Best friends with A Player.

**Edited- Chapter Two ❀

      A smile twitched at the edge of my lips but I made sure to keep it masked. “And why’s that, Mr. Zane Collins?” I played along, biting at the corner of my bottom lip to hide the smile. As much as I hated to admit it, he was correct, being angry with him was impossible; it was like hating ice cream… not doable. One look into those eccentric blue eyes of his and it felt as though it wasn’t gravity holding me to the earth, it was him. One glance into them and I would feel my legs turn to jelly; I’d forget what I was saying and be unable to speak properly. I was amazed I could function at all around him, let alone be angry at him for prolonged periods of time. 

     “You can’t resist this,” he winked flicking his hair back dramatically and running his hands slowly and seductively down his abs and back up again. I spluttered with laughter, shaking my head at his antics.

      “Zane, you’re an arrogant little douche bag,” I chuckled, slapping him upside the head.

      “Oh, the excuses you use to touch me,” he sighed melodramatically. He took my hand into his, waving our joined hands slightly as we started walking synchronized up a steep hill. It was something we’d done since we were kids, Zane would yell ‘left’ and I’d yell ‘right’ to make sure we were walking with the same foot, it was odd but it was a childhood habit we hadn’t managed to break.

      “LEFT!” he screamed.

      “RIGHT!” I chuckled. He put his left foot forward and I sighed. “Zane! Your other right,” I exclaimed.

      “LEFT!”

      “RIGHT!”

      “LEFT!”

      RIGHT!”

      “WRONG!”

     I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face him with an eyebrow raised. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

     “It wasn’t supposed to be, it is!” he laughed crazily and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his lameness. He slapped my ass making me stumble forwards.

      “Stop doing that!” I exclaimed stomping my feet; throwing a small tantrum

      “Doing what?” he smiled, playing innocent.

      “Slapping my ass you creep!”

      “Don’t you like it?!” he asked in mock hurt. I shook my head firmly and just as I’d taken the next step; his hand came in contact with my backside once again. “Whooooops!” he winked.

      “ZAAAAANE!” I whined.

      “MAAAAAYA!” he mimicked. “Has anyone told you that your ass is mighty fine and that it is undoubtedly very bangable?” he asked seriously. He even slowed his pace so that he could eye up my rear end. 

     I chuckled and speeded up, running up the hill. His heavy footsteps got closer and I shrieked in between fits of laughter as I was thrown over his shoulder. He continued to race up as fast as his toned legs would carry the two of us. I screamed, punching his back and trying to wiggle myself out of his grip. I should’ve realized from the first similar encounter today that the effort was pointless; trying to fight a teenage boy that spends most of his life in the gym is only going to only result a gross loss of decorum and air. So I stopped fighting and enjoyed the ride.

      “You could put your shirt back on, it’s not ‘promote your abs’ day,” I told him as he put me down once we reached the top of the hill. He flexed his chest at a group of girls walking by, trying to get their attention. He winked at a blonde and I groaned.