Selling My Soul for His Aston Martin.

Selling My Soul for His Aston Martin. (2) *Edited*

I woke up to the alarm clock ringing obnoxiously and groaned, sitting up. I wondered whether Will had the sense to sleep in the car or was still ringing my doorbell.  

"Morning, Jamie." I heard a male voice say.  

My body went cold with shock.

No. This could not be happening to me. Why was this happening to me?

"No way." I said, crawling across my bed and peering at Will. He had a bed head that looked great on him, his shirt was draped over my desk chair, and he was stretching.  

"Happy to see me?" He asked in a chipper tone, a huge smile on his face.

I wanted nothing more than to slap it off.  "How'd you get in my room?" I demanded. "And how do you know my name?" 

"I climbed the tree outside your window. It was easy because I have plenty of experience. You know, with fans trying to rip my jeans off and everything. Your name was easy to spot as well." He pointed to the screen saver on my computer. I had 'Jamie' all over the place in different fonts on it.

"This is unfreaking believeable." I growled in irritation. Why couldn't he just go and sneak back to whatever hole he came from?

"You can do anything if you put your mind to it." He said, winking. He looked around. "Cool room by the way."

Despite myself, I had to say, "Thanks." I had put up posters of all my favorite things, which were soccer, cars, and dancing. The walls were paint splattered, with black as the background and techno colors as the drops. He stood up and walked over to my favorite poster, a giant picture of a black Aston Martin One-77, sticking his hands into his pockets. He looked back at me and said, "I'm dying." 

"You shouldn't joke about death." I told him. 

"I know. And I'm not joking. My mom passed a rare disease on to me, incurable in fact. I had a really high fever and passed out in my penthouse, where my maid found me and brought me to the nearest hospital. They ran a few tests on my blood and, turns out, I have four to six months to live."

I didn't know what to say. He had told me all this casually, as if we were discussing the weather. He smiled wryly. "But on to more important things. You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this?"

I nodded.

"Well, while I was pounding on your front door yesterday, I got an idea. So here's my proposal. I want you to help me complete my bucket list, you know, the list of things that I want to do before I die."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he held his hand up. "I'm not finished. If you agree to do that, I'll give you this car." He put his finger on the poster and my jaw dropped.  

"You have two minutes to decide."

"Wait what? That's not fair!" I cried in indignation. And it totally wasn't. Two minutes to decide to help him complete a bucket list!?! Was he kidding?

"It's completely fair," he reasoned. "I'm an impatient man--"

I scoffed at the word 'man', and for the first time that morning he glared at me. "What was that?"

"You're not a man," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're barely older than me."  

"And?"

"You're not a man," I said dismissively.

He glowered at me. "Okay. If I'm not a man, then you're stupid. Maybe a little crazy. And, you have anger issues.

"Tell me something I don't know," I said smartly.