Flashback:

Flashback:

Derek leaned in and Casey turned her head away in disgust. His lips were right next to her ear; she could feel his warm breath and it sent shivers down her spine.

"Sometimes," he whispered, "I get hot for brunette bitches."

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Disclaimer: I own Losers With Determination, Lasagna With Dessert, and Lungs Without Disease, but not the only LWD that matters.

Derek watched as the look of fear on Casey's face changed to one of revulsion. "Der-ek!" she whispered loudly, and tried to push him out of the way so that she could escape from where she was trapped by the door. After years of hockey, however, he was not to be moved by a 120 pound girl. "Get out of my room if you're going to be disgusting and perverted! I'm your stepsister who you hate, remember?"

"Right, right…and I'm the evil stepbrother that you hate with all your heart?"

Casey was still struggling in vain to escape from the very warm, very uncomfortably close cage of Derek's arms. "Not—evil, but certainly not good!"

Sighing dramatically, Derek released Casey, who remained leaning against the door as if she had forgotten how to walk. "Well," he said, "We'll just have to work on changing that hatred part." He backed up a step and gestured towards the bed, as a suggestion that she move so that he could leave the room. "Princess?"

Her face was drawn. "My knee, I think it locked up—not that you care. There's a reason I had been staying off it, until you had to come in here! What am I going to do? My recital is next Friday, today is Sunday, and I can't even walk properly!"

"I'll carry you to your bed, okay?"

"No!" Casey exclaimed. "You've done enough already." She hobble-limped away from the door, hiding a wince every time the weight was on her injured knee.

Derek kept looking at her.

"Derek! Get out of my room, I don't want to see you or hear you or know you exist. You've ruined everything!"

Slamming the door behind him, Derek returned to the revitalizing darkness of his lair. Casey's pink and purple walls were just a little hard to take, coupled with her lack of response to flirting, her short temper, the way her chest heaved when she was mad…

Whoa. Bad Derek. No thinking about things that will take you in bad directions.

Gathering his resolve, Derek opened up his new laptop and referred immediately to his topmost Mozilla Firefox tab. He had been the midst of writing an email to Sally, who he had never ended up dating but had become good friends with. She was good with girl problems.

Dear Sally:

Casey is just so infuriating—I can't get her out of my head. There have only been a few girls who had ever done that (your lovely self included). Most of my relationships are just casual flings, more of make out buddies than girlfriends. And they didn't mind, because that was what they wanted anyway. Actually, the ones who did want real relationships with guys were all the girls who had ever made a lasting memory on me.

Casey McDonald. Her name is Southern hick but her look is New England prep, with the skirts just above the knee that hike up when she was sitting in class, the polos that hug her curves just the way I want to, and the miles of loonnnnnnnng smooth legs that I would die for. (I'm sure this is TMI, but you told me to tell you everything).

But hey. It isn't all about looks. The reason I can't get Klutzilla out of his head is her fire—all our clashes and fights (preferably physical) made her different from the other girls, who would change any plans if I said the word. No, Casey doesn't take shit from anyone, and I respect that. And besides—that passion could be used in a rather different way…

There I am, going to bad places again. Somehow with Casey involved that keeps happening. Sorry Sal.

But regardless, Casey most certainly does not want me. Or at least, she didn't know it yet. And after all my long experience with winning over girls, this is no going to be a piece of cake. Ideally, we start dating, and after two or three weeks I could successfully let her dump me and move on, sanity restored.

Like I said, not a piece of cake.

Yesterday began the first day of Derek Venturi's biggest project ever. Casey came in screaming because she twisted her knee, apparently because of my music – don't ask me to explain the logic. I treated her as I normally do (badly) but when her knee was really hurting, I scooped her up and carried her to her room.

She wasn't happy about this. Apparently it disgusted her—that's a bad sign. I told her that I wanted to start treating her right. When she was looking up at me, she looked so gorgeous, I wanted to kiss her right there, so I kissed her on the forehead. Apparently that confused her.

By overanalyzing as usual, she convinced herself that Sam and I had made some kind of kissing bet – don't ask me to explain that either, the depths of Casey's mind are strange. What's worse is that she called him and he confirmed that there was a bet. What she doesn't know is that that particular wager was referring to a guesstimate of how long she would make it with Max.

At the time, however, I didn't know what she was talking to Sam about. And…may have gotten jealous. It sounded flirtatious. And then we had a fight…and then I ended up pinning her against her door.

Hey. Don't look at me like that. I'm a man. It was instinct.

I didn't do anything though—again, she was disgusted.

Unfortunately, in the process of this, Casey fucked up her knee even worse, and now she's spitting mad at me. Her recital is in nine days or something, and she is going ape.

So what should I do now, Sally? There is no way to get her out of my head. I need to date her, kiss her, touch her—for a few weeks, let her dump me, and then I'll be free again.

HOW CAN I WIN HER OVER?

--Triple D.

Derek hit the send button, checked his email for any Facebook updates, filtered the college emails into the Spam folder, then logged off. Head in hands, he contemplated his next move, before deciding that he needed Sally's advice first, and to avoid Casey for now. But wait…Casey might be downstairs, and Derek wanted food. It wasn't that he was hungry—he just wanted it.

What Derek Wants, Derek Gets.

"Edwin!" he shouted, knowing the little twerp was sure to come running.

He paused for a moment, no Edwin. He called out again, even louder, but to no avail. That was strange—there was no way his little brother was questioning his authority. He must have gone out.

"Smarti!" he called, a little more affectionately.

A full ten minutes later, his kid sister showed up in the doorway, holding a Junie B. Jones book in one hand. "Derek," she whined. "Don't call me Smarti, I'm not little any more."

Was it his imagination, or did his little Marti actually just use Casey's emphasis on the second syllable of his name? Wow, that was obnoxious.

"You'll always be my little Smarti," he growled, before scooping her up, dumping her on the bed, and commencing a tickle – fest.

Although she pouted and tried to keep a straight face, she ended up giggling and begging him to stop, as she always did.

Why couldn't he have such a great relationship with all his sisters? Except—Casey would be begging him to continue…

Hey guys! 23 reviews for last chapter! You all are amazing. So with this next chapter, I'll update as SOON as I get 25 reviews--I'll even write the chap in advance. So, review, let me know how you think it's going and suggestions you have for winning Casey over--I might use the best one!