#mine.one-shots

[splinteredbone]

hallway crush

masterlist / navigation / @splinteredmercies

pairing: eddie munson x reader

contains: no spoilers for s4. modern au. reader is really into astrology and tarot. afab reader. an allusion to sex. not edited, we die like men.

wc: 1.73 k

author’s note: im not ashamed to say it: this is one of the most self-indulgent one-shots you’ll ever find because, quite literally, it’s a self-insert. i hereby announce my intentions of bringing forth the astrology!tarot!witch!reader x eddie munson—their aesthetics together, lord! although, we could just shorten it to spiritual!reader x eddie munson, can’t we? anyway, this might become my whole niche considering all the things i’m planning in my head right now… i’m a menace and all of you are now being dragged down with me.

Before you and Eddie Munson were in the same homeroom, he was your hallway crush.

You didn’t know his name, but what you did know was two things:

He was hot. Like extremely fucking hot. (The whole metalhead aesthetic really did things to you.)

You would give an arm and a leg to be able to run your fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out his name, and his social media quickly followed.

His main Instagram account was public and filled with videos of him playing guitar—where you could see glimpses of a small, cluttered room and walls covered with band posters. You figured out that he ran the Hellfire Club’s Instagram, and that endeared you even more to him because you were sure he made the announcements himself and didn’t rely on Canva.

Then, you found his Twitter account, which was also public. (Twitter accounts were always telling of character, especially for men his age. You found out that he had a little over two hundred followers, published his band’s music on Bandcamp, and had a killer sense of humor.)

And that was how your life went for three years, occasionally stalking his social media and looking out for him in the hallways. Until you walked into Ms. Abernathy’s homeroom during your first day of senior year and found Eddie Munson talking to her animatedly. (You later found out that Ms. Abernathy was taking over as the sponsor of the Hellfire Club.)

Ms. Abernathy greeted you when you tried to walk past her unseen. “I’m so happy to see you! How was your summer break?”

You blinked owlishly and avoided staring at Eddie like an idiot. “It was great. Thanks for asking, Ms. A.”

You forced a bright smile at her and fled to your usual seat near the windows. Your friends would be here soon and they would help you avoid staring at the ridiculously hot two-timer senior.

.

It was late October; the weather was becoming chilly and you switched out your crop tops and shorts for jeans and zip-ups. (Your trusty Birkenstocks remained on your feet despite the changing weather.)

Homecoming week was taking place the week of Halloween this year. You and your group of friends were excited over the announced Spirit Days, coordinating who was matching with who for Character Day and when to go shopping for dresses. And you all had fallen back into old habits: doing natal charts and tarot readings instead of finishing homework and studying. (Ms. Abernathy didn’t mind though.)

“Strength!” It was one of your favorite tarot cards. On it, a woman was depicted calmly holding the jaws of a fully grown lion. It represented having control and discipline, especially during times of great adversities. In this case, you’d asked Spirit who was coming into your friend’s life—possible placements and the like. Placing the card with the others, you continued, “Whoever is reentering your life as a love interest before this year ends will have a Leo placement—sun, rising, moon, etcetera.”

“Reentering?” Leena asked, staring at the spread before her. “I really hope it’s not who I think it is.”

“Remember, tarot is based on current energy, and energies change as you make decisions.” You looked at Leena sternly. “If it is who we think it is: then, we rebuke his bad energy. You’ll redraw boundaries and tell him there’s no way in hell you’re getting back with his cheating ass.”

“The moment I saw Five of Swords come out I knew exactly who it was talking about.” To your left, Oneida cackled before taking a sip of her Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee. “He thought he was so sneaky. And now he’s coming back when he’s realized you’re the best he’ll ever have.”

Leena and Oneida continued speaking (i.e., arguing over Elena’s past decisions regarding your life) as you placed the cards back in the deck. Giving the deck a quick shuffle before putting them away in the box, you hadn’t realized your friends had fallen quiet, and someone was standing over you.

