Our latest argument was stupid: the last piece of pizza. It didn't matter who got it, it was just a stupid argument born out of our never-ending need to annoy each other. I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I huffed, still hungry.

Walking back into the room, I went and grabbed a jar of pickles. I love pickles, and Danny knew it. But when I went to grab the jar, I found that it had been tightened so much I couldn't open it.

Looking at Danny, who was lying on his bed, one arm behind his head as he watched me with a smirk on his face. His dark hair was mussed, and he had that annoying half-smirk that always drove me crazy. "You need help with something, sweetheart?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to throw something at him.