BAD BOY ABUSED (male pov)

#31 Make her understand.

After getting an ass kicking from coaches verbals we were ready to get on the bus. Olivia hadn't said anything to me since we won the game but I stood beside her waiting to load our bags onto the coach, desperately waiting for her to engage in some form of conversation.

"Why did that dude hit you?" Her friend asked me. 

"I slept with his girlfriend." I smiled proudly at her but we both turned our attention towards Olivia when she huffed loudly. Her friend loaded her duffel in the luggage compartment and then left us to get her seat on the coach. The air between Olivia and I became awkward fast and I chewed the inside of my cheek thinking of how to approach the situation. 

"Here" I grabbed the strap of her duffel, offering to help her load it but she yanked it back hard telling me she had it in an irritated manner. 

Jeeze, what's her problem?

I followed her on the bus and she went to sit with her friend at the front, I glanced down the aisle spotting my friends at the back in our usual seats, they had saved two extra seats and I rolled my eyes knowing Jordan had done it for Olivia and her friend without consoling with me first. 

"There's room at the back for you both, you coming?" 

Her friend stood up and for a moment my heart fluttered in hope until it was shot down by Olivia's bad attitude. 

"No." 

I looked at Olivia questioningly but she told me no answers with her eyes so I retreated to the back of the bus wondering what I had done to piss her off. I slumped down in my seat and smiled at Jordan, thanking him for trying with my unspoken words. He didn't comment on the absence but he smiled sympathetically and carried on talking to the team about our win. 

I sat quietly, looking at passing trees and feilds from the window. Surely she can't be mad about the cheerleader, how would she even know what we did? I couldn't see her from where I was sitting but her leg was outstretched in the bus aisle and it tapped to a beat as if she was listening to music.

I pulled out my phone and started typing a message to her. I deleted her number from my contacts but I looked at that stupid piece of paper so many times I could resight the numbers off by heart. 

Wait, are you mad at me?

I watched her pull her leg back as soon as I sent the message. She didn't reply for the longest time and the suspense was eating me up inside. Finally my cell vibrated against my fingertips and my heart raced as I opened up the screen.

No. 

I rolled my eyes. Don't be one of them girls Olivia. If there's an issue, just address it. I typed back straight away, not willing to take any messing from her.

I know you're mad at me.

You know nothing about me. 

Her reply was almost instant and felt rage heavy, the whole bus felt heated and I needed to get off and talk to her, make things right. But I couldn't for God knows how long I was stuck on this bus, forced to communicate through text message. So I started typing my reply without hesitation.

I know how your nostrils flare a little when you're mad. 

Probably like they're doing right now.

I know how you bite your bottom lip when you're nervous.

And it drives me crazy because I can't focus on anything other than your mouth.

I know how you refuse to make eye contact when your anxious.

Which is most of the time.