I AM SORRY I YELLED AT YOU.
She smiled at her phone, read and re-read it several times, before she realized that the screen was getting blurry and her nose was clogged. Was she crying? Oh gosh, she was bawling like a stupid idiot at the fact that he was trying to be nice, to apologize, and mentioned surprising her… and maybe they were both hardheaded about things.
I’m sorry I got upset too – and it’s a size seven ring, size ten shoe, and a size eighteen dress.
Three dots appeared a moment later as she sat there in the tub, holding her phone and waiting. Maybe they were making progress, maybe they could find their way to being friends. What would it be like to be Drake Walker’s fake fiancée? Would they hold hands? Would they go to dinner as a couple? What if he attempted to kiss her or…
Her phone dinged.
Wow – seriously? Got a couple of ‘aircraft carriers’ to go with that THICC waist, eh? Someone needs to lay off the cheesecake before the wedding…
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she stared at the screen in horror, made a weird noise in her throat, and then flung the phone as hard as possible, launching it across the bathroom where it clattered to the floor. She stared at it like it was some demon from the beyond – and even spat at it – seething with anger at his rude comments.
“You know what – I don’t even care if you are broken,” she snarled hotly. “You – or my neighbor who is officially cracked in the head!”
It was nearlya week later that Steffi was hauling two bags full of groceries up to the house when Drake came out of the house, sprinting toward her with a determined look on his face.
“Go away!” she yelped immediately and started running, bags in hand, making a frantic dash across the grass to her front door.
“Steffi, we need to talk.”
“I’m done talking to you…”
“Is that why you aren’t texting me back now?” he asked bluntly. “I was teasing. Don’t tell me that you cannot take a joke… seriously – it was a joke.”
“It wasn’t funny – and I broke my phone,” she grumbled and put down a bag in order to dig out her keys, only to have him pick up the bag. She immediately reached over, took the bag from his hands, and put it back on the ground.
He picked it back up.
“Quit touching my stuff,” she hissed at him, shoving the key in the door, turning, and removing the bag from his hands again.
“Things I’ll never say on our wedding night for one thousand,” he immediately drawled, giving her a weird, lopsided smile that grated on her nerves.
“There’s not gonna be a wedding night,” she shot back, reaching for the key and turning it as he leaned forward, grasping the handle, and opened it for her politely. “Go away.”
“No.”
“Please?” she shot back, trying to close the front door, but he was pushing his way inside. “Please go away –pretty please with sugar on top– get lost immediately, Douche Wanker.”
“Don’t call me that,” he frowned – and followed her in anyhow.
“Fine. Dorky Weirdo,” she shrugged, before walking off and hoping he’d get the hint. “Dramatic Whiner…”
“My name is Drake.”
“Your name is whatever I choose to call you.”
“Why are you being like this?” he asked tersely, staring at her as he crossed his arms over his chest… and then slowly looked around. “Where’s your furniture?”
Okay, so she wasn’t well-off in the slightest, but her things functioned to make her house a home – well, not her house, but that was mincing words. She paid a lot of money for this rental house in this area because it was exceedingly nice and in a lovely neighborhood. In fact, it took three out of her four paychecks to make the rent, which left little money for extra things… and now his royal majesty was judging her?
“Go away,” she retorted flatly and continued putting away the groceries just so she didn’t look at him or lose her temper once more. “Do us both a favor and just go away –please.”
“Where’s your couch?”
“It’s just me – and this ‘ME’ sits on her recliner nicely, by myself.”
“I don’t understand… you broke your phone and don’t have a television? What do you even do in the evenings? Don’t you doomscroll like the rest of society?”
