Dude jerked his T-shirt with his fists, that familiar smirk directed at her. He balls the fabric in one powerful throw and it flew on Cathryn's head. She smelled musk, saltwater, and testosterone.
A girl reached out to yank it from her head with a thrilled, hungry little gasp.
"No way, bitch." Cathryn told her as she turned her bitch-face on, grabbing it free from her hands. "This is mine."
They glare at each other and she wouldn't let go. Cathryn stood up straighter, reaching her full height as if her life depended on it.
"Bitch, let go of my boyfriend's shirt." Cathryn emphasized more on the word boyfriend and continued, "I don't mind fighting and rolling in the sand and cutting your hair off-" 'She showed her her bright red, super uneven hair and smiled sweetly "-you don't want to turn it in a similar state to mine."
Cathryn frowned when she realized how possessive that sounded but, thankfully, dude can't hear the commotion about his shirt since he was busy laying all of his charms to the judges, striding confidently as he showed them her work.
Thank god, he didn't see her get territorial.
The girl must have seen something brutal on Cathryn's expression since her hand was shaking on the shirt before she lets go of it. The girl escaped out of there, looking like she was about to cry.
'Oops. Was that too much?' The angel in her asked rhetorically, concerned.
'Well, if she can't stand the heat then better not get close to the oven.' The devil in her smirked, satisfied.
Oh well, the battle between her conscience has finished.
The judgment has passed.
Guess who won?
Dude glanced in her direction for a second, looking a bit worried and her lips parted in question, trying to make sense of it.
Cathryn wanted to ask him what's the matter but immediately, that face of his quickly returned to that stoic mask he wore from the beginning. Cathryn's heart flipped in her chest.
Nervousness filled her for him, for the contest or some other reason she didn't know, but Cathryn squirmed a little inside.
The least she could do was provide moral support.
And so Cathryn smiled encouragingly, waved the shirt off her five-thousand-dollar model, and cheered loudly as she could.