“Can I get a reading?”

You froze and looked up. Eddie Munson was in front of you. Beautiful brown eyes flickered between the deck in your hand and your face.

Leena and Oneida kicked your shin at the same time and you stumbled out a reply, “Sure!”

He grinned widely and sat down in front of you.

“I can give you a general reading, starting with three cards. Is that okay with you?” You held onto your deck like it was a lifeline as he seemingly stared right into your soul.

“Fine with me.”

You smiled and started shuffling after knocking three times on the deck. Spirit, a general reading for Eddie Munson.

The cards started popping out in quick succession. Knight of Wands, Seven of Wands, Six of Pentacles.

“I do my readings based on intuition—my gut feeling,” you explained, moving the cards so Eddie could see them. “I’m going to pull some more.”

Ten of Swords, the Hanged Man, Knight of Pentacles, the Empress, Nine of Swords, Two of Cups, Eight of Pentacles, Death, Justice.

You flipped over the deck, “Bottom of the deck: Four of Wands.”

You glanced at him; he was frowning, eyes focused on the Death card.

“The cards are scary if you take them literally,” you said. You started your interpretation, “You’ve been losing sleep, overthinking whether or not you should approach the person you’re interested in. And right now, you’re your own enemy, letting your anxieties rule you. You should approach them because it’s likely that your feelings are reciprocated. This connection has the potential to be life-changing, in a positive way.”

“That’s… a lot.”

You looked up from the cards; Eddie was already staring at you.

You shrugged sheepishly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I know. But Spirit had a lot to say about whatever has been bothering you.”

As he was about to say something else, the bell rang and you fled after putting away your deck into the abyss of your backpack.

.

Eddie Munson (edd1emuns0n) started following you.

The scream that came out of your mouth was high-pitched and embarrassing. Immediately, you screenshotted the notification and sent it to the group chat with Leena and Oneida.

Oneida

No fucking shot

WAS THE TAROT READING ABOUT YOU???

Leena

It might be a coincidence

You watched as more text messages came, mostly Oneida telling you to slide into his DMs. You were mortified at the suggestion and decided to put your phone on Do Not Disturb for the rest of the night.

As Leena said, it could be a coincidence but your intuition was saying otherwise.

You slipped your phone under your pillow and turned to your TV. An episode of The Sopranos was playing quietly, and you chose to focus on it instead of whatever notifications were hidden under Do Not Disturb.

That only lasted ten minutes. You grabbed your phone, put in the passcode, and opened your notifications.

edd1emuns0n liked your post.

You froze. You hadn’t posted anything new in months except—

You quickly opened Instagram and saw which post he liked.

It was a post from July when you’d been celebrating Leena’s seventeenth birthday by having a Pinterest-worthy picnic. In the post, you were wearing a floral mini dress. The angels of both pictures showed off your breasts and thighs in flattering angles. You looked hot, even months later.

And Eddie Munson liked that post.

Another scream left your mouth as you threw your phone across your bedroom. You immediately regretted the action and got up to grab your phone.

A notification came in.

edd1emuns0n

Hey, about that tarot reading

Should I actually do something about it?

You stared at the messages for a moment, thinking about what you should say. Finally, you sent your response.

Yes.

He replied quickly.

Okay, see you tomorrow.

Sad at his dry response, you turned off your phone and went back to watching The Sopranos.

.

Homeroom, again. And this time, you were the one nursing a Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee instead of Oneida.

You scrolled aimlessly on Pinterest, saving the occasional Whisper repost that was amusing when Eddie Munson stood in front of you.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Oh, shit, did he get rejected? You thought but nodded anyway. You motioned for him to follow you out to the hallway. Ms. Abernathy barely looked at you two.

“What is it?” You questioned, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

“Are you today after school? I’d like to take you out, get to know you.”

You blinked. Then a large smile grew on your face. “So, the reading was about me?”

“Yeah, it was.”

