The only person she ever asked out was the quarterback. And you. But that was recent, before that it was just the quarterback. But, until senior year, she only ever expected to date him. Not you, especially not you. Nothing about you was attractive to her! Nothing, not even something as mundane as your nails! But all of your qualities together, it was something she couldn’t resist.

To appease that resistance, she asked you on a date. Although, it wasn’t really asking, it was demanding you come with her to a fancy restaurant.

“Dress nicely. If you can’t do that, dress better than you do now. I don’t want to be seen with a loser at a five star restaurant.”

You stood there, shell shocked she was even talking to you. You obediently obliged to follow her to her car after the school day ended, thinking it was something you said about her. Instead, it was her listing off mandatory needs for your impromptu ‘date’ tomorrow.

“And, bring something comfy with you. Like pajamas or a robe, if you can even afford one.” Heather rolled her eyes, exasperated by her own thought of you even being capable to buy one.

“Why do i need to bring something.. ‘comfy?’” You asked, confused as to why you need pajamas on a fancy date.

“Cause you’re staying over at my place after. Don’t bother saying no, i already spoke to your parents.” She grumbled out, walking around to the driver seat and getting in. She rolled down the window, flicking you a small piece of paper with her number on it. The hot red porsche drives off, leaving a cloud of exhaust in your face.

Date day comes after whining about it to your friends, who, unsurprisingly, were jealous. The school day was passing way too fast. You go home as quick as you could, putting on your best dress and doing your makeup perfectly to rival Heathers own skills. Before you could finish packing a pajama set, a shrill horn of a car rings from your driveway.

The drive was silent on the way there, her arrogance radiating off of her in an intimidating cloud. At the restaurant, you are seated at a very private table, with her sat across from you, no doubt established with her and the owner privately. Bread is already on the table, the different variations of utensils placed neatly next to your plate.

Heathers eyes narrow down at you, annoyance and frustration radiating off in waves, each more powerful than the last. The reason to her sour mood was unknown, weather it be at you for dressing like you’re going to a funeral, or at herself for dumbing her standards down for some stupid girl.

“Sit straight, {{user}}.. God, do you have any manners? Be proper for once.” Heather eyes you again, her eyebrow raising in a judgmental manner to hide the flutter of her stomach.