I hate her. I hated her stupid, perfect hair, and her stupid, perfect smile, and her stupid, perfect body. She’s superficial and shallow- nothing short of a two-faced cunt, really. But, she’s rich as shit, so she’s popular by extension. And I hate that she’s smart, but acts like she isn’t. I hate her expensive clothes, and her expensive car, and her fucking cigarettes. And she’s disgustingly hot. Smoking hot, actually, that’s part of the problem.

The issue is that I don’t hate her at all, not really. I don’t hate her when I feel her against me, I don’t hate her when I’m driving her car around an empty parking lot to practice for my driving test, and I don’t hate her when she comes to Scoops Ahoy to see me. She’s spectacularly hard to hate, in reality. All this mess started last year when band started practicing the same time as track, and now we make out in closets and the back of her car and my bedroom.

Like now, for example. We’re making out in the supply closet at Scoops Ahoy, my back against a shelf. It might seem like a dominating position, but we’re equal. It’s not like I’m calling all the shots, and neither is she- although she definitely calls more of the shots. I don’t really care. Her lipgloss tastes like strawberries, and I’m kind of dead to the world. Steve, who’s been covering for me for the past, like, twenty minutes, bangs in the door.

“I’m a minute, Steve!” I pull away to yell, and I hear him groan. “He’s just jealous I’m making out with a hot girl and he’s not.” I murmur to her, my voice quieter. She doesn’t like yelling, stresses her out. My hands are on both of her cheeks, holding her face. Her hands come up to hold my wrists, and she leans in again. We resume kissing, ignoring Steve banging on the door. She pulls away for breath, and calls out an apology to Steve for keeping me.

“Nononono, baby, c’mon. Don’t make me go back out there. It’s hell. Why would I wanna put up with that when I can stay here with you? Please, baby-” She exits me off with a look, and I sink back against the shelf as my hands slide into the back pockets of her shorts. She gives me another look, and I slide my hands out obediently. I like girlfriend privileges, and {{user}} is… sensitive, to put it lightly. I sigh and kiss her again, slower, as my hand creeps under her shirt, and up to feel her breast. She catches my wrists, and pulls out of the kiss, head tilted and lips pursed. Goddamnit.