You laughed and beamed up at him. “Well, I am free after school today then. I’ll meet you in the parking lot?”

“Sounds good.”

.

Before you and Eddie Munson were in the same homeroom, he was your hallway crush. Now, he was your boyfriend, and you could boast that you had manifested it.

It was May, and the date of graduation and prom was coming up. You and Eddie were graduating, but Eddie had skipped so many periods that he wasn’t allowed to attend the ceremony.

You didn’t mind that Eddie wasn’t walking the stage. You understood that Eddie would prefer being in the audience, cheering for you as your name was called and you accepted your diploma from the principal. (It was a shame, though, because you were sure his uncle would have liked seeing Eddie walk the stage with you.)

It had taken you two months to convince Eddie it would be worth it to attend prom together. (You’d told him that you would spend the night with him—just him—instead of lugging him to attend the after party.)

So, now, you were pinning Eddie’s only pair of dress pants because it was too long. (You were sure that Eddie bought these hoping you would forget to make sure they fit them right.)

“Stop fidgeting,” you muttered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He stopped moving. He said your name softly. “Don’t do that.”

You smirked and looked away. “Stay still, and maybe I will give you what you want.”

And he listened. He stayed still as you finished pinning the dress pants (and you did give him what he wanted).

[topicprinter]

So I run an online business in my spare time, more a hobby than anything really. But it's a good bit of pocket money to get me by.This one is from a few years back, jogged my memory from a post on Facebook asking business owners who their worst customer has been. Here's mine.One of my suppliers has a bespoke driving light capacity, they'll swap in more powerful LED chips, reflectors, lenses, etc. The bespoke items are handmade and huge care is taken that they perform as required.Essentially you can say "I want my lights to shine 3 miles down the road and cover an arc of 70°" and they'll get it done.As such, the only people that buy these lights are relatively wealthy, as a single pair of spotlights can cost up to $3,400So this customer comes online, orders a standard lightbar ($1,400) and then a few hours later makes an order for a bespoke set of driving lights. Cool beans.As procedure, the system automatically fires off an email reiterating what is said on the product page that the bespoke lighting range are handmade and can take up to 90 business days, and it tells you when your estimated shipping date is (normally around 120-130 days from ordering, as weekends and public holidays aren't business days)So he replies to this email saying "That's fine, I want the best, happy to wait"So I thought nothing of it, until 91 calendar days after his order:Customer: Hello, regarding my lights from order [number], I have received the lightbar, but my spotlights have not arrived.Me: G'day [Customer], as you ordered your lightbar on [different order number] and we had the item in stock, we dispatched it as soon as we could. Regarding your lights from order [number], please refer to the email below indicating that the lights you have ordered are hand made and the estimated shipping time is still [number of] days away. Thankyou.Customer: [NUMBER OF] DAYS! WHAT THE FUCK? I WAS NEVER TOLD ABOUT THIS! I WANT MY MONEY BACK!Me: G'day [customer], please see attached to this message a copy of the email you were sent when you placed the order, and your acknowledgement of the timeframe. Further, as per our terms and conditions, we do not accept change of mind returns or refunds on custom products. Have a nice day.(Quick note, this is perfectly legal to refuse change of mind on goods in Australia)Customer: THIS IS BULLSHIT! I DON'T REMEMBER REPLYING TO THAT! I WANT MY MONEY BACK NOW! I NEVER AGREED TO THOSE TERMS!Me: G'day [Customer], as per our terms and conditions at [link] you can see that we do not accept refunds on change of mind orders, please see attached a copy of the checkout log from your purchase where you have checked the box agreeing to these terms. As this is a change of mind request, we will not be honouring it.Customer: Raises a PayPal complaint of items not delivered, items not as described/items faulty on both orders I HAVE NOW ISSUED A CHARGEBACK THROUGH PAYPAL! I'LL BE GETTING MY MONEY BACK!(all communication from herein was done on PayPal so they could see the communication)Me: G'day [Customer], with regards to your chargeback regarding [spotlight order], please see attached all correspondence showing that the estimated delivery date has not yet elapsed. Also, please refer to [link] from PayPal buyer protection excluding custom, bespoke, or handmade items are ineligible for refunds until such time as the date for delivery has passed.With regards to your [lightbar order], can you please clarify what is not as described about the item and/or what is faulty with the item? We are more than happy to replace the item if it is faulty or not performing as described.Customer: I PURCHASED THE LIGHTBAR TO GO WITH THE SPOTLIGHTS I ORDERED! ITS FUCKING USELESS WITHOUT THE SPOTLIGHTS! I WANTED A LIGHTING SYSTEM, NOT