Preaching to the Choir

"Oh man," he laughed. "You should have seen your face. It was priceless!"

I smacked him upside the head. "Jerk," I growled. "Why do you have to torture me all the time?"

"You just make it so easy," he said, beaming. "And I'm not going to deny that it's pretty damn amusing."

"For you, maybe," I muttered.

Kurt leaned back in his seat and stretched his long, toned body to the extent that he was able in such a confined space.

"Anyway, Lotte," he said. "If you didn't hate me so much, maybe I wouldn't have to act like such a jerk."

"I have to hate you," I replied.

"Why's that?"

"Just cause."

"Just cause what?"

"Just cause I always have. And you're a jerk."

"You're stubborn."

"I know. You're persistent."

"I know."

"Ass."

"Bitch."

"Dickwad."

"Tart."

The string of insults kept coming. It was going to be a long night.