by Haven Francis
Genre: Upper YA/NA Contemporary
Release Date: May 17th 2016
Summary:
âFrom one to ten, how much do you hate living here?â I ask Presley.
She laughs â a normal cute laugh, not an angry one. âDepends on where I am.â
âYouâre here; in your room⦠with me.â
She rolls her eyes at me. âTenâs the worst?â
âYeah.â
âAn eleven?â she smirks.
âIs it because the room part or the me part?â I ask, cocking my head at her.
âBoth.â
I pout at her.
âDonât even try that with me,â she says, narrowing her eyes.
âItâs cute,â I tell her.
She shakes her head.
âCome on, Iâm cute â you have to admit it.â
âYouâre not cute, Nash.â
âYeah, I guess sexyâs the more accurate word.â
She squints her eyes at me, her mouth lifting with a wicked grin. âIt bothers you, doesnât it?â
âWhat? That Iâm so sexy? No, not really. I mean, sometimes I just want to be left alone but it comes with the territory. What am I supposed to do?â
âIt bothers you that I donât think youâre cute, or sexy and that I donât particularly like you.â
Yes. Completely. In fact, Iâve made it my mission to make you like me.
âAm I the only girl who hasnât crumbled after a mere glance from you?â
I lean forward and cock my head at her, giving her a sly smile. To which, her reaction is a tight grin that says, nice try, cheese ball. âProbably. But donât worry, Iâm pretty sure Iâm getting to you already. Not particularly liking me is a huge step up from absolutely despising me. And I can maybe believe the not cute thing, but thereâs no chance you donât think Iâm sexy. Have you seen me with my shirt off?â
âYou realize that huge muscles arenât a turn on for everyone and that some people even find things like a brain and modesty to be sexy?â
I give up the act and lean back on my elbows. âI donât know what to say â you got me. I donât have much of a brain and Iâm definitely not modest. You could still like me though, right? I mean in a, Iâll tolerate him for a couple of hours kind of way.â
She mimics my posture, laying back on her own elbows. âI suppose.â
I stare at her â sheâs got her hair pulled up on the top of her head in a messy bun, her face is bare; her ivory skin glowing in the sun thatâs coming through her window. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks. She looks peaceful. I pick up my camera, aim it towards her and snap a picture.
âWhat are you doing?â she mutters, eyes still closed.
âTaking your picture.â
âCan we talk about it for a minute before you proceed with your assignment?â
âTalk about it?â
She lets out a frustrated breath, sits up and looks at me. âWe were supposed to start at your house. This makes me uncomfortable; having someone take my picture, especially here in my home landscape thatâs not actually my home at all.â
âAre you trying to tell me you donât want me to take your picture? Because Iâm pretty sure I canât pass the class if thatâs another one of your rules I have to abide by.â
She pinches her eyes closed and clenches her teeth. âYou can take my picture. I know you have to do that. I just thought if we laid out a plan I could limit the number of pictures taken.â
âI donât get you, Presley. Iâm trying to get you, I really am⦠but honestly, I canât figure you out. Why wouldnât you want your picture taken?â
She glares at me, which happens so often Iâm pretty much immune to it.
âYouâre not self-conscious?â
Another glare, this time it punctures the surface of my skin.
âYouâre gonna have to use words, Iâm not fluent in severe facial expressions.â
âForget it, Nash. Just do whatever youâve gotta do, itâs fine.â She stands and grabs her camera off her desk and shoves it into her backpack.
I stand too and walk to her. I turn her around so sheâs stuck between me and the desk. She has a talent of running away when our conversations become too personal but Iâm not gonna be dealing with whatever issue sheâs got with my camera for the rest of the semester. âI get that youâre immune to my charms, so please donât take this as anything other than a fact being stated.â
She crosses her arms over her chest, but doesnât tell me to shut up, so I carry on.
âYouâre pretty. Like really, really pretty â you know that, right?â
âI swear to God, if you say one word about my bodyâ¦â
âIâm not talking about your body which, by the way, is extremely beautiful. Iâm not even talking about your blue eyes, your thick hair or your perfect skin. Iâm talking about your cute smirks, your impressive eye rolls, the way you chew on your lip and how youâre always hiding behind your hair. Iâm not artist, I can barely work the camera on my phone, but Iâm pretty sure Iâm gonna ace this class because youâre my subject matter.â
âJesus, Nash, you are seriously too much. I mean I get it â I can see how a speech like that would win over any girl you know but youâve gotta stop trying to use your lines on me. Itâs seriously starting to piss me off.ââ
My head actually retracts at that. There is no winning with this girl. âYou really donât believe a word that comes out of my mouth, do you? You think everything I say is just some stupid line meant to convince people that Iâm likeable because, in reality, I canât possibly be anything other than scum, right?â I stare at her, fully aware that Iâm getting more worked up than I should be. She stares back at me but says nothing.
âWhen I saw you in that class I wasnât any less annoyed than you were, but I told you I would try with you. And I believe you told me the same thing. But Iâm pretty sure Iâm the only one whoâs actually doing it. Iâve been nice to you, Iâve taken two days out of my weekend to prove to you that Iâm taking this seriously because you told me you needed that from me, Iâve tried getting to know you, I even tried being a friend to you. And every time you make it clear that you hate everything about me I find some reason to justify why that is and I let it go because Iâm trying to get somewhere with you. But weâre never gonna get anywhere if youâre constantly pissed off at me for no damn reason. I canât even give you a genuine compliment without you making me feel like a piece of crap.â
She flares her nostrils and shakes her head.
Presleyâs never been able to keep her mouth shut. Sheâs got an opinion about everything and everyone, especially me. I didnât think anything could be more annoying. But this is. Her refusal to acknowledge anything I say like I donât even deserve her words is way more annoying than a litany of insults.
Forget it. I grab my bag off her bed and head out the door.