HALF A LIGHTING SYSTEM! I ORDERED THEM BOTH AT THE SANE TIME, THEY SHOULD BE DELIVERED AT THE SAME TIME!Me: G'day [Customer], with regards to your lightbar order placed at [Date and Time], we had this item in stock and dispatched it immediately. With regards to your spotlight order, placed at [date and time, which was 53 minutes later], we regard this as a seperate order and it will be provided to you in the timeframes quoted and agreed upon in previous correspondence.This continued to happen for nearly 2 weeks, 2-3 angry emails a day, wash, rinse, repeatIn the end I got an email from a PayPal customer service agent to advise me that he had escalated the claim to be reviewed by a person. They wanted to touch base and find out what was happening.So we went through all the notes, and even the customer service representative was amazed at the language he had used. Within 5 minutes she had closed the lightbar claim in my favour due to the items being delivered, and me asking something like 12 times what the fault with the item was. They agreed that it was an independent order and that if the customer had wanted them delivered together, they should have been ordered together on the same transaction.With regards to the spotlight order, after about 45 minutes of reading the correspondence, checking our website, policies, me taking PayPal offline on the store and into sandbox mode so the rep could do a dummy order, they found no fault with the system and agreed that this order definitely was not covered under their protections, but that even if it was, the amount of notice on the website clearly indicated a long lead time on the product.As such, this was closed as well.Another week goes by, boom! Tracking number from the factory, mark order as shipped, off it goes. Customer is informed and starts getting tracking notifications at each scan.Customer: WHY THE FUCK IS MY TRACKING SHOWING THAT MY PACKAGE WAS JUST SCANNED IN HONG KONG?Me: G'day [Customer], as detailed in our website, for bespoke orders, we have them shipped directly from the manufacturing facility in Hong Kong direct to the customer. This is to ensure that you receive your products in a timely fashion with no double handling.Customer: BUT YOURE SAYING YOUR BUSINESS AND WAREHOUSE IS IN AUSTRALIA NOT HONG KONG! THATS FALSE ADVERTISING! I'M REPORTING YOU TO THE ADVERTISING STANDARDS BOARD! I'LL ALDO BE TALKING TO MY LAWER!Me: G'day Customer, please see below the details of my lawyer for your lawyer to contact. Thankyou.Customer: I DINT WANT TO TALK TO YOUR LAWYER! YOU'RE IN DEEP SHOT NOW MATE! YOU'VE FUCKED ME AROUND FOR MONTHS!Me: G'day [Customer], as you have now indicated intent to take this matter along a path of legal recourse, I have been advised to discontinue conversations via email with yourself and all correspondence will now be handled through [law firm]. Please see details below for [law firm].Over the next 3 days I continued to get angry threatening emails, which I just forwarded to my solicitorLights did get delivered, 3 days short of the estimated timeframe, so our estimate was pretty bang on. Have not heard from him since.However, as another note to this, as the Manufacturer and supplier were kept well informed of all this (bespoke high end companies like to know when there's potential brand damage), they also included a letter in the package saying that if the customer was to not deal with any of their dealers, he was to speak with head office only, and that he was banned from purchasing from any of their dealers in the future.Nearly 2 years on now and neither me nor the Director of the company have heard from him, so that's good I suppose.He did post a lot on Facebook about his "harrowing" experience, however both myself and the director of the lighting company, both being heavily into the 4WD scene covered a fairly substantial percentage of groups that he posted on. So anytime he dropped a post on how terrible we were, we did have a very clear and concise reply we'd just copy and paste on his posts.Funnily enough, sales of the product spiked every time he put up a post trying to slander us. In fact, we sold more bespoke lights than we did normal lights for a period there, people were blown away by how adaptable they were and how much light they could get. We got some real funky requests in for custom lights, people that wanted to, as I said, see beyond 2 miles, mostly outback farmers and stuff.Plus, guess what? Not a single complaint on manufacting and shipping times from any other customers. Seems that this bloke just couldn't read.However, my wife has another theory on this guy, after spending nearly $5,000 on lights, his wife may have cracked the shits at him and demanded he cancel the order and get his money back. Now that may have been the case, and this may have financially impacted this bloke negatively. I'll be honest though, if he'd come into it saying "I can't afford these" or "I've just lost my job" or something along those lines, I would have refunded him and just kept the lights for myself instead. But nope, just angry angry tirades.TL;DR: Customer doesn't know how to count, proceeds to abuse me and submit a fraudulent chargeback to PayPal to get his money back. In the end his posts on social media end up driving us more traffic.

