Author: Into the Roses PM
Dylan Stratford was arrogant, womanizing and rude. But he was also devastatingly good-looking, and in my flustered, hormonal state of mind, that pretty much cancelled out all negative characteristics. A collection of interconnected oneshots.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,588 - Reviews: 28 - Favs: 67 - Follows: 18 - Updated: 12-26-09 - Published: 01-11-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2620563
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
a oneshot by intotheroses
"Hey! Over here!"
I turned around instinctively, although I was positive that the voice – if it was who I thought it was – couldn't be yelling to me, despite the fact that there was no one else around. I took a quick glance, and yes, it was definitely who I had thought it would be – there was no mistaking a voice that undeniably gorgeous.
Dylan Stratford had just turned the corner, and was jogging towards me, waving his hand to attract my attention.
I turned back around and kept walking, dumbstruck. There must be someone else around, right? Or maybe I was having one of those totally realistic dreams, where the stuff that happens is completely unbelievable.
I felt a strong, heavy hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me to a stop.
"Natalie," he said, not even the slightest bit out of breath. He softly pulled me round to face him.
I stood there, at a loss for words – which is not something that happens to me very often, let me tell you – trying my very hardest not to openly gape, or, indeed, ogle.
"Natalie?" he said, shaking me slightly, as if he were concerned for my health.
I opened my eyes wide, trying to believe what I was seeing, hearing and, crazily, feeling. Dylan still hadn't removed his hand from my shoulder.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. I'm Natalie. How do you know my name?"
My mouth blurted out the clichéd phrase before my brain could intrude.
He smirked, but not in an unpleasant way. "You want the version all the other girls here get, or the real one?"
"Both," I said. "It'd be nice to know just how much you lie about things just to get in some girl's pants."
Shut up mouth. Shut up. Don't go verbally abusing the cutest guy in the school.
He grinned. "Knew I'd made the right choice."
"Right choice for what?" I asked indignantly. "Wait, answer my first question before."
"Which version do you want first?"
He put on a fake winsome tone. "I, well, I've seen you around school, and," he looked fake abashedly down at his shoes, "I just asked around to find out who you were, as I was planning on asking you out." He looked up again, and grinned more normally.
"Well, I have to hand it to you," I said, actually impressed. "You're a damn good actor."
"And that, baby, is why I'm playing the lead this year."
"Show-off," I muttered good-naturedly. "And don't call me baby."
"'Don't call me baby!'" he sang, miming a microphone that he held up close to his mouth.
I stifled a smile. "And the truth?"
"There's a list in the boys' toilets with names of every single good looking girl in the school, and accompanying picture. We each have a column, and tick off the ones that we've dated."
"You all?" I was too… amazed by the concept to consider disgust straightaway.
"Well, me, Jake and Cal."
"Surely you must be running out of names by now? And that still doesn't explain how you know my name. And where do you get the pictures from?"
"Firstly, yes. I just dumped Martine …" I let out a gasp.
"But you guys were the perfect couple!"
"No, she wanted a trophy boyfriend, and I wanted a piece of ass."
"Like I said," I grinned wickedly, "the perfect couple."
"Despite what you may think," he persisted, "I normally do require something other in a relationship other than sex." He paused. "Despite that being a major factor."
I lifted an eyebrow; I hadn't really expected that it wouldn't be – he was a teenage guy, after all – but I just hadn't expected him to be quite so honest about it.
"Second question?" I persevered.
"Which was that?" he asked. "You ask a lot of questions."
We were still standing smack bang in the middle of the corridor, although he had taken the hand off of my shoulder. It was five thirty, and the only people left hanging around were the cleaners, and, weirdly, us two.
"How you knew my name."
"You're on the list," he said, looking at me like I was dumb.
"But I'm not hot," I said. "I've never even had a boyfr – " I broke off, horrified, clasping my hand to my mouth. Dylan looked highly amused.
"I so did not just mean to admit that," I said, appalled, my face turning bright red.
"Don't worry," Dylan said. "It's not like it's some kind of capital crime to have never had a boyfriend."
"I'm sixteen. Most of my friends are having sex with theirs, and I've never even had a kiss."
"Well, we can soon sort that out," Dylan grinned mischievously, and before I could grasp what was happening, he had leaned forward and kissed me dead on the lips. Not like a quick peck, but an actual full-on kiss. I responded before I could help myself, and found myself thoroughly enjoying the experience, before my brain re-engaged, and I pulled away.
"You can't kiss me," I protested, despite my hormones practically screaming Why the bloody hell not?.
"Yes I can," Dylan said. And he did it again. This time I managed to pull away faster, although my head was spinning, and I was finding it hard to formulate coherent sentences.
"Okay, you can," I relinquished. "And very well, but that's not the point."
"Then what is?" he asked, staring at me curiously, like no girl had ever told him that he couldn't kiss him before. But, let's face it, no girl probably ever had. Even I was finding him hard to resist.
"You broke up with Martine a few hours ago!" Female solidarity. That should help.
"Martine slept with me three hours after I broke up with Cathy." Okay, so much for that then. "She doesn't have much moral standing here."
"Fine," I said. "You don't even know me. I'm just another face on your list. I'll be gone just like Martine in a weeks."
"I may not know you," Dylan said, suddenly a lot more serious, "but I know that you're a hell of a lot smarter than Martine, Miss Oh-No-I-Only-Got-An-A-In-My-English-Exam." I blushed. I was slightly freakish over my schoolwork.
"And I know that you aren't a complete doormat – you won't just go along with whatever I tell you to do. You have good taste in music –"
"How the hell do you know that?"
"You play it very loud. I sat next to you in the library once, and saw you flicking through the songs on your iPod."
I shrugged. At least he wasn't a freakish stalker.
"And," he looked me up and down appraisingly, and I felt myself shudder under his gaze, "you are really, seriously hot."
"For the last time, no, I'm really not," I said, unrelenting, "and how do you know I even want you to kiss me?"
He raised an eyebrow, looking at me once again like I was completely brain dead for asking such a clearly ridiculous question.
"Dylan Stratford, I swear to God you are the most arrogant son of a bitch I have ever met in my life."
"Is that a yes to a movie on Friday?"
I shrugged, my slight smile giving me away. "Completely."
I needed something totally cute to cheer me up – I've got mock exams for the next two weeks .. ugh. On the plus side, mocks mean study leave, which also hopefully mean more writing time, when I've finished revising. Comments, reviews, suggestions, as always!
Lots of love,