Chapter 7

Swollen Desires

I step out of the main entrance of Pineview High, the heavy glass doors swinging shut behind me with a dull thud, and immediately feel the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. The afternoon sun is still high, casting long shadows across the sprawling parking lot that stretches out before me like a concrete ocean. I squint against the glare, taking in the sheer size of the place. It’s massive, easily big enough to hold hundreds of cars, with neat rows of parking spaces marked by faded yellow lines. To my left, near the school’s brick facade, there’s a section reserved for faculty and staff, where a handful of sedans and SUVs are parked, some with teacher decals and personalized license plates. Beyond that, toward the center, is the student lot, a chaotic mess of beat-up hand-me-down cars, flashy rides with custom rims, and a few motorcycles leaning on their kickstands. I can see clusters of kids hanging around their vehicles, some leaning against hoods, others tossing a football back and forth, their laughter and shouts echoing across the asphalt.

On the far right side of the lot, closer to the street, is the bus loop—a long, curved stretch of pavement where about ten yellow school buses are lined up, idling with a low rumble, their diesel fumes mixing with the warm air. Each bus has a number painted on the side in bold black letters, and I can see drivers sitting behind the wheels, some chatting through open windows, others looking impatient as they check their watches. The loop is bordered by a low curb, and beyond it, a grassy strip leads to the sidewalk and the main road, where cars are already starting to pile up as parents wait to pick up their kids. The whole area buzzes with activity—students weaving through the lot, backpacks slung over shoulders, some running to catch their rides, others dragging their feet like they’ve got nowhere to be. It’s a chaotic symphony of end-of-day energy, and I feel like I’m drowning in it after the insanity of my first day.

Finally, I catch sight of her—Jess is standing near the buses, leaning against a metal pole marking the loading zone, her arms crossed, looking as impatient as I feel. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and even from this distance, I can see the concern etched on her face as she scans the crowd for me. I start weaving through the mass of students, dodging a couple of jocks tossing a football back and forth and sidestepping a group of giggling freshmen who don’t even notice me. The closer I get to the buses, the louder the rumble of their engines becomes, vibrating through the ground beneath my sneakers. The line of buses stretches along the curb, each one numbered with black decals on their sides, their doors propped open as drivers bark at kids to hurry the fuck up. Some students are already piling in, while others linger, dragging out their goodbyes like they’ve got all the time in the world.

Jess spots me before I’m halfway there, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and worry. She pushes off the pole and rushes over, her sneakers slapping against the asphalt as she closes the distance. Before I can say a word, she throws her arms around me in a tight hug, her head pressing against my chest. “Holy shit, Chris, are you okay?” she asks, her voice muffled against my shirt. I can feel the tension in her grip, like she’s been worrying about me all damn day. “I heard about what happened in the cafeteria. That asshole really slapped you? I swear, if I see that fucker, I’ll—”

“I’m fine, Jess,” I cut her off, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. I pat her back awkwardly, trying to reassure her while prying myself out of her hold. The last thing I need is more attention drawn to me out here, especially after the clusterfuck of a day I’ve had. “Just a little rattled, that’s all. Face stings a bit, but I’ll live. Do you know which bus is ours? I just wanna get the hell home and crash.”

Jess steps back, wiping a strand of hair out of her face as she glances over at the line of buses. “No fuckin’ clue,” she admits with a shrug, her tone lighter now that she’s seen I’m not bleeding out or some shit. “There’s like ten of ‘em lined up over there, and I haven’t figured out which one goes to our neighborhood yet. They’re leaving in about ten minutes, though, so we better hustle before we’re stuck walking or some bullshit.” She points toward the buses, where kids are still boarding. “Come on, let’s check the numbers or ask someone. I’m not in the mood to play guessing games either.”

I nod, too drained to argue or even think straight. My legs feel like lead as I follow her toward the loading zone, the noise of the parking lot washing over me—shouts, engines, the scrape of sneakers on pavement. The buses are parked bumper to bumper, their yellow paint chipped and faded in spots. I can see a few drivers leaning out their windows, shouting at stragglers to get their asses on board. The crowd is thinning out now, most kids already on their way home, leaving just a few clusters of stragglers like us. I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake off the exhaustion and the lingering sting on my cheek. All I want is to sit down, close my eyes, and pretend today never fucking happened.

