Save You A Seat | ✓

HER CHILL

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STOLEN:

HER CHILL
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THE WEEKEND CAME AND went, just like her non-existent relationship with Jason Montgomery. After a rather awkward dinner and halfhearted promises to text, it was clear the two weren't a match.

Brooke found him...boring. He was incredibly nice, but he lacked a certain charm, a certain look that made her heart flip.

As the Monday morning air hugged her, Brooke held her textbook closer to herself when the bus arrived and came to a stop.

Once again beelining to the only open seat, Brooke nearly cursed out loud when the seat was stolen from her again.

She snapped her gaze up to meet the eyes of a familiar seat-stealing thief. "You piece of shit," she all but snarled.

Flynn sniggered, "Too slow, B." He leaned back comfortably, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"I swear to God, I will murder you," Brooke said, hitting his leg rather harshly. But she couldn't bring herself to be as mad as she was last week. In fact, she had to stop herself from smiling when she first saw him.

He raised his hands up in mock surrender, "Relax, relax." Glancing at the little girl beside him, he leaned down and whispered something. Brooke wondered what he was saying, but before she could ask, the little kid was running off crying to the back of the bus where her mom was.

Flynn smugly tapped the now empty seat beside him, "Oh hey B, didn't see you there. Saved you a seat."

Brooke gaped at him, ready to yell at him for whatever prank he just pulled, but her sore legs were a priority, and who cared about kids? Ignoring the unethical way of getting it, Brooke slowly took the seat. "What the hell did you say to that kid?"

Flynn shrugged beside her, "That the last person who sat there had cooties and died."

Brooke snorted, "Creative." She leaned back against the seat, resting her tired head on the railing beside her.

"Why, thank you," he beamed. "So...how're things going with Montgomery?" he asked casually, toying with the sleeves of his jacket.

"They're not," Brooke said. She shrugged, "It just wasn't a match, I guess."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Flynn sit up straighter as he angled his body to face her. "What a shame," he grinned. "So now that he's out of the picture, Brooke Thompson, what do you say about lunch with me tomorrow?"

Brooke nearly choked on air.

He was so forward, so unpredictable, Brooke wasn't sure whether to be flattered or disgusted. But her heart was pounding, and her hands were now fumbling at her hair – something she did when she was nervous.

"Lunch?" she echoed like an idiot.

"Yeah, you know like, the thing where people eat around noon –"

"I know what fucking lunch is," she snapped. Crossing her arms, she turned away. She wasn't usually like this, clutzy and uncooperative. She blamed it on him – his stupid face, his annoying smile, his nonexistent manners. He was laughing at her.

"Well then, have fucking lunch with me," he replied, mimicking her harsh tone.

"Fine!" the words poured out of her mouth. 

"Fine?"

"I said fine!" Brooke huffed, avoiding his eyes.

He was silent for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. Clapping his hands in his fit of laughter, he said, "You're so weird."

She rolled her eyes, but felt the smile creeping on her face. He made her heart race, made her unable to think straight.

But she refused to let him have the last word again.

"Lunch would be the perfect opportunity to murder you."