Jacob Sartorius Imagines

Better Than You (dirty)

I shifted my weight from foot to foot and checked my watch. I had officially rung the doorbell 45 seconds ago. Watch him not even be home, I thought to myself. I had begged my coworker to take over my shift at the café and chocolate shop where I worked, just so I could get over to this idiot's house for our history project.

Naturally, I had been paired with the boy I took opposing sides with in every class discussion. I heard the distant shuffling of feet, what sounded like somebody stumbling down the stairs, and the sound of a throat clearing. The heavy oak door opened in front of me.

"Sorry that took me a bit, I needed to pull on a shirt." Jacob said, smiling just enough for one dimple to pop. Did he actually just wink at me. I gave him a small, sarcastic smile, and entered his home.

As a slipped off my shoes by the door, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. The décor was somewhat French inspired, I took note of. His parents had nice taste.

"So, Y/N, to my room." Jacob smiled at my quizzical glance. "It's the only place in the house with a clear desk."

I followed him up the large staircase and to the left. His room was carpeted, his bed mussed. I glanced around at the Rolling Stones and Ramones posters that plastered the wall. I had to hand it to him, Sartorius had good music taste.

I deposited my bag by his door and pulled my laptop out, making my way to his desk. "Okay, so do you want to make a power point?"

"Sure, sounds great. Ooh, what do we have here?" Jacob smirked, withdrawing a newly returned English essay from my bag. "Only a 98%? Tsk, tsk." He shook his head.

"Like you could do better?" I practically snorted.

"Oh I could. And I did. 100% and I wrote it in one night."

"Sartorius, you do not want to start this," I stated matter-of-factly, pulling my hair to the right side of my neck, my competitive streak surfacing.

"Try me, Y/L/N." An annoying yet attractive smirk was on plastered on his stupid, perfect face.

"What's your class rank?"

"2nd," he chirped, expecting to impress me.

"That's too bad. I'm first."

"ACT score?"

"34." I began to proudly smirk too.

"36."

"SAT?"

"2300."

"Please. 2380."

"Fine, but what do you have to say to my three varsity letters? Football, lacrosse, and basketball."

"I'd say they should say hello to track and swimming."

"Only two?" He shook his head in fake disappointment.

"Did I forget to mention that I'm captain of both?"

"Must've slipped your mind. You were just getting embarrassed realizing that I'm better than you," he stepped closer to me, his hazel eyes ablaze.

"Better than me? You are no such thing," I inched forward. "I've played piano for nine years." I smiled, daring him to challenge me again.

"Guitar for seven. Piano for three. That's a total of ten, huh? Guess I really am superior."

"Not even a little bit," I practically spat. His body was maybe six inches from mine at this point, and I couldn't help but notice how nicely the rolled up sleeves of his Beatles t-shirt showed off his biceps. And his eyes stared into mine and I noticed the light from the room reflecting off of them. But, he had awakened competitive Y/N, and almost nothing could get in her way.