“You won’t. You wouldn’t need to do this to prove that. You’ve had me for years, Scar. Fuckingyears.”
47
Evan
“How does it feel to lose, loser?”
No matter how many times I try to tell Scarlett something isn’t a competition, she thinks I’m bluffing and turns it into one anyway. When I said we were going to be late to class to get our grades after sleeping in, she made it a mission to go back to her apartment and see if she could get to campus before me.
It’s not that I let her win…
Okay, maybe I did.
Only because nothing beats the smile she gets on her face when she’s won something. So that’s the only reason why I’m sulking walking towards her outside of Anderson’s office.
She stands with her hands in the air, one of her hands in an ‘L’ shape on her forehead as she scolds me for being late.
My stomach swarms with butterflies as I notice that her whole outfit is mine. She’s wearing my sweatpants that she stole and my shirt that she took from my closet that says,‘Suck my Pianist.’ The clothes basically swallow her whole, the sweatpants band rolled down, and the shirt twisted into a knot at the side, showing off the sliver of her stomach and my favourite part, her tattoo.
She looks like mine.
I walk closer to her, shaking my head at her, while she continues to call me a loser. I drag her hand down from her forehead swiftly, interlocking my fingers with hers instead. “Not everything is a competition, Angel.”
Her whole face lights up, those brown eyes staring right into mine. “With you it is. I told you I’d get here before you and I did.”
“Great. Do you want a prize?” I ask, bored.
“You know what? I would lo-”
I silence her by kissing her deeply and she stumbles against the door. I’m pretty sure Anderson can see us from his office. If he can’t see us, he can definitely hear the whimper that comes out of her as I press her against the wall, pinning her with my hips. I kiss her again, biting on her bottom lip before pulling apart.
“What was that?” she breathes, pressing her fingers to her lips.
“Your prize,” I say, smiling down at her. “Now stop making up excuses just to kiss me. You’re, like, obsessed with me or something.”
“Or something,” she mutters before turning around and opening the door to Anderson’s office.
Scarlett
I fucking knew it.
We came top of the class for our project, each of us getting A pluses, as well as receiving a call from the software developer, wanting to makeHard To Tellinto a reality. We were both so giddy with excitement, telling each other how happy we were with the way it turned out that I couldn’t even drive back home. I hate when I get like this. Where I get so excited and hot and bothered that I can’t do anything, and I have to work off my energy.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask him when we get inside my apartment building. “Do you wanna come over?”
“You should probably see what’s going on inside,” he says, nodding up to the elevator. Weird. I open my mouth to respond, but he turns around swiftly walking away from me. “Bye, Angel.”
Sometimes I wonder why I live with these girls.
I knew Evan’s weird goodbye meant something, but I didn’t know exactly what. The second I open the door; the whole apartment is a mess. We usually create a lot of mess, but nothing compared to this.
The airing cupboard is emptied out so towels, tablecloths, and old shit we put in there when we moved in have spilled out onto the floor into the kitchen area. The kitchen is where most of the mess. There’s a stand mixer on the countertop that wasn’t there when I left this morning, the packaging on the floor while Wren stands over it, licking some sort of mixture off her fingers. The fridge door is opened, most of the contents emptied on the side while the Tupperware cupboard spills out onto the floor.
“What is going on…?” I ask, stepping further into the room. Wren turns around as if she’s been caught, her cheeks red and puffy.
“Are you ready for Friendsgiving?” she asks. Has she been hit in the head or something? What the hell is going on?
“It’s the start of May, Wrenny,” I say gently, in case she is on the brink of a mental breakdown. She hardly ever bakes and she’s not particularly good at it either.
