"What is it?" I asked stiffly, adjusting myself on the couch. I could feel his body heat emanating from him and suddenly I felt awkward and weird and uncomfortable and I wanted him to leave the couch or something bad was going to happen.
Fortunately, he stood up. Unfortunately, he grinned.
"Gotcha," He said. "There is no news."
I wanted to kick his groin or something painful, but he turned to leave.
"Do you enjoy it?" I said as he was halfway out the door.
"Enjoy what?" He turned halfway, and I could see his profile, the sharp nose, and chin, and black, shiny hair, one blue eye focused on me.
"Working here? Kicking cheesesticks around? Torturing me?" I pursed my lips and waited for a reaction.
He gave a fake laugh and kind of grimaced.
"Do you like being the rich, spoiled popular girl who gets everything she wants?" He asked.
People always said that to me. And it hurt. it felt like a punch in the gut. But I was used to it.
"You don't know a thing about me," I snapped. My voice wavered a little, and before I could mentally injure myself he replied, "Yes. I do."
"Excuse me-" I began, but he cut me off.
"I know that your dad owns a huge line of cars. I know that you have a friend Lindsay who's super hot and a girl Charlotte that you like bullying. I know that you're planning a fashion line and you went to Swarovski for some sort of gift for some bet. i know a lot of things about you, Ashely Solovan, and if you ask me how you will never know."
Then he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and I could hear his footsteps retreating into the distance.
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