Fake Me To Church

Chapter 1.2 - The Prodigy Son

"Table for two?" I spat, then gripped Ahmed by the shoulders and hurled him from the seat. He hurtled to the ground, backpack flying off his stick-figure frame and spilling his English and Biology notebooks.

Biology? Definitely a freshman, I thought to myself as several students turned to stare.

"Steven, what are you doing!?" Grace screamed.

"I could ask you the same thing, Grace. What are you doing talking to that loser?" I turned toward Ahmed and gave him a fierce glare, silently commanding him to grab his stuff and leave. He obeyed without retort.

Good boy, I thought with a chuckle.

Grace rolled her eyes. "He's new here. He was asking me about finding his classes."

My arms crossed.

"Gosh, you are such a prick, Steven."

I flinched at that. "Aw, come on, Grace."

She twisted away from me.

"Look, I've had a rough day. I got sent to the office again."

She refused to meet my eyes, kept staring off into space.

"Are you really gonna get mad at me over this? I'm sorry, okay?" I shoved my hands in my pockets.

Grace sighed. "Steven, this is his first day. Did you really have to embarrass him like that?"

"How was I supposed to know it was his first day? I've never even met the kid before," I lied.

"Whatever," Grace mused.

I sidled up behind her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. 

She turned to me at last, that pretty pouting face glaring disapproval.

"Are you ever gonna forgive me?" I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.

"I guess," she mumbled.

Grinning mischievously, I inched closer to her and pressed my lips quickly against her cheek. "I love you, Grace." I slid a hand down her shoulder and around her back, fingering her perfect figure, then rested my palm on her inner thigh. "I love you so much."

I stroked her perfect brown hair, twirling a wave of luscious locks around my index finger. "You're so beautiful," I breathed, leaning in for a second kiss—this time, finding her soft and tender lips.

"Steven," she mused between breaths, "Steven, not here." She looked to the side and giggled. "People are watching."

"Fine," I smiled, retrieving a set of keys from my pocket. "We've still got twelve more minutes of lunch left."

She smiled back. "I do love that Chevy of yours."

****

The walk to my car wasn't a long one.

Stealing through the cafeteria's backdoor led us to a stony archway overhanging the transition between paved sidewalk and the silvery asphalt of our school's parking lot. Grace was full of giggles as we sprinted past the security cameras, crunching our footprints into the grainier parts of the gravel on the path to my jet black Chevrolet.

And when I opened the door, Grace's jaw dropped.

"Whoa," she breathed, "this is even hotter than I remember it."

I'd just gotten sleek black-leather seat cushions for my birthday, and they were perfect. They were plush, cushy, and oh so soft—in fact, they were probably the softest thing in the whole car, if you catch my drift.