❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
She was trouble, chaos really. But her smile, her smile, dared me to fall in love with her. —Atticus.
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"You have a tattoo."
"And you're not blind, yay," I snap without missing a beat, taking my eyes off the road for a moment to glare at him. "Let's stop stating the obvious, okay?"
He rolls his eyes but his gaze returns to a particular spot my neck. "Wow, you're so funny," he says, sarcasm dripping from his words, "Anyhow, when did you get it?"
I shrug lightly, returning my gaze back to the road. "It's been four days. Still hurts like hell."
"Oh," he furrows his eyebrows, "Okay. So what rune did you get?"
"I don't think it's any of your business," I reply, pursing my lips for extra emphasis.
"Well, I was just trying to get rid of the silence," he murmurs loud enough for me to hear. "Okay, fine. It's none of my business."
"You can say that again."
"It's none of my business," he says again and I can't help but roll my eyes at him. I stop by a red traffic light and drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I wait for it to turn yellow or green- whichever one comes first.
"Look Ian," I say, turning my head to look at him, "What you're doing is nice I suppose; this whole I-want-to-make-you-feel-better-so-I'm-buying-you-a-latte plan. It's nice. And while I appreciate that all you apparently want to do is make me feel better, I hope you know this doesn't automatically excuse some of the things you said to me and how much of a jackass you are."
"I could say the same thing about you, you know," he raises an eyebrow. "Sure, I know your story thanks to the way you basically broadcasted it but whatever. It still doesn't excuse the way you poured iced coffee on me or the way you've been chewing me out for simply following basic rules to protect my shop."
"You were being an asshole."
"And what you did was a bitch move."
I look at him; really look at him. From his messy black hair to the sole of his white converses. He looks sincere enough- for now, at least.
I take a deep breath. "...Then I guess I'm sorry for throwing back washed iced mocha on you."
"You should be," he nods. Then he pauses. "Did you just say the drink had back wash?"
"Yes," I turn my gaze back to the road and I control a smirk from gracing my lips. "Reasons why you should never share a drink with me."
"Thanks for the information," he says and his tone basically drips with thinly veiled disgust. "You're such a lady, you know that?"
