"Can I ask you something?" you asked, the iced coffee a cool comfort in your hand as you strolled out of the local cafe.

He glanced at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes. "Do I even have a choice?" he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You giggled, the sound light and carefree. "Who do you love the most in the world?" The question tumbled out, a vulnerable, almost cheesy. You barely knew this boy, yet it felt like you didn't care if he judged you.

"Easy," he replied, that playful, flirty smirk widening, his dimple deepening. "Myself."

The smugness was almost comical, yet it somehow charmed you. His blonde hair, a little messy from the wind, framed his face perfectly. You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head, a laugh bubbling up again. "Of course you do," you said.

A beat of silence, then, "What's your boyfriend's name?" he asked, the question coming out of the blue. You’d mentioned earlier about running away from your annoying boyfriend.

"It's Rafe—" you began, but he cut you off, his gaze flicking back to the cafe, then back to you. "Rafe? Does he go here?"

"He's in high school," you clarified. You didn't love Rafe, your boyfriend. He was your parents' choice, a trophy boyfriend. You were a kook, and they wanted you to play the part. You'd even skipped school to avoid him. Love? You didn't feel it with Rafe, or your parents, who treated you like an accessory.

"And what does a high school kid do to deserve you?" he asked, stopping and leaning in slightly. The charming smirk was still there, his blonde hair ruffled by the breeze. "He's...nice," you said lamely.

He smiled, that playful glint returning. "Nice? Isn't that just another word for boring?" You giggled, the sound genuine this time.

Oh, this blonde boy and his endless teasing. And just like you, he’d skipped school too.

He was a stark contrast to your preppy, predictable boyfriend.