None of my friends get why I like you.
Mostly 'cause you're kind of an asshole.
And not just in the over-privileged pastel-designer-shorts-wearing suburban white card-holding-member-at-a-country-club kind of way boys of your upbringing are expected to be, but in the self-serving, arrogant, using-other-people's-insecurities-as-punch-lines-for-jokes kind of way that makes everyone within a five foot radius want to punch you in the face.
…Wait. Why DO I like you?
It's certainly not because of the condescending public remarks you like to make about my weight and eating habits. Or the way you always feel the need to put me down in front of your friends to make yourself look cool. I hate the way you completely avoid me at parties. The way you parade around shirtless like you're hot shit. That smug look you get on your face while you're parading around because girls are checking you out. The way those brown eyes of yours always seem to be able to see right through me. The fact that your mom still picks out your clothes. The fact that you still wear the three-sizes-too-big coat your mom bought you just because she bought it for you, even though you look completely ridiculous. How even though you pretend not to care, you actually do take your commitments seriously. The way you remember all the smallest details I've ever told you about my life. The fact that I'm the first person you call to tell good news. How even when you are being completely offensive you're still absolutely hilarious. The fact that, despite all the incredibly insulting things you've ever said to me, you still have the capacity to say the sweetest things I've ever heard—and mean them. The undeniable chemistry that has existed between us since the first day we met. The way we've grown over time from flirtatious acquaintances to close friends. The fact that, at the end of the day, no matter how much I proclaim that you're a douche and an asshole and I hate you, I still know that I can count on you.
…Shit.
Guess I'm just attracted to assholes.