Evie may be talking shit about you to her mates, she may feel her blood boil when you deflect and brush off her insults, but she can't say she doesn't enjoy this.

She hooks a hand under your knee, kissing you with great fervor against the door. She hated that you were taller, that you were prettier than her admittedly, but wasted it by dressing masculine. That people seemed to prefer your company to hers. This was her way of feeling superior.