Definition: Slut [ complete ]

[ Trust Me ]

NOTE:

This story will be removed the moment I finish it's prequel (S's & Ex's). And then I'm going to rewrite this <3

See description for link.

[Trust Me]

Andrew Winston was the kind of guy who'd see a girl, wink at her, maybe even flash a smirk, then have his way with her without bothering to call the next day. He preferred his hook-ups and one-night stands, as opposed to the whole commitment-relationship, melodramatic shit. He never thought that he'd one day be whipped for a girl who thought he was a waste of her breath, nonetheless.

Andrew found women as generally annoying, and a complete waste of time. If he couldn't get his message out in one word, or a smirk, then any other attempt to getting them would just be too much work. It wasn't his fault that he was blessed with genes that would make Aphrodite jealous beyond belief. Seeing that fate had clearly given him the advantage of being too irresistible for the female population, Andrew never felt the need to commence any pitiful conversation. There was no need to "talk."

Andrew didn't mind playing bad-boy for them. It was a great time waster and an easy way to get laid. He wasn't quite sure what was it was about him that made him seem like he was some sort of a forbidden fruit. He was the can't-tame-me, won't-bring-me-home-to-meet-daddy kind of guy, and of course, the façade brought him enough sultry women to last him life time, though he never really got why they picked him. He had a lot of other acquaintances who, too, blared out a feel of forbidden, but it was always him that the girls decided to flash their smiles.

Perhaps that was another reason why he was so smug about it.

Though, throughout the years of his mischievous ways, never would he have guessed that he would be outside a girl's door, proclaiming his love. Willingly, too, if the thought wasn't anguishing enough.

He'd been confident his whole life about everything. But, the thought of getting rejected by a one specific girl again was enough to make him wish that he crawled in a hole and die alone with moles.

Who knew that one day, playboy Andrew Winston would be so whipped?

The universe really did have an annoying sense of humour.

x x

If Monique was going to be a star on a fairytale, she would not (emphasize: not) want to meet her prince Charming while she was dressed as a cupcake, and he in his birthday suit in a middle of a B&E.

Maybe someone out there in the Cosmo was out to get her. Apparently, she had yet to meet her quota for awkward within the first eighteen years of her life, and this moment was making up for it-or lack thereof.

"Why, how you doing, muffin?" the boy asked rather calmly, steadying himself as he fully entered her bedroom window in all his naked glory. She tried to cover my eyes, she really did, but what kind of moron would close their eyes when there was someone entering their room through a window? This was the reason why she wanted to have a single room in uni-so she wouldn't walk in on her potential roommate naked. But, life sucked even if it appeared that she got her way. Despite the fact that she did get her request of acquiring a single dorm room, she still managed walking on a naked person.

Monique quickly jumped away from the window and scrambled to the corner farthest away from him, grabbing the closest thing to her that could possibly injure (but not kill, she didn't want to have 'murderer' in her resume) this criminal. Unfortunately, it was a book. Maybe it'd give the guy some major paper cut (in his eyes, she hoped) and she'd be able to get her phone from her desk (near him), call the cops, and get some sort of security measure installed in this dorm to avoid any more accidents such as this.