The breakup plan

Ch. 2, Grumpy Beginnings

I scribble on a yellow sticky note, drawing a little cat, then sticking in it on the fridge, and then I hurry out of the house. Today, is possibly the most dreadful day of my life and that's only because I'm meeting Dirtbag.

Of course; I'm pretty sure he's like some sort of unlucky charm. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I'm having the worst luck in the century of luck- I'm not even sure that's a thing.

Firstly, I managed to spill sizzling hot coffee on my white shirt. Then, as I was brushing my infuriatingly long hair, a few chunks of it ripped away from my scalp.

Am I going bald? Who knows?

I dig my perfectly manicured nails in my palm as I wait for Dirtbag to show up; Kat had texted me the meeting place and I had waltzed right here.

I'm waiting in front of Nancy's Bakery. From the outside it looks rustic, cheerful, and homey. Timber and carved pillars make up most of the building's outer structure. It's tough to see through the small, curtained windows, but the passionate voices from within can be felt outside.

Not to mention the holy smell of coffee and baked goods. I gulp down my growing desire to sink my teeth into a cupcake or a brownie. Anything that has chocolate in it; I call dibs, and that's final.

I sigh through my nose, hurriedly tapping my foot upon the ground. My patience is ticking away, rapidly, like a clock. I send Kat an angry text, and she has the audacity to reply with “Calm your t**s woman”.

And so, I text her back, with utter politeness.

Where the f**k are you?

Close, just chill.

What's taking you so long? Did you stop to flirt with someone?

I'll have you know I have a boyfriend, and my car broke down.

What car?

My car.

I facepalm, regretting that she can't see me now. Kat has never taken driving seriously, so for her to get a car… She didn't even tell me, man I feel betrayed.

When in the hell did you get a car? I type so quickly, my nails create a sound upon my screen.

This morning. She texts back.

It's 11 am!

I got up at 5.

Who are you, Jesus?

No, I'm Kat.

No s**t Sherlock.

I shove my phone in my jeans back pocket, regretting everything. I should've never marched all the way here, I should've known someone was wrong when my coffee was spilled.

Furthermore, I take a deep breath, savoring the last fragrances of summer, the last rays of sunshine, the last shards of peace and quiet. I think the latter already vanished when my little brother Alex decided to whine about his broken toy.

Every so often, I truly believe that his whines are some sort of song he composed to torture Satan. I call it the Song of Torture.

My phone rings and I wait a minute before grabbing it again, if I had some blood pressure problems I think it would be rising immediately.

We're almost there.

Good, get your shiny ass here already?

How'd you know I wore my sparkly shirt?

Woman, we've known each other since we were peeing and pooping in our diapers.

Yeah, that's a big TMI!

I roll my eyes and finally turn off my phone. I bite down on my lip, I personally think the right word is assault, but you know and then my waiting begins. And I wait, and wait… And wait.

I sure love waiting.

I turn around, ready to leave when I hear the familiar chirpy voice of my best friend ask “Where are you going?”. I make a frustrated face and turn on my heels to face her.

As I have predicted, she's wearing her sparkly red top, am I the oracle of Delphi? My eyes, however, aren't captivated by the ridiculous thing she's wearing, but by the man who's standing on her left.

Golden brown, utterly messy hair hangs over his perfectly handsome face. Glittering cerulean eyes, set appealingly within their sockets. Dark stubble beautifully compliments his nose and mouth and leaves a gracious memory of his adventurous love life.

“Dirtbag” I blurt out and earn a scowl from the man before me. I clench my teeth, giving him a tight smile.

Dear lord, Tiffany, you just met the man, and you already are calling him Dirtbag?

“And I suppose I should call you a wanker” he says it with a sensual and mischievous smirk, which only makes me want to bash his teeth and brain in until it's all mush. Another thing I absolutely hate about him; he has a perfectly perfect British accent.

The only man I like whom speaks with a British accent is Mr. Darcy, everyone else can burn in hell.

Katherine clears her throat, “I guess I'll be leaving you two to chat. Good luck, bye bye!” she doesn't even look back as she dashes away. I certainly do feel betrayed.

“So,” he starts and stashes his hands in his pockets, “You are Tiffany Louis?” he asks with a slight tilt of his head — God have I mentioned how handsome he is?

Tiff… Snap out of it!

“And you are?” I ask with a raise of my brow, although I truly know his name. It's Dirtbag, obviously. I think even Queen Victoria knows about him, she's probably twisting in her coffin because he's such a disgusting little pig.

“Dion Alderking, but please do keep calling me Dirtbag. It's quite refreshing,” he declares before turning his back to me. I stalk towards him and stare up at him. Why are men so tall?

“Look Mr. Darcy sounding ass, I apologize if Dirtbag offended you,” I start, raising my chin to meet his gaze “But I will not swoon at your feet, you are arrogant and mean and rude”

He lets out a soft chuckle and then shaking his head he says, "You don't even know me”

“I don't need to know you, to hate you,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest. He looks at me, as if he's merely bored.

“You'll learn to love me”

And with that, he walks away, leaving me fuming and confused.