[splinteredbone]

baker’s choice

masterlist / navigation / @splinteredmercies

pairing: eddie munson x reader

contains: no spoilers for s4. mentions of drug consumption, edible production, and profanity. not edited, we die like men.

wc: 1.13 k

author’s note: inspired by that one episode of derry girls where michelle makes edibles but they’re scones. anyway, please enjoy girlboss!reader ‘cause sis is literally running an edible empire in the sleepy town of hawkins all by themselves!! lmk if i should continue this. i might because i think the ending is lacking but i literally wrote this while at my graduation ceremony lol. (p.s., all my reader inserts are gender neutral, poc friendly, and very vague with the physical characteristics unless stated otherwise.)

Daylight had ceased from entering your kitchen hours ago, your counter was littered with baking utensils, and you fought the urge to lick the double chocolate brownie batter off the whisk.

Under any other circumstances, you would lick some of it off before throwing it in the sink to be washed, food safety be damned. But you knew better. The thick batter on the whisk wasn’t the usual. Your recipe had been altered to include one more ingredient: weed.

You didn’t like how weed made you feel while high—anxious, paranoid, and grogginess. The side effects never changed whether you smoked it or ate it. But, fuck, did edibles bring in money.

Not that you really needed it. Both of your parents worked good jobs, but it sent them miles away from Hawkins for months at a time and they sent a hefty check every two weeks. It left you alone with nothing to do, so baking—cooking in general, really—became a mechanism to avoid the reality of your house being way too big for one teenager in high school.

You set your timer to twenty-five minutes and placed it back on the counter. It’d be enough time to clean up before sitting down to cut up brownies and individually wrap them with plastic wrap and your labels.

You paused when you realized Jenny’s cookies were still sitting on the dining room table. Christ, I forgot to call her. She’ll have my head, it’s for her fucking birthday party.

Shaking your head, you went to your telephone to call her about the cookies. Meanwhile, you thought about how you had to go to Eddie Munson’s trailer to get more weed. Ugh.

.

It was nearing midnight when you pulled up to Munson’s trailer. You didn’t want to be here, not so late and on a Friday night, but you needed to replenish your weed stock. You had a large order to be prepped for Saturday night. (Or was it for tonight?)

You exited your car and were about to knock when Munson’s door swung open.

The lanky man leaned on the doorway, watching as you squinted at the sudden amount of light. “You look like shit.”

“It’s midnight and I’ve been awake since five. I think I can allow myself to look like shit, Munson.” You pushed past him and entered the trailer. “I’m here for the usual.”

