troubled | e.d.

thirteen

tessa

"well, well, well. look who's back?" ethan taunts as i put in a dollar for a bottle of flavored water at the soda machines in the break room.

i roll my eyes, and my dollar spits back out. i yank it and begin an attempt to flatten it.
"yeah, he finally let me out of the house. can you believe that? it was like prison, ethan."

"been there, done that."

"you were in a holding cell, big man. not prison,"
i laugh, and try to shove my dollar back in. it spits out with no success. i let out a frustrated groan and reach out to grab it again, but ethan's hand takes it before i can.

"hey," i look to him accusingly. "that's my dollar."

he reaches for something in his back pocket, and pulls out a brown leather wallet. he opens it, pulls out a crisp one dollar bill, and shoves my wrinkled one in its place.

he holds out the new bill between two fingers, eyebrows raised.

i sigh slightly before taking it. "thanks."

he shoves the wallet back into his back pocket. "you're welcome. couldn't let a dollar kick your ass without stepping in."

laughing again, i slip it into the machine and press the strawberry splash flavored water, since it's pretty early and i have no desire for a soda.

"so i'm actually scheduled to pick up an office lunch in an hour..." he says casually, crossing his arms and leaning against the machine.

i raise my eyebrows, tilting my head a little. "have fun...?"

he smiles a little. "wanna come with?"

"oh... i have to accompany my dad to his meeting..." i fumble out, pushing a strand of hair out of my face. "i have to do it so i get some college credits, which kinda sucks because i'm always kinda busy at the wrong times but—"

"it's fine," he shrugs it off, but somethings flashes across his eyes. i can't pinpoint it. "your rambling wasn't needed to get the point across."

i look down at the drink in my hands, chuckling a little. "sorry. hope you can manage some turkey subs alone? don't let them kick your ass like the dollar did to me."

the smile reappears on his face as he says, "wouldn't ever dream of stealing your spotlight as the weak brain who almost had a panic attack over a soda machine at 10 in the morning."

"i was not on the verge of a panic attack—"

"oh bull, tessa," he laughs. "you looked like you were about to fight it in the parking lot."

"i'd like to think i would've won."

he glances at me up and down once, causing a spike of nerves in my stomach and the sudden urge to hide away my body in an oversized track suit.

he meets my eyes again, and i notice that they're light and humored. "maybe."

"go pick up your deli meats," i narrow my eyes, backing away in the direction of my father's office.