AMAZING CI by inspector.@TDA
Most girls prepare for hours for their dates. I was no different. Shame really, me being the poster girl for feminism-slash-tomboyiety (is that a word? Screw it, I can’t be bothered to be grammatically correct), but us girls are all the same. Anyone, getting back on topic. But the guy I made myself pretty for wasn' t my date. He was on a date with another girl. At the same shop. Can’t you tell that fate-slash-Merlin-slash-god just freaking adores me? Can’t you tell? CAN’T YOU? Thanks. I’ll proceed now.
I walked into Madam Puddifoot’s with Louis. Yes, the ghastly “couple’s haunt” or whatever. Sue me. I know I claim to hate Valentine’s Day and all, but I LIKE TO CELEBRATE HOLIDAYS, OKAY? Okay, I was going soft. I’m going to cower in shame now. Louis was cute. He had abs. He had loads of girls after him--he was smart, funny, nice, cute, basically the whole package. But not for me. Maybe it was that fact I was more attracted to the douche type. You know, the guy who continuously breaks your heart? The one who you hope on day will be all like “hey, I know we hate each other, but secretly I like you a lot” and then you’ll start passionately snogging? Yeah, that guy. You don’t know him? Maybe that's just me then. OR, maybe it was the fact Louis was my best friend, and I felt no desire to hide any part of me from him. NO, not in a pervy way. Get your mind out of the gutter. What I meant was, try and keep a sane semblance when I was with him. JKAY, I didn’t do that in front of anyone. I’m surprised Louis stuck around for this long.
"I really appreciate you doing this for me," I said to him.
"Hey, anything for my friend-slash-sister," he said, “you look nice, by the way.”
“Two” he motioned to the waitress and she led us to the booth.
I paused, before charming all the cherubs that were there for Valentine’s Day. I can deal with the pink, even though it makes me gag, but NO ONE, I mean NO ONE sprays Victoria Hathaway with pink confetti. Then I went on my merry way to our table-booth.
“Are we gonna do datey things now?” I said impatiently, “and yes, you look great, as always. But you knew that. And are you sure you're okay with blowing off all those girls to spend Valentine's Day with a girl who’s dateless? I’ve already gotten death threats. Three.”
"Dude," he said, "I'd rather spend time with you then all the fangirly girls put together. They might be sexy, but you---you’re something else. And their voices are super high pitched. Like dog whistles. Damn, I would be a sexy dog. Ugh, I’m turning into you. And V, you can provide me with an excess of sarcasm and wit. AND you got asked. By that-person-who-I-can’t-name-in-this-context-because-it’ll-piss-you-off. And maybe the reason you didn’t get asked by anyone other than that person is because you refer to dates as “datey things.”
"Thanks," I said, "even though I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment. And good job, you got his name down. And I’m sorry that I’m so unappealing that I didn’t get asked. Hashtag forever alone."
“You can’t speak in hashtags V,” he said, “and you’re plenty hot. I would date you, but then I wouldn’t have anyone to be my wingwoman.”
“You’re not my type babe,” I said.
“That-person-who-I-can’t-name-in-this-context-because-it’ll-piss-you-off is!” Louis sang.
“Piss off,” I said, “and stop ogling me.”
“There is a reason I agreed to this,” he said, showing me his horny face.
I smiled at him sweetly, then punched him in the bicep.
“Damn,” he said, looking kind of offended, “but I still know the real reason you're doing this.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Going on a date with me,” he said.
"And what is that, since you seem to know EVERYTHING around here?" I asked.
"You want to get back at James," he said, smiling innocently at me.
“WE’RE NOT NAMING THE PERSON!” I shouted, “and I could care less that he's on a date with that slut of a girl.”
Somewhere throughout this whole conversation we had sat down at a booth and the waitress had left.
"Couldn't care less, huh?" he said, "And keep it quiet, people are staring. I'll order for you."
"Quite the gentleman, love," I said.
"You know it," he said, “and also I know what you’re getting. Lasagna, like every time we come here.”
I smiled gratefully at him. Merlin, I loved this kid. Too bad I didn’t have a crush on him.
"Can you excuse me for a moment?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, “don’t go on a killing spree!”
Before I knew what I was doing, I'd gotten up and walked over to the table where Potter and his date were sitting.
"Hello," I said, smirking at the dark skinned girl that sat opposite James.
"What are you doing here Hathaway?" He said, almost angrily.
"I'm on a date love," I said cheerily, "What are you doing here?"
Potter and the slut-girl shot daggers at me. Oh look they have something in common. They're perfect for each other. Maybe they'll get married and have fucking gorgeous children.
"Can I borrow Potter for a moment?" I asked, aware that I was the elephant at the table.
"No," the girl said, annoyed, "we're on a date here. Who the hell are you anyway?"
"I'm a bitch," I said cheerfully, "but less of a bitch than you."
And with that, I ran happily away and out of the restaurant. Why was I running, a sane person might ask.
No fucking idea.