Suddenly, I feel a warm body press against my back, soft curves molding into me as a pair of small hands slip over my eyes, blocking out the glaring sunlight. “Guess who?” a familiar voice chirps, playful and teasing. My brain scrambles for a second—definitely not Regina; this girl is shorter, her voice lighter, less commanding. I rack my exhausted mind, sifting through the whirlwind of the past few days. Then it clicks, the memory of that wild afternoon with the mother-daughter duo flashing through my head. “Emily?” I venture, half-guessing.

“YES!” she squeals, her excitement bursting out as she pulls her hands away and I turn to face her. Emily’s grinning ear to ear, her big brown, doe-like eyes sparkling with delight, her petite frame practically vibrating with energy. Her brown hair is tied back in a loose braid, and she’s wearing a tight little tank top that does nothing to hide the massive tits straining against the fabric—fuck, they look even bigger than I remember on her small body. I can’t help but notice how they bounce slightly as she shifts on her feet.

“I’ve been trying to run into you all day! Are you taking the buses home too?” she asks, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck, still trying to shake off the day’s bullshit. “We’re not sure which one, though. Didn’t realize there’d be so many to choose from.” I gesture toward the line of buses, their numbered decals barely legible from here. “This is my sister, Jess, by the way.”

Emily’s eyes flick to Jess, and her smile widens. “Hi! Oh my gosh, it’s so cool you have a sister!” She looks back and forth between us a few times, her gaze curious. “Are you guys twins?”

“Yeah, we are,” Jess confirms with a grin, and Emily lets out another delighted squeal, practically bouncing on her toes. I can’t help but smirk at her energy; it’s infectious, even if I’m dead on my feet.

“How far is your house from mine?” Emily asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with curiosity.

“Just a block or two,” I say, shrugging. “We’re pretty close.”

Her eyes go comically wide at that, and she starts hopping up and down, clapping her hands like she just won the fucking lottery. “Oh my gosh, that means you’re on the same bus as me!” she exclaims, her voice carrying over the noise of the parking lot. Jess catches her excitement, her own grin widening, and I can see the gears turning in her head. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t start asking too many questions.

Jess tilts her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, how do you know Chris?” she asks, her tone light but probing.

Emily doesn’t miss a beat, launching into her story with a dramatic flair. “Oh, he was so sweet! He helped me and my mom carry in these super heavy grocery bags the other day. Like, we couldn’t even handle them, but Chris just swooped in and saved the day!” I know damn well those bags weren’t that heavy, but the way she tells it, I almost believe I was some kind of superhero. Her exaggeration makes me smirk, but I don’t correct her.

Then Emily steps closer to me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it’s still loud enough for Jess to hear. “So, do you wanna come over to my house? My mom is home right now.” The way she says that last part, with a suggestive little lilt and a wiggle of her eyebrows, sends a spike of heat straight to my groin. Memories of that day with her and Lisa flood back—Lisa’s massive tits bouncing as I fucked her, Emily’s eager mouth on me while her mom moaned above her. Fuck, I can feel my cock twitching just thinking about it.

But I snap out of it quick when I see Jess’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. Her eyes go wide, her mouth dropping open slightly as the implications of Emily’s comment sink in. She’s not stupid—she knows exactly what Emily’s hinting at, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she pieces together that I’ve done more than just carry groceries for this girl and her mom. My stomach twists. I was hoping to keep that little escapade a secret from Jess, at least for now. The last thing I need is her getting ideas or asking questions I’m not ready to answer.

I open my mouth to stammer out some kind of explanation, anything to defuse the situation, but before I can get a word out, a sharp, commanding voice cuts through the air. “There you are.”

I look up, my heart sinking as I see Regina George striding toward me across the parking lot. Her long legs eat up the distance, her high heels clicking against the asphalt with every confident step. Her perfectly styled brown hair bounces with her movements, and her designer outfit clings to her curves in a way that draws every eye in the vicinity. The crowd of students around us seems to part for her, like she’s some kind of royalty, and the looks on their faces range from awe to outright fear. She’s got that same possessive glint in her eye that I saw earlier, and as she zeroes in on me, I can feel the tension ratcheting up in my chest. Emily steps back slightly, her excitement dimming as she senses the shift in the air, and Jess’s smirk fades into a wary expression.

