Pretty Rich Boys

part xi.

"Hey! Slow down would you?" I ask as I struggle to catch up with Scott, "Has it ever occurred to you that your one stride could cross the width of South America?" 

"It's not my fault you're short." He grumbles under his breath, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder so I almost missed what he said. I roll my eyes as I quicken my pace and end up at his side. He glances down at me and I smirk. 

We remain silent like usual as we head back to the English storage room and collect that last of the boxes. After complaining that my arms were getting sore, Scott gave me the hand-truck without a word and just started carrying the boxes. 

It also made things quicker because he could carry way more than I ever could. I have the muscle strength of a toddler, love that for me. 

I didn't mind that though. I got to watch the way his biceps strained against the tight material of his white, short-sleeved button-down shirt. The contrast between his sun-kissed skin and the pure color of his top was so attractive. 

I noticed on the return to the library, Scott was walking a little slower but that might've been because he was carrying a stack of boxes. I couldn't help but grin cheekily up at him. He just rolled his eyes and continued to walk beside me. 

"Do we store them away in their boxes or unload the books?" I ask as I stand back from the pile of boxes with my hands on my hips. I glance up at Scott beside me, waiting for his opinion. 

"Keeping the books in the boxes will be less time consuming." He shrugs while staring down at the books, "If we do it wrong than it becomes the job of the next kids in detention." 

I nod, agreeing with his idea as I bend down and pick up one of the boxes, "Hey, why are you even in detention?"  

"Uh, I punched a kid in my Economics class." Scott explains while picking up two boxes in each arm. I scoff as I walk over to the empty shelves. 

"Could you be any more cliche?" I ask while staring at the shelves, wondering if I start from the bottom or top. I'm gonna go top because knowing me I'll get tired as fuck at the end and won't have enough stamina to reach up. 

"What's that suppose to mean?" He questions from across the room where he was loading up his own shelf. I struggle to push the box up the top but I succeed nonetheless. 

"I mean, you're the resident bad boy of Briarwood." I shrug as I grab another box, "You wear a leather jacket, you ride a motorbike and you constantly look like you're about to murder everyone and everything in a ten foot radius." 

"What's wrong with that?" He asks again. 

"Nothing," I shake my head, "That's just how everyone sees you." 

"Well, everyone sees you like some tiny puppy-dog." Scott counters and my eyebrows furrow. 

"Is that suppose to be an insult?" I question as I turn around, noticing his shoulders tense. I then notice how full his shelves were, "What the hell? Why are you already half-way-done?!"