at that fight. You went in there looking like you knew you were going to win."

"That's confidence."

"You went into the arena like you knew you'd win."

"Confidence!"

I roll my eyes, "What ever it is, you are not a good person."

"I know."

"You're in a gang."

"I know."

"You almost killed that guy."

"I know."

"You kidnapped me."

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"All you've been doing is fighting me and then making out with me," he steps closer.

I take a step closer too, "I made out with you? You made the first move."

"Why would I ever want to kiss you?"

"I mean you've already done it a couple times so."

He lowers his head so it's closer to mine.

I whisper, "Do you want to kiss me now, Ryder?"

He smiles, and looking at my lips he whispers, "Sure."

When he leans in to close the gap between us, I take a step back. He almost falls, so he stumbles closer to me. He balances himself by holding the counter on either side of me.

"See Ryder, you're the one who wants to kiss me."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"I bet you the next time we kiss, you're the one that makes the first move."

"You're on."

"Loser has to treat the winner to dinner."

"Boo. That's boring."

"Fine. What do you want the winner to do?"

I pause to think for a moment. "It should be something crazy. Winner picks a tattoo the loser has to get?"

"Dang, that's pretty wild. Are you sure you're down with getting a tattoo that I pick?"

"I'm down with it, don't worry," I mock him. "One rule, the tattoo can't be inappropriate or too big. I've never gotten one before. Have you?"

"Yeah," he turns his arm over revealing a tattoo on the inside of his bicep. It is a date with bars in front of it, like jail cell bars.

I mindlessly lift my finger, to trace the numbers. Tattoos have always interested me and I knew I'd end up getting one eventually. Though I'm not eighteen yet, I can't sign for my own. He flinches at my touch at first, but I continue. "What does it mean?" I whisper.

"It was the day my mom got arrested."

"Oh. What was the tattoo on your back? I saw it last night."