[1] Let's Play a Game

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B A D
B O Y ' S
G A M E

"Sweet talk me."

I frown a bit at the sudden statement, looking up from the tinted red diner cups I find myself staring into hazel eyes with the prettiest flecks of amber. The eyes were the same hazel color that any girl could manage to fall for, however, I knew that it would take more than pretty eyes to have me swooning.

"Hard to do when there's absolutely nothing sweet about you to talk about," I reply in my most monotonous tone, not a fan of charismatic lines made for hopelessly vulnerable girls.

Mr. Hazel Eyes gives me a cold laugh, almost out of courtesy and obviously forced out. Archer West, the owner of the eyes, is quite something and yet I can't decide if he's something I want to run away from or verbally battle. He's a unique guy, notorious for his lethal charisma and expensive habits. Archer West is a risk, one that a certain girl is unsure about indulging in.

To be completely honest, he is more than just simply unique. Archer is quite the character, the definition of bad. He's far worse than the average 'badass' that simply rides a beaten up motorcycle. In fact, he even puts the 'ass' in badass. Archer makes me want to move my ass ten miles away from his ass, his presence unsettling and causing a sense of discomfort to arise.

"Sweet talk me," he says once more, the words coming out more as a controlling demand.

A demand he doesn't even bother to say the word 'please' with.

I say nothing for a matter of seconds, contemplating a good comeback before I find myself whispering, "Apple pie, red velvet cheesecake, cannoli, creme brûlée-"

I feel a hand press against my mouth before I have the chance to say flan, one of my personal favorite dessert dishes to ever exist. My comeback obviously not what he was wanting to hear.

"Ha-ha, very funny Grey," he says, however, he's not laughing, his devilishly handsome face not at all amused.

He is in good looking. Archer West is devilishly good looking. Although, he is quite possibly the hugest asshole of this decade and yet I must say he is bestowed with good looks that any man is to be jealous of. The whole dark hair and hazel eyes combination that he accessorizes with a cigarette has almost every girl swooning. The keyword is almost, as in he couldn't possibly have me in a lovesick trance.

He uncovers my mouth and I reveal an unsatisfied look, one even a high school imbecile like him can read.

"Wow, you know my last name and I'm not even a girl you've banged. Aren't I special?" I say bitterly, ready for our unusual conversation to come to its end.

He gives me a dry laugh, no charisma laced in it.

"You're extra special, Grey. After all, I know not only your last name but your beautiful first one too," he replies with a damn smirk that has me almost swooning.

The keyword is almost.

The killer smirk he displays is the one that makes you want to admit defeat to, the one I personally want to slap off of his pretty face. I wish he had more than just simply good looks.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, cutting to the chase, realizing that he wasn't planning to leave my workplace without succeeding in conversation.

He doesn't say anything; he just stares at me intensely. He stares and stares while I stare back at an equal intensity. Somehow this had become an unannounced staring contest because the moment I interrupt our stare down with a blink he speaks, "You and me, Grey."

I find the urge to correct him and bring up the fact that my first name is not 'Grey.'

"You and me, Grey, let's play a game. We'll date and in three months time, I promise you will fall for me. When you fall in love with me between that time span, I win. If in any way you were to win I'll give up all the alcohol, cigarettes, and player ways," he says rather loudly and swiftly in one breath with a sense of seriousness in his hazel eyes.

I blink just to still be faced with him, shock an obvious expression I'm wearing.

To think that he thinks I will play house with him, he's a funny one. He believes that I will willingly date him and fall in love with the schools most notorious of boys...

"I know what you want," he says softly, to where only I can hear.

He knows what I want? Now I haven't heard that line before.

"And what is that, pretty boy?" I ask in the same whisper, leaning against the counter.

He moves his face closer to mine; his lips are inches from mine. Just about too close for my comfort, he is certainly invading my personal space.

"Revenge," he whispers.

"You're funny, Archer," I reply with a laugh, taking a step back away from him.

I wait for him to join my laughter but he doesn't and looks at me with the same intensity.

"Ryder cheated on you, Ryder cheated out on me," he says with just about no emotion played on his face, "We would be dating in public to rub it in his face and then I added a twist. If either of us happens to fall in love with each other in the next three months then they lose. Wouldn't you like to be the one that possibly made the bad boy a softie?"

I bite my lip and just grab a rag to wipe the counter down, the rag being taken out of my hand a second later.

"Are you afraid you'll lose and fall in love with me?" he says with a fake little pout.

I laugh a big hearty laugh and just throw a glare at him.

"Please, the world would have to be at its end before I fell in love with you," I snicker.

He doesn't give me some wisecrack remark and simply just stands up, tossing a five-dollar bill on the counter and grabbing my arm. He takes a pen from my blouse pocket and writes his phone number on my arm, I roll my eyes as he does, not even bothering to stop him.

After he finishes his little masterpiece he closes the pen and tosses it back at me, grabbing his jacket before he walks straight out of the diner's door.

"Call me," he yells as the front door bell chimes, him being out the door in a moment of seconds.

Call me when you're up to the challenge.

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