Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Psychotic, clumsy, gangly arms, tramp

“Mother I will take your wine away,” I warned her, a blush spreading from my face all the way down to my chest. The woman knew how to embarrass me, and she very well enjoyed doing it.

“Oh, please, like you could reach it,” she retorted with a smirk, and I scowled.

"Oh like that would stop me," I reminded her, my glare intensifying.

“Okay, okay, don't get your pantyhose in a twist. I'm gonna leave you kids to it. I have to go finish that porn video I started, anyways,” she calmly said as she moved towards the entrance of the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” I groaned.

“Oh relax, you know I don't do that with company around,” she rolled her eyes, “nice meeting you, Brady.”

“You too,” he replied, given her a crooked grin. She gave him a smile in return, before throwing a wink my way and sauntering out of the kitchen, heading down the hall to her room.

Grabbing a towel from one of the cupboards, I wrapped some ice in it and handed it to Brayden. “Sorry about her. She's...”

“I like her,” he finished for me, placing the cold ice on his eyes, with a wince. “Is it just you and your mom?”

“Ever since I was eight,” I told him, absent-mindedly, while I pulled out everything I needed to make a sandwich. “Are you hungry?”

“Have you met me?” he mumbled, pulling the towel away from his face, and twisting it tighter around the ice before placing it back where it was.

“I hope you eat PB&J's because that's all I can cook,” I told him, slathering a healthy amount of peanut butter on six slices of bread. Most people did peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other, but my mom had taught me at a young age to always put peanut butter on both slices so that the jelly wouldn't seep through the bread and make it soggy.

“Why wouldn't I eat PB&J's?” he asked, confused.

I turned to give him a look, “Some people don't like them.”

“They were all Cade and I asked for most of first grade; it drove my dad nuts,” he replied, shaking his head at the memory, his face softening.

I smiled and placed two of the sandwiches on one plate and one on the other. Handing him the plate with the two, I motioned for him to follow me into the living room.

“Okay, we should probably talk about your crazy plan, which as I mentioned before, will not work, and we are both going to look like idiots. Well, now that I think about it, I'll probably end up looking like the idiot, because you're, you know, Brayden Cavanaugh, these people will forgive anything a Cavanaugh does,” I rambled on, stuffing my mouth with my sandwich to stop myself from talking.

“I wouldn't take it personally, most of the people in this town are morons,” he mumbled as he finished off his first sandwich, and got started on his second.

“Won't argue with that,” I replied, a hint of bitterness seeping into my tone, and he gave me a curious look. When I didn't elaborate, he went back to his sandwich.

“There is a party at my parent's lake house Saturday night,” he informed me. I waited for him to elaborate, when he didn't, I pulled my lips between my teeth.

“Yeah, I know,” I told him, hesitantly.

“Okay, good, that means you're coming then,” he replied, while grabbing both of our plates, and standing up. I watched him head to the kitchen, my eyes widening when I caught up with his words. Bolting up, I chased after him.

“Um no, actually, it means the opposite...which would be...no,” I rushed out, and he turned around at the sink to give me a tired look. I raised my eyebrows in a challenge, and he sighed.

“Think about it, this would be perfect. We could tell people at the party that we're dating; make it official. The entire school will be there. And when you stay over for the night, no one will question it,” he explained with a shrug, and I gave him an unimpressed look.

“And what exactly did we do the entire night? I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, because I will not have people saying that I'm a tramp. I will not be the psychotic, clumsy, gangly arms, tramp of the town,” I told him, shaking my head vigorously, and he gave me a puzzled look.

“I get the clumsy part, but why the hell would anyone think you're psychotic?” he asked, and I gave him a look, before realization dawned. “How many people have you spilled hot coffee on, Porter?”

“What?” I asked him, dumbfounded. Wasn't he supposed to be a genius, with one of the highest IQ scores our state had ever seen?

“I mean, I kind of thought it was weird when you spilled hot coffee all over me the first time, but the second time it happened, I may have had a thought about you maybe enjoying my pain,” he said, smirking, and I glared.

“It was an accident!”

“Both times, Porter? Both times?” he asked, with a grin and I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. His smile was a sight to behold, but when he grinned at me the way he was at that moment, it was a little intimidating. The guy was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but it seemed almost unfair that his grin was so perfect. And in that moment I knew that I would do anything in my power to see him grin at me that way as much as possible.

My eyes widened at the thought, and I turned away from him to hide the blush that took over my face. “Um...I'm still not going to your party.”

“Why not? Don't you like parties?” he asked,  and I turned towards him, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“I wouldn't know, I don't really get invited to parties,” I mumbled with a shrug. Moving past him, I turned the faucet by the sink on, and got rid of the crumbs on the plates, before moving to place them in the dishwasher, turning the faucet off right after. I could feel his eyes on my back, following my every move and I let out a shaky breath before turning back to him. “No one is going to want me there, I can promise you that.”

“I want you there,” he told me, his eyes searching my face before he gave me a tiny smile, and I cursed inwardly. How was that fair?

“You should probably know that that's doing the opposite of convincing me,” the words left my mouth before I could stop them, my cheeks flushing.

He moved a step towards me, and smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “And why is that, Porter? Is it because I make you nervous?”

“Wh-what?!” I hated how squeaky my voice sounded, and I hated the way his stupid smirk got wider as he gave me a knowing look, daring me to disagree. “Nervous? What? Psst, no...No...why would you? Can you please stop staring at me like that? I can't remember what I'm trying to say...Three...Two...One,” deep breath, “see? Not nervous.”

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and nodded once, those stupidly, blue eyes twinkling. “Okay.”

“Right...So what time is this party?”