Regina’s sharp eyes soften for a fleeting moment as she looks over my face, taking in the faint redness where Biff’s slap landed earlier. She steps close, her expensive perfume hitting me like a wave, and wraps her arms around me in a big, unexpected hug. Her body presses against mine, firm and warm, and for a second, I’m too stunned to react. “I am so sorry about Biff,” she murmurs, her voice surprisingly gentle against my ear. “Do not worry, I took care of him.”

The way she says “took care of him” sends a chill down my spine—it’s got this cold, calculated edge, like something straight out of a mafia flick. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean she had him whacked, but fuck, I’m almost too afraid to ask what she does mean. I stand there, stiff in her embrace, my mind racing as I try to process this weird moment of warmth from someone who’s been nothing but a hurricane of drama so far. But just as quickly as it came, that softness vanishes. She snaps out of it, pulling back from the hug with a flick of her perfectly styled hair, her expression shifting to that fine line between bitchy and authoritative, like she’s annoyed at herself for showing any vulnerability. Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks me up and down, and I can already tell I’m in for some shit.

“We are going shopping,” she declares, not asking but telling me, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You will need to buy a whole new wardrobe. What you are wearing right now? It is embarrassing.” She gestures at my plain t-shirt and jeans like they’re some kind of personal insult. I feel a flush of heat creeping up my neck—embarrassing? Who the fuck does she think she is? Before I can even respond, she continues, “Where’s your car? You can follow me to the mall.”

I blink at her, caught off guard by the assumption. “Don’t have one,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’m about to take the bus home.” I nod toward the line of buses, where kids are still piling in, their shouts echoing across the lot.

Her reaction is instantaneous and fucking dramatic. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows shoot up, and her mouth twists into a sneer. “What!?” she snaps, her voice rising sharp enough to cut through the background noise of the parking lot. “Oh, no, no, no. I do not date anyone who takes the bus. You need to buy a car. And it better be nice—I expect you to drive me around, and I will not be seen in a Toyota.” She crosses her arms, glaring at me like I’ve just committed some unforgivable sin. “But right now, we are going to the mall to make you presentable. You can buy a car later.” Without waiting for a response, she grabs my hand, her grip firm and unyielding, and starts pulling me toward the student parking area.

I’m fucking stunned, my jaw practically on the asphalt as she drags me along. I don’t even know how to respond to this level of entitlement. The little energy I have left after this shitstorm of a day is rapidly turning into pure, boiling anger. Because of Regina, I’ve already missed out on a hot cheerleader hookup with Angela, got slapped so hard by that giant asshole Biff, my face still stings, and now she’s pulling me away from the possibility of more mother-daughter fun with Emily and Lisa. And for what? To spend money I don’t fucking have on clothes I don’t give a shit about? My family’s barely scraping by after the divorce, and she’s acting like I can just drop a fortune on a fucking BMW and a wardrobe overhaul to suit her whims. That’s it—I’ve had enough. I need to end this right fucking now.

But how the hell do I do that without setting off a nuclear bomb? If I straight-up dump her, I know she’ll turn that icy fury on me faster than I can blink. I’ve seen how people cower around her—she runs this school like it’s her personal kingdom. Crossing Regina George could mean social suicide, or worse, given how she “took care of” Biff. My mind races as she tugs me along, her grip on my hand unrelenting. Maybe I can play this smarter—make it seem like dumping me is her idea. If I can push her buttons just right, make myself unappealing or incompatible without directly challenging her, she might cut me loose on her own terms. It’s a risky fucking game, but I’m out of options. I take a deep breath, trying to mask the anger burning in my chest, and start thinking of how to spin this. I need to be careful, calculated, and hope to hell I don’t end up with another slap—or worse—before this is over.

I stop dead in my tracks, planting my feet and yanking my hand free. She turns, her perfectly styled brown hair whipping around as her sharp eyes narrow at me. “You’re right,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the anger churning in my gut. I’m banking on this reverse psychology shit to work, to make her see I’m not worth her time.

