Badass Rich Girl + Cocky Rich Boy = Disaster

I was pressing down hard when a blinding flash of lightning hit where my car was two seconds ago. Which my stupid stalker sped blindly straight into, and toasted the hood of his Gallardo. “Fucking shit,” I muttered as I shoved my door open and ran to his, wrenching it open as well.

“DAMNIT MOTHER-FUC-” his mouth was going off now too, and he looked okay except fro a burnt hand. I could see the damage, so I didn’t bother asking if he was “okay”. Pushing my hand into the pocket closest to me, I pulled his iPhone out. It wasn’t long before I found the car-towing company- he probably kept them in business! It was common knowledge how much of a reckless driver he was.

I ignored the ‘what the fuck are you doing’s and swatted his hand away, backing out of his door-frame so that he could observe the injuries he inflicted upon his vehicle. “We need a car towed, middle of Kariya Avenue, a Lamborghini Gallardo. Yes, the same as the one two weeks ago. Thank you.” I stuck it back into his pocket as he cussed out everything in existence (Seriously, what on earth did my poor non-existent cat ever do to him to be cursed into hell 14 times over?! Poor thing.).

I counted 20 seconds as I dominated his First-Aid kit, smeared medicine on gauze, bit off some tape, and forced him to hold still long enough for me to mummify his hand. Record time- YES!!! Believe me, I only pitied the poor Lamborghini, not its abusive father. “You need a lift somewhere?”

“Why yes, beautiful- why don’t we rent a hotel room to do just that?” We’d seen each other briefly in England before, and well… ‘A lift’ was like have sex. Just like ‘do you want a ride’. Perv. He smirked at me. “I’ll take you back to hell later.” I laughed- it was a very obviously fake one.

“I’m saying now that I’m not going back, nor anywhere with you- you’re not even going anywhere with me if you plan on doing that.” Wait, going with you…going somewhere with me…stupidass puns; even the word ‘pun’ is a damn stupid word- ok. Ugh.

“So I’ll get somewhere with you if I plan something different?” he winked. I would have gone all mushy and crap at the sound of his voice…if I hadn’t been dealing with ‘gorgeous’ asshole businessmen for the past few years. IMMUNITY!!! YES!!!

“Would you like to leave in a tow-truck?” I asked in my once-again neutral tone of voice. I jerked my head in the direction of an engine’s roar. During out pointless argument, I had popped my trunk, tossed my heels in, then swapped them for flip-flops. My carefully curled hair was carelessly thrown up into a practiced messy bun. Slamming it shut, I started the car. He got in. “Your apartment then.” I sped off, thankful that the rain had temporarily ceased and driving with carefully calculated speed, as always.

~~* Later *~~

“But you said you’d ‘give me a lift’,” he tugged at my hair while I checked my email on my iPhone that my father insisted I use. More like stroking me like a cat now, with that stupid boy sitting beside me. Don’t males mature at all throughout college?! I’m suing.

Ugh… I shook my head, getting my hair everywhere. “Grr,” I yanked a hair tie out of my bag, then roughly pulled my hair back. The stupid little thing snapped, damn it to hell, then hit me in the fucking face.

Needless to say the a-hole laughed his head off. We ended up at my private penthouse, a small one registered under a fake name and filled with loyal staff. Stupid Kyle- he threatened to steal/devour my precious stash of chocolate that I kept under the passenger seat if I didn't let him stay with me! Hard decision, but my babies were at stake. Yeah, most people’s babies are their car. Mine also include my chocolate supply.

I hurled the now useless piece of trash across the room, growling, and retrieved a scrunchie from a doorknob instead. So now, after about 150 stares and eye-rapes by Kyle, I am in wonderfully long, stretchy black skinnies and a Ferrari/Puma shirt that was even darker. I switched the overdone exotic smokey-eye for plain mascara and nude lipgloss...in other words I wiped off my eyes and smeared on Vaseline.

To my utter annoyance, he still felt the need to touch me. Nothing I would kill him for, but enough to tick me off. He didn’t answer either of out parents’ calls so I allowed him to stay without any…major bodily harm. So far, I only pushed him off of… 5 counters, 1 car, 2 couches, 6 chairs, and 3 tables. I couldn’t wait to see about my stairs. They wouldn’t kill him...right?

“When are you leaving?” I complained on the huge guest suite bed, jumping up and down with an irritated look on my face. The pout was involuntary, automatic since I was five and I discovered that it was persuasive.

“Who knows? I like it here and the gym’s huge so maybe forever” he smirked. I leaped off, absorbing the impact on the balls of my feet, and entering my bathroom to toss toiletries into a small bag. Of course, he trailed after me.

“Enjoy your stay. Don’t think about making moves on the females here either- the guys have my permission to kick your ass.”

“I can take ‘em,” he smirked yet again. It was cute but…

“Do you have a facial disorder?” I asked with a straight face. He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Excuse me?” came my reply, and I bit the inside of my lip to hold in a laugh and smirk of my own.

I elaborated, “Other than neutral, you seem to only be capable of one facial expression.” I smiled sweetly before dumping everything in my LV playboy purse into a plainer black boho, all the while ignoring his glare. “Aww, bye!” I kissed the beautiful colors and hung it up beside some other purses in my closet.

I threw my things into a big huge black Puma bag, and huge was the understatement of the year. I could probably fit inside of the thing if I really wanted to…but no. I started to walk outside really quickly, letting the automatic lock on the door do its job.

I hurried down to the first floor, forgetting on my way to the car the he would be faster…only because of the 25-35 pound bag hanging over my shoulder. I typed quickly on my mini-laptop, booking my flight to Canada on a full plane that left [in an airport 15 minutes away] in one hour. I bought a normal-class seat and pushed black Ray-Ban’s over my eyes.

Kyle was perched on my baby’s hood. “No jinxing my beloved F-430!” I snapped, relieved once again that I could be a normal, dirty-mouthed American teenager. Whoo! I got into my car, and he looked like he was about to punch through my expensive tinted window. “If you do that, I will amputate your hand,” I informed him as I was about to shut the door.

“Sorry babe, I’m not scared. Got anything better?” He raised his eyebrows, holding in a smile to resist smirking. Aww he’s getting a new face for me…not. I unlocked the door, he got in, and I locked them again. I turned, banged my forehead against the headrest, then screamed into my arms “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE HOT DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN HAVE THE WORLD! AND ESPECIALLY NOT ME!” oops, did that ‘hot’ slip out?