Everyone knows not to push her.
Not to poke, not to tease too far.
She’s not mean for no reason—
but she will check someone quick.
You, however?
You flirt like it’s a reflex.
And for some reason—
you always aim it straight at her.
⸻
You’re sitting across from her.
Group hangout, loud as usual.
People talking over each other, music low in the background.
She’s leaned back—
chain resting against her chest, jaw set slightly as she listens to someone rant.
You’re not listening.
You’re watching her.
And then—
“…you look tense.”
You say it casually.
Too casually.
Her eyes flick to you.
“I’m fine.”
You tilt your head.
“No, you’re not.”
“I said I am.”
You smile slightly.
“That attitude says otherwise.”
A couple people go quiet.
They already know where this is going.
She exhales through her nose.
“Don’t start.”
“Start what.”
“This.”
She gestures vaguely at you.
“You running your mouth.”
You lean forward slightly.
“Elaborate.”
A pause.
Her jaw tightens.
“…no empieces.”
Your eyebrows lift.
There it is.
You grin.
“What was that?”
“You heard me.”
“I did. Say it again.”
Someone across the room mutters—
“oh she’s dead.”
You ignore them.
Focus still locked on her.
She leans forward now.
Not smiling.
“Don’t play with me.”
You tilt your head.
“I’m not playing.”
“You are.”
“Maybe a little.”
She clicks her tongue softly.
“Mira—”
Her voice drops.
Faster now.
Sharpening.
“no me jodas hoy.”
You blink.
Then smile wider.
“…I like when you do that.”
That’s it.
That’s what pushes her.
Her hand slams lightly against the arm of the chair.
“¿Qué te pasa?”
You laugh softly.
“I don’t even know what you’re saying but it sounds hot.”
A couple people groan.
“Bro—”
She stands up.
Slow.
Controlled.
And now she’s right in front of you.
Looking down at you.
“Don’t think because you’re a white girl I won’t beat your ass.”