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Pen Your Pride

~FOUR~

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Slamming my locker closed, I turn around and lean back against it just as Tyler swoops in out of nowhere.

"There you are, pretty girl," he says as his hands slide onto my hips. "What are you still doing here? You're usually out those doors before the final bell even rings."

"Would you get your grubby hands off of me?" I growl as I attempt to peel them away from my body.

"Aw, come on, Gracie. Quit bustin' my balls already. I miss you." His grip on me tightens, and he pulls me closer. "I just want to talk."

I sigh. He may drive me insane, but I obviously once saw something in him, and he's the only person I could even remotely call a friend. It's that and the puppy dog look on his stupidly attractive face that cause me to relent with a, "Fine."

"Finally," he sighs as he pulls me into a tight hug, and it feels...nice. When he releases me, he ducks down to look me in the eyes and smiles. And I can almost, almost, forget what an epic douche he can be when he looks at me like that.

His smile fades, then he licks his bottom lip and starts to lean in, breathing the words, "I've missed that mouth," across my lips.

I close my eyes for a brief second, pulling him closer by his shirt, but then palm his face, pushing it away from mine. "I meant, fine, we can talk. Not, fine, go ahead and maul my face with your mouth, Tyler," I say.

That was way too close. You're losing it, Grace.

"God, you're such a tease! You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Did not, Tyler. Grow up."

He narrows his eyes but then releases me to sit on the floor next to me. "Fine, talk. What are you doing hanging around your locker when school's out?"

"Waiting for Coach Grey to finish up with his current victim so I can get this bullshit counseling crap over with," I reply and slide down the locker to sit beside him. He looks over at me confused, so I add, "In order to not get expelled, I have to come here once a week and talk 'feelings' with Coach Grey."

"That should be interesting," he mocks. "I didn't realize you had those."

"What?"

"Feelings," he deadpans.

"Funny," I reply. "Especially coming from you, the only feelings you have are in your pants."

He laughs, "How would you know? You never wanted in my pants. We could always change that, though."

"Tyler," I warn.

He laughs and puts his hands up in the air, ready to block what is sure to come his way if he doesn't shut it. My flying fists. "Alright, alright," he relents. "But speaking of what's in my pants, I have some news."

"You're actually a girl and have lady business happening downstairs?"

"Ha. Ha. No, Grace. I'm serious," he replies. And he is. Serious that is. That's a first.

"Okay, what's the news?" I ask skeptically.

"I've been chosen," he beams.

"For?"

"Reproductive donation."

"You're kidding. Please tell me you're kidding, Tyler."

"Why the hell would I joke about that?" And he actually looks appalled. "It's an honor."

Gross. "That right there, is why we could never get back together," I respond. He's proud? Of donating his sperm to the Militia so they can impregnate girls against their will with it?

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