Chapter Text
Making out with boys is fun. So fucking fun. It’s even more fun when the boy you’re kissing isn't exactly your boyfriend.
Shane Oman pulls my waist closer to him as his tongue and teeth explore and devour every crevice of my mouth, practically shoving his tongue down my throat. He’s a little desperate, but I get it – I’m Regina fucking George. Boys would kill to be in his position right now, to be hanging out with the most popular girl in Northshore High, having her lying in your car backseat as you eat each other's mouths out.
I know I have a boyfriend, Aaron Samuels. He's cute and all, but his energy is too light and fluffy and innocent – the man doesn't even know how to kiss with tongue. The only real reason I’m dating him is that he's hot, popular and rich, and sadly, that's really all the guy’s got to him (not that I dont appreciate getting designer clothes on every occasion). That sad little fact means I have to direct my horny ass at other boys half the time. Shane is a pretty good kisser, and the man works out. Which is why we meet anywhere at school to relieve my pent-up anger and stress through sex. The usual spot is in the gym storage room during lunch break, but right now I'm just way too fucking horny, so we’re carrying out anger management in the backseat of his car.
He starts rubbing his groin up and down my hip, and just before I almost implode from horniness and unzip his jeans, my glittering flip phone vibrates with a text. Sighing, I pull it out of my back pocket and fold it open to see a text from Aaron lighting up the screen.
Hey beautiful, wna hang?
I cringe at the ‘beautiful’ – I mean, of course I know I’m gorgeous, but it makes it seem like we're some PG-13 helplessly-in-love couple when in reality I know he just wants to make out (by his standards) at his house. Sighing in annoyance, I press some gem-studded buttons to type out a response:
Sorry bb, but no. I'm doing hw xx talk l8r
Anyone in their right mind would know what a crazy excuse this is – the Regina George would never be caught dead doing something as stupid as homework – I just give it to the school nerds, blow them a kiss, and collect it fully finished the next day. Maybe sanitize it after as well. But of course, Aaron, my boyfriend, doesn't pay enough attention to me to realize this. What a stupid fucking boy.
Shane tries to angle my face towards him to resume our makeout session, but I push his hand away. This reality check has made me realize what a risky place this is to make out with a guy who isn't your boyfriend – anyone walking behind Northshore High would quickly notice me, Regina George, basically having sex in a car that clearly isn't Aaron Samuel’s. I need to get out of here before someone spots me.
“Shane, baby, I have to go. Meet tomorrow at the usual, m’kay?” I say, fluttering my eyelashes. He shrugs and gives a lazy nod, already buttoning the top of his shirt.
I sit up straight, fix the denim mini skirt that my father got me from his last business trip to Paris around my thighs, and pick up the small tube of lip gloss from the car floor that must’ve rolled out of my pocket while I was making out with Shane. Carefully opening the door, I swing my perfectly shaved and tanned legs over onto the solid concrete, grabbing my Juicy bag in the process.
Standing up, I look over my shoulder at Shane, who’s already climbed into the driver’s seat of his Porsche and looks ready to drive off. Wiggling my fingers at him in goodbye, I twist one eighty degrees on my stilettos and walk off.
My flip phone vibrates in my hand once again, and I open it to see that it’s a text from Gretchen Weiners.
regina wat r u doing??? aaron said u were busy w hw, and ik that isnt tru
Does this bitch ever stop obsessing over me? I roll my eyes. Although she could definitely pick me up from this freaky ass parking lot. I respond:
doesnt matter. pick me up @ skl.
I don't try to be nice – I'm already pissed off that my makeout session had to be cut off, and I know that Gretchen is going to listen anyway, like the loyal bitch she is. Annoyed but still slightly horny, I turn the corner to walk out to the front of Northshore High, and…
…And crash into a thick wall of Axe body spray, smoke, and hard, hard muscle. I squeak from the shock at first, but quickly compose myself and bring my attention to staring angrily at the stranger I just ran into.
The offender turns out to be a tall, scruffy guy my age with slightly tanned skin wearing some loose, ripped jeans and a baggy shirt with a large print that reads ‘Löded Diper’ plastered across it. Loaded… what?? I cringe. His dark hair is scruffed messily on his head, and there's black, smoky eyeliner that’s smudged lazily under his eyes. God, it makes him look like a raccoon. His lips are stretched out in a smirk as he looks down at my angry gaze.
“Watch where you’re going, loser,” I grit out, crossing my arms around my favourite shirt. He just grins wider:
“Sorry, baby, did I smudge your makeup?”
I scoff. The sheer audacity this boy has surprises me. “No, but did I smudge yours? Not that it would make a difference anyway, raccoon.”
As if it were even possible, his smirk grows even bigger, “Damn, the princess bites. Can't wait to see what else that pretty mouth of yours can do.”
Who the fuck does he think he is?
“God, you're fucking unbelievable,” I sneer, trying to figure out what the hell this guy’s backstory could possibly be for this kind of attitude. Those darkly outlined eyes come closer to my smoky green ones as he leans in a little and whispers hotly:
“You too, baby, you too.”
I’m speechless. Utterly speechless. I will myself to calm my rapidly beating heart and open my damn mouth to sputter out something, anything, to this boy who has made me lose my cool within the first minute of meeting him.
“I-”
Just then, a series of loud honks cut through the air, and I turn around, flustered, to see Gretchen slamming the horn of her Cadillac wildly and gesturing for me to get away from that scumbag, “Regina, omigod! Get in!”
For once, I’m actually grateful she showed up at this moment. That freak almost made me embarrass the shit out of myself. As goodbye, I give the scruffy boy one slow look up and down, and say in the most degrading way I can manage, “Goodbye and get lost, loser.”
With that, I flick my devastatingly soft locks and spin on my heels, strutting away from that irritating stranger.
“Bye-bye, Barbie.”
His voice follows from behind me, and I swear I can hear the smirk on that damned boy’s face. Rolling my eyes, I reach Gretchen’s car and elegantly slide into the soft, plush covering of the front passenger seat. She looks at me sympathetically, “Was that homeless guy begging for change or something? Honestly, he was way too close to you; he could've given you cooties.”
I scoff, “No, it’s even worse, he was my age. Like, what kind of junior dresses like a fucking hobo?” I can feel the mere thought of that creep starting to piss me off. “Ugh, after this, I’m gonna take the longest fucking shower of my life.”
Gretchen nods in agreement, her eyes focused on the road as she slowly reverses from the front of the school, “Totally! But, to be honest, even from my angle, I could see he was kinda cute,” She says, looking at me pointedly through the rearview mirror. I say nothing.
Because, in truth, he was the hottest fucking guy I’ve seen. Ever.