"I hate my widows peak." She says as she pulls her hair back.
"Yeah you should wax it." She looks at me with an amused pout, but here's a tint to her glare that means I've joked too far and she's trying to hide that.
"That's okay I guess, because I can't grow a beard" I say to joke about myself.
"Geeze, Paul. Will you hit puberty already?" She starts, "I'm waiting for your voice to drop." Oh how I want her.
"You should trim your bangs." I say.
"Change your skinny jeans." She retorts.
"Your room smells like canned beans."
She's confused. "But you're congested."
Think fast. "And you took all my Day-quill, you overdose case."
"You hypocrite"
"You pessimist."
"Worrier."
"Twilight fan-girl."
"Fake eyes." (I have contacts.)
"Skanky underwear."
Her brow furrows. "You like my skanky underwear." She's such a tease.
"Over exaggerate." I continue.
"Analysand."
"Foolish."
"Kill-joy." She moves closer.
"Nail-bitter."
"Realist." And closer.
"Dreamer."
"Scared of failure." Closest.
"That's a long list of things we hate about each other." I whisper to her lips.
"Lets make it longer."
She kisses me back.