You scanned your surroundings and realized it was… neater. Frowning briefly, you turned back to Munson, only to see his eyes snap back to your face.

No wonder he was quiet, you mused, not at all bothered that he was checking you out.

You were wearing shorts—ones you had made yourself from an old pair of Levi’s that had become too stained from mud and grass to be salvaged—and a band t-shirt from middle school that somehow still fit you.

“Nice shirt.”

You stared at Munson for a moment and then looked down. The painted faces of KISS stared up at you. “Thanks. I think it’s a real shame they stopped painting their faces. It’s what really brought that mysterious appeal to them, you know?”

You looked back up at Munson. A beat of silence ensued. You became worried and leaned toward him. “Hey, are you okay? I just want my weed, I can always come back in the morning.”

He blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze. He didn’t seem high though. You watched as he turned away, mumbling something to himself that you could not decipher.

“What do you even do with all this?” Munson questioned as he brought you what you wanted.

“Why are you asking?”

“I doubt you can smoke it all, not with how frequently you’re here.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled. “And I asked around too. No vices of any kind. So, what do you do with all that weed?”

You fought back a shiver at hearing Munson say your name—softly, intimately, downright reverently—at the end of his question.

“My only vice is sex.” The statement fell out of your mouth faster than your brain could stop it. Horrified, you sputtered, “That’s a joke—just a really, really dumb joke—”

Munson laughed, harder than you’d ever seen him laugh. Something about his laugh made you feel better. You laughed with him and felt your shoulders relax.

“I make edibles,” you answered his question from earlier. “I sell to the people who don't like smoking it, don’t want their parents finding any buds laying around, or too lazy to make it themselves.”

“And people actually buy it?”

You scoffed. “I always come back to buy more weed, don’t I?”

You grabbed the bag out of Munson’s hand with a little more heat than necessary. Throwing the money down on the nearest flat surface, you started walking out. “See you around, Munson.”

“Wait—! I didn’t mean—” You turned around with raised eyebrows. Munson continued sputtering, “I just think that it’s… cool. That’s all.”

He leaned on the doorway to the trailer, and you could tell he was trying to look nonchalant.

An idea popped up in your head. Debating with yourself, you looked between Munson and your car.

You motioned toward your car. “Want to try one?”

He jumped away from the doorway and made a beeline to the passenger seat. “Thought you’d never ask.”

.

You felt odd brining Eddie Munson into your home. It was one thing to enter his trailer—most people with an illegal vice in Hawkins went inside of his trailer. But no one had been in your house before, you always made deliveries and drop-offs to avoid so many people entering your space.

You toed off your shoes and Munson followed; your sock clad feet made no noise compared to his boots thudding behind you.

“What are you craving? I have double chocolate brownies and M&M cookies.” You asked as you entered the kitchen and turned your head to look at him. You didn’t why, but he seemed very attractive all of a sudden.

“Baker’s choice”

Rolling your eyes, you hummed in confirmation and pushed away your earlier thoughts. Grabbing one of the many individually wrapped brownies from earlier, you chucked at him and he caught it flawlessly.

How can someone look good catching a pot brownie? You thought, frustrated with yourself.

You watched, like a fucking creep, as he ate the brownie.

“This is really good,” Munson said in between bites.

“Thanks.” You looked away sheepishly, leaning against the counter. Feeling emboldened, you added, “If you think that’s good, you should try my lasagna. I’ve perfected my recipe over the years.”

You dared a glance at Munson.

“Is that an invitation?”

You shrugged. Now, it was your turn to look nonchalant. “Maybe.”

He beamed at you. “It’s a date then.”

[splinteredbone]

heatwave

masterlist / navigation / @splinteredmercies

pairing: eddie munson x reader

contains: no spoilers for s4. plus size!afab!reader. pure fluff. profanity. not edited, we die like men!

wc: 0.7 k

author's note: inspired by how my room is always five/six degrees hotter than the rest of my house. i wrote this plus size!reader one shot kinda for me but I GUESS y'all can read it. jk i love y'all please enjoy this becaus4e i had too much fun writing this.