“Right about what?” Regina snaps, crossing her arms, her tone already dripping with impatience. Her designer outfit hugs every curve, and even pissed off, she looks like she stepped out of a magazine—intimidating as fuck.

I take a deep breath, laying it on thick. “I’m not good enough for you. I don’t have a car because I can’t afford one. Can’t afford new clothes, can’t afford to take you out to fancy restaurants. You don’t want me as a boyfriend—I’d be a total embarrassment.” I’m pretty fucking proud of myself for coming up with that on the spot, keeping my face neutral, even a little defeated, to sell the act. I’m hoping she’ll see me as a lost cause, a liability to her perfect image, and ditch me herself.

Unfortunately, it’s not fucking good enough. Regina stares at me, confusion flickering across her face for a split second before her expression hardens. “Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, her voice low and dangerous, like the calm before a storm. Then, before I can even respond, anger flares in her eyes, her tone sharpening to a razor’s edge. “All because you are too lazy to work? I am Regina Fuckin’ George. I decide when this is over, not you. It is an honor to date me, so if you have to work for it, then you bust your ass working. Do not give me any of that poor person, lazy-ass bullshit. You drag me into a stall and make me go down on you, but now you think you can just walk away like I am some cheap whore!?”

Her words hit me like a slap—harder than Biff’s, even. What the fuck is she talking about? She dragged me into that bathroom stall this morning, practically shoved her tongue down my throat before I could blink. I didn’t make her do shit. Then it hits me like a goddamn freight train—this chick is delusional. She’s rewriting reality in her head, crafting a narrative where she’s always the victim, always in control, and I’m the asshole who’s wrong no matter what. There’s no point arguing with her; she’s not living in the same fucking world as the rest of us. Her version of events is gospel to her, and I’m just some pawn who’s supposed to bow down and kiss her designer shoes.

My plan backfired spectacularly. I wanted to make her dump me, to avoid her wrath by making myself seem unworthy, but somehow I’ve managed to direct all her fury right at me while still being stuck as her so-called boyfriend. My stomach twists with frustration and a growing sense of dread. I’m trapped in this fucked-up dynamic with a girl who can apparently bend reality to her will, and I have no idea how to get out without making things worse. Her eyes are boring into mine, daring me to contradict her, and I know saying anything right now will just pour gas on the fire. I clench my jaw, trying to keep my anger in check, but inside, I’m fucking seething. How the hell do I navigate this without getting burned—or worse?

God, someone needs to slap some fucking sense into this crazy bitch. A brief replay of the blowjob she gave me this morning flashes through my head—her lips wrapped around my cock, that hungry look in her eyes as she sucked me dry in the bathroom stall. Hmm, maybe I should try fucking some sense into her. Even if it doesn’t work, at least I’ll get something out of it—a hot, angry hate-fuck to take the edge off this clusterfuck of a day. But the way she’s acting right now, all high-and-mighty with that delusional rage, makes me worry. If I push the aggression too hard, it might backfire spectacularly, and she’ll have the whole damn football team kicking my ass before I can blink. Hell, things are already heading in that direction anyway—Biff’s slap was probably just the appetizer. What the fuck do I have to lose at this point? I’m about to bark at her to shut the hell up, to take control and bend her over the nearest car hood, when a better approach slams into me like a lightning bolt. It’s like my subconscious senses the imminent danger and whispers to play off her ego instead, to turn this around without throwing myself into the lion’s den.

Before I can fully form a clear game plan, the words tumble out of my mouth, raw and unfiltered. “You can’t handle me.” My voice is steadier than I expect, cutting through the tension like a knife.

That gets her attention. Regina’s head snaps back, her stunned expression almost comical if I wasn’t so fucking on edge. “Excuse me?” she sputters, her tone a mix of disbelief and outrage, like no one’s ever dared speak to her like this before. Her perfectly manicured hands plant on her hips, waiting for me to back down or grovel.

