Lydia had worn a maroon t-shirt emblazoned with the school’s logo and bold letters announcing her status on the cheerleading squad. Then the day of their first lacrosse game came around. He kept his lecture ready in his back pocket anyways. If he didn’t know any better, she was doing this because she liked it, not just to spite him. She’d happily explain the best and worst parts of her practice alongside him. He would drive her home after his lacrosse practice and her cheer practice. But as days turned to weeks, Lydia stayed with it. There was no way in hell she had time for it either.Įven after she informed him, with unbridled excitement, that she’d made the squad, he doubted that she’d actually follow through. But she was also smart, well dressed, and decidedly removed from the “team spirit” culture of Beacon Hills High School. To her credit, this act of spite wasn’t dangerous. By four o’clock the next morning, they’d agreed that she would stop doing stupid, dangerous things just to piss off Stiles. She’d tried to talk him down with her perfectly made-up lips and fluttering eyelashes, but he hadn’t given in. That night, he had fought with her for hours. She would’ve gotten herself killed by one of the enemy wolves if Kira hadn’t stepped in, crackling with electricity, slicing at the offending wolf with her katana. She hadn’t been allowed to come to a big face-off between Scott’s pack and an enemy pack. He felt like that time didn’t really count the way that the second time did, because the second time, he’d been pissed. She’d fallen asleep in his bed and in his arms. He’d found her antics more adorable and hilarious that time, but had hastily ended her FaceTime call when Jackson started asking for “that asshole Stilinski.” When he lectured her that time, she’d been giggly and he had an extremely difficult time not breaking his strict and serious persona. Rather, he refused to take advantage of her when she was significantly more drunk than he was. The first time was when she’d drunkenly called Jackson to let him know that “Stiles called you a dick and said that he could pro’lly take you in a fight.” That time, he hadn’t made it past her seduction because of anger. He’d only made it past her seduction tactic twice in the past. Every time it happened, he’d try to give her a proper lecture about “not doing stupid shit just because you think it’s fun to piss me off.” But somehow, every freaking time, the girl had found her way out of trouble with strategically administered kisses and the shapely curve of her body fitting in against his chest and hips. Her inability to follow directions had found her in more lethal situations before, to be sure. Because it seemed like every time Stiles told her to do something, anything, she refused to comply in some sort of fit of pride and spite. In retrospect, Stiles wondered how much her contrary nature had driven her decision. Lydia, true to form, had ignored his attempts to dissuade her. He told her that there would be no chance in hell that she could balance all of the ever-growing branches of responsibility in her life. He told her that they were busy enough running for their lives. Stiles told her that it might be a bad idea.