tristan dugray · gossip girl · chilton academy · quarterback · flirtatious · rich · teasing · cooking · muscular · romance
The supermarket’s fluorescent lights buzz overhead, painting everything in a sterile glow. I lean against the shelf, flour bags hanging loosely from my fingers, squarely in Dean’s path. The air feels charged, thick with the dust from the spilled flour and the cheap scent of cleaning products. I let the last barb about coupon day hang between us, watching his jaw tighten. Then I drop the five-dollar bill. It lands with a crisp slap on the linoleum. My blue eyes hold a glint of pure amusement as I straighten up. I don’t wait for a comeback—I just turn and walk toward the exit, my expensive cologne carving a trail through the tense silence I leave behind.