I double down, speaking in a voice way calmer than I feel, my heart pounding in my chest. “I need to have sex a minimum of ... six times a day.” It’s complete bullshit, obviously—who the fuck would believe something like that? But I’ve committed now, so I roll with it, keeping my face dead serious. “No one woman can keep up with me. So if you won’t share me, then this isn’t going to work out.” I cross my arms, mirroring her stance, and stare her down, hoping to hell this gambit pays off. I’m banking on her pride, on the idea that she won’t want to admit she can’t satisfy me, that she’ll see me as too much trouble and cut me loose.

Regina is so stunned she can’t even form words. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, her eyes wide with shock, no snappy comeback ready for once. It’s the first time I’ve seen her truly speechless, and I’d savor it if I wasn’t so fucking nervous about what comes next. In front of me, off in the distance, I can see a group of football jocks still hanging out in the student parking lot, leaning against their oversized trucks and sports cars, laughing and roughhousing. They’re far enough that they can’t hear us, but close enough to be a threat if Regina decides to sic them on me. Behind me, I hear the last of the buses pulling away, their engines growling as they lumber out of the lot, leaving me stranded here with no quick escape. Whatever comes next, I’m stuck in it—there’s no running from this shitshow.

“How dare you!” Regina finally snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, her shock morphing back into fury. She reaches into her purse with a jerky motion, pulling out her phone and starting to type away furiously, her nails clicking against the screen. My stomach drops like a fucking stone. Well, I’ve done it now—this is how my life ends. She’s probably texting those jocks, calling in the cavalry to beat my ass into next week for daring to challenge her. My mind races with worst-case scenarios, each one more brutal than the last. At least I won’t die a virgin, I think grimly, clinging to that one fucked-up silver lining. I’ve had more pussy in the last few days than most guys get in a lifetime, thanks to whatever the hell that wasp sting did to me. But as Regina glares daggers at me, her fingers flying over her phone, I brace myself for the fallout, knowing I might’ve just signed my own death warrant.

My heart’s pounding in my chest as Regina glares at me, her fingers poised over her phone, probably seconds away from texting those goons to come fuck me up. I’ve already dug myself into a hole with this crazy bitch, and it can’t get any worse at this point. Might as well go deeper—fuck it, I’m all in now.

“So you admit it,” I say, cutting in right before she hits the Send button on whatever message she’s typing. My voice is sharp, challenging, even though my nerves are screaming at me to shut the hell up. She pauses, her thumb hovering over the screen, and looks up at me with a raised eyebrow, her expression a mix of irritation and curiosity.

“You’re not even going to try to see if you can handle me ‘cause you know you can’t,” I press on, doubling down on the bullshit I started with. I keep my tone cocky, like I’ve got nothing to lose, even though my gut’s twisting with dread. “If we went to your place right now, before the night is over, you’ll be begging me to fuck your friends just to give yourself a break.” I’m laying it on thick, hoping to rile her up, to play her ego against her until she either backs off or snaps in a way I can use.

That gets a laugh out of her, at least—a sharp, mocking sound that cuts through the tension. She lowers her phone slightly, her eyes glinting with amusement, though there’s still an edge of anger there. “You have a nice cock, I will give you that,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension as she looks me up and down like I’m some toy she’s already bored with. “But I have been with guys who are more man than you will ever be. They could not satisfy me, so your poor, lazy ass certainly—”

I cut her off before she can finish, using my most authoritative voice, the one I’ve been honing with every fucked-up encounter since that wasp sting. “You wanna bet?” I say, stepping closer, my gaze locked on hers, daring her to back down. “You win, then I buy you anything and everything you want, do whatever you tell me. I win, you buy me clothes and share your friends with me.” I cross my arms, standing tall despite the fact that I’m bluffing out of my fucking mind. I’ve got no money, no way to back up half of this shit, but I’m banking on her competitive streak, on her need to prove she’s the best at everything.

That gets her thinking, at least. Regina tilts her head, her eyes drifting up and to the right, pursing her lips together in that way that makes her look like she’s either considering my offer or plotting a really clever way to fucking murder me. My pulse hammers in my ears as I wait, every second stretching into eternity. Then she speaks, her voice slow and deliberate, testing the waters. “Sooo, you will buy me a pair of Christian Louboutin red-soled pumps?”