Dress-coded. A-fucking-gain.

A heatwave was upon Hawkins. The hotter weather made you crave popsicles and their sugary taste, and you donned fewer layers. Everyone was wearing fewer layers, yet you were the one dress-coded for excessive amounts of cleavage.

What were you supposed to do with your breasts? Fucking remove them? I wish…

This happened every year without fail, but this time you had enough. You refused to put on sweatpants and a hoodie because this was your fucking body, and there was nothing the stupid Hawkins High School faculty could do about it except send you home. Which you gladly did. But it didn’t stop you from storming down the hallways of the building, and nearly knocking someone down in your haste.

“Woah there, sweetheart. Are you skipping?”

You paused and turned toward the recognizable voice. You sighed, trying to calm yourself down before addressing Eddie Munson. It wouldn't be fair if you took it out on him. He wasn’t responsible for dress-coding you. Plus, you barely knew him except for the midnight trips to buy weed with your friends. (That didn’t stop you from thinking he was attractive.)

“Sorry, Eddie.” You inclined your head in greeting and smiled apologetically. You shifted your backpack to your other shoulder. “And, no, I’m not skipping. I got dress-coded, I’m leaving instead of changing into a hoodie or whatever the fuck. It’s too hot for that shit.”

“Dress-coded? For what?” Eddie’s voice held the same indignation as yours.

“Excessive amounts of cleavage!” You huffed and crossed your arms. “Can you believe it?”

You caught how Eddie’s eyes followed the movement and his gaze fell upon your boobs—perfectly showcased in the tank top you were wearing. Not that it was your intention, but now, you were internally praising God for bringing the heatwave, letting you get dress-coded, and putting Eddie Munson on your warpath.

You cleared your throat. “Eyes up here, Munson.”

He flushed, and it made you laugh the slightest bit. With your mood lightened up, you continued walking.

Eddie followed you. “Do you still walk home?”

“Yeah, still do.” Your brain registered how he phrased the question, and you glanced at him, bewildered. “Wait—still? How did you know I walk home?”

He sputtered, and you heard something about sometimes seeing you crossing the parking lot. Finally, he seemed to regain his ability to speak. “Well, do you want a ride or what?”

“Yes! You’re a lifesaver, Eddie Munson.” Your declaration was followed by the inane urge to kiss him on his pretty mouth. You felt your hand twitch as you followed him out to his van.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be seen with me?” Eddie sounded like he was joking, but there was an undertone that made you think otherwise.

“I couldn't care less what anybody says. Everybody at this hellhole takes high school so seriously. Sure, it’s four years of your life. But compared to the average life expectancy? That’s, like, seventy-five years.” You faltered, recognizing you were about to go on a tangent. “Sorry, I’m talking too much. All these people—it just seems so… frivolous.”

“Frivolous?” Eddie echoed as he pealed out of the parking lot.

“I pay attention in English, Munson!”

He chuckled and then said. “Don’t apologize for talking too much. I like listening to you talk.”

“You’re going to regret saying that, Munson.” You looked out the window, trying to smother the large grin on your face. Emboldened, you turned toward him. “Wanna go out? You can hear me talk all you want.”

“Like a date?” Eddie’s eyes flickered between you and the road ahead.

“Yes, silly!” You fought back a giggle. “How does right now sound?”

“Right now?”

“You don’t have to,” you assured Eddie. “We can get burgers or something. It’s right about lunchtime anyway. I’ll pay?”

“No! You don’t have to pay, I’ll pay,” Eddie rushed to say.

“So, that’s a yes?”

At Eddie’s formal confirmation, you squealed. From the looks of it, getting dress-coded was becoming one of the best things that ever happened to you, especially when you noticed Eddie was blushing.

(Now, what do I have to do to find out how far down that blush goes?)