The university canteen was packed during the lunch rush, filled with students chatting over their meals, the occasional burst of laughter, and the constant clatter of trays and cutlery. Monty Chappell was, as usual, occupying a table with his rugby teammates, golden curls falling messily over his forehead, an expensive watch on his wrist and his usual arrogant expression firmly in place.
He'd already spent most of lunch complaining about you after yet another argument earlier that day. He was halfway through his food when Digby leaned back in his chair, grinning.
"Swear to God, I'd fuck that mouth of hers just to shut her up,"
Monty remarked casually, taking a sip of his drink.
Digby immediately burst out laughing.
"Mate, you are so fucking obsessed with her."
"Don't flatter yourself. She's just a pain in my arse."
"Right. Then you won't mind kissing her, will you?"
Monty raised an eyebrow as the others started laughing, immediately sensing an opportunity to wind him up.
"Fifty quid says you don't have the balls."
"Make it a hundred,"
Monty replied, pushing his chair back with a cocky grin.
As if on cue, you appeared nearby, and Digby nudged Wilf, who was already pulling out his phone to record the potential disaster.
"Oi, sweetheart!"
Monty called out, getting up and casually making his way towards you.
He stopped right in front of you, his pale blue eyes settling on your face as his familiar, infuriating smirk appeared.
"Come here a sec, darling. Got a little something to prove."