I have no fucking clue what she’s talking about—some fancy-ass shoes, I’m guessing—but I nod like it’s nothing. “If I’m not man enough for you, then you got it,” I say, keeping my tone steady, like I’m not sweating bullets over here.

“What about a Rebecca Vallance evening gown at Neiman Marcus?” she presses, her eyes narrowing, testing how far I’ll go with this charade.

“You win, you got it,” I reply without missing a beat, even though I’m mentally tallying up a debt I’ll never be able to pay. I don’t even know what the fuck Neiman Marcus is, but I’m not backing down now.

A slow, predatory smile curls her lips, and she slips her phone back into her purse, the threat of texting those jocks seemingly forgotten—for now. “Hmm, it is going to be fun having you as my bitch-boy,” she purrs, her voice laced with triumph, like she’s already won. “Let’s do this.” She turns on her heel, gesturing for me to follow her toward her car, her hips swaying with every step like she owns the damn world.

I follow behind her, my mind racing as we weave through the student parking lot, passing by polished BMWs and tricked-out Jeeps. My stomach’s in knots, a mix of dread and a fucked-up kind of anticipation. I’ve just talked myself into some kind of sexual showdown with Regina Fucking George, a girl who’s clearly unhinged and holds more power in this school than I can wrap my head around. I don’t know if I’ve just dodged a bullet or signed up for something way worse, but as I trail her to whatever sleek ride she drives, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking straight into a lion’s den. Whatever happens next, I’m in deep—real fucking deep.

When we reach her car in the student parking lot, I’m greeted by the sight of a sporty little two-seater Mercedes, its sleek silver body gleaming under the late afternoon sun like it just rolled out of a showroom. With a click of her key fob, the hard-top convertible roof starts folding back with a smooth, mechanical whir, tucking itself away to reveal the plush leather interior. I’m floored for a second—she drives a fucking hard-top convertible Mercedes, probably worth more than my mom’s entire annual salary, and she’s been demanding I get a fancy car to drive her around? This chick makes no goddamn sense. The hypocrisy is staggering, but whatever, I’m in too deep to back out now. I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin despite the heat of the day, and the scent of expensive perfume and new car hits me as she hops into the driver’s side. With a turn of the key, the engine purrs to life, a low, powerful rumble, and she peels out of the lot, tires squealing just enough to draw a few stares from the lingering jocks nearby. The wind whips through the open top as we speed away from the school, the rows of parked cars and the chain-link fence blurring past us.

As we head toward her house, the suburban streets rolling by with their cookie-cutter houses and manicured lawns, Regina doesn’t shut up for a fucking second. She’s rattling off a laundry list of shit she can’t wait for me to buy her, her voice dripping with entitlement over the rush of wind. Designer handbags, shoes, blouses—names like Gucci, Prada, and some other fancy-ass brands I’ve never even heard of spill out of her mouth like she’s reading from a goddamn catalog. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t afford a single one of these things even if I sold a kidney, but she’s going on and on like she’s already won this fucked-up bet, like I’ve got a magic credit card with no limit stashed somewhere. “And I’ve had my eye on this limited-edition Louis Vuitton clutch for weeks,” she says, glancing at me with a smug smirk as she shifts gears, the car humming smoothly. “You’ll look so good carrying it for me at the next party.”

For the most part, I’m just ignoring her, nodding occasionally to keep her from flipping out while I stare out at the passing houses, the wind tousling my hair. My mind’s elsewhere, doubt starting to creep in like a fucking thief in the night. I’ve talked a big game, challenging her to this sexual showdown with my bullshit claim of needing to fuck six times a day, but do I even know what my limits are? Since that damn wasp sting, I’ve recovered almost instantly every time I’ve blown my load, my cock staying hard as a rock no matter how many times I cum. But all my encounters so far—whether it was Mandy across the street, Jess, Mom, or even that wild threesome with Emily and Lisa—have been pretty short, bursts of intense, desperate fucking that never lasted more than ten minutes or so before I was cumming buckets. I’ve never gone continuously for an extended period, never tested if I’ve got the endurance to last an hour, or more, against someone like Regina who’s clearly used to getting what she wants and pushing limits.