Manipulating Toby

"Invite me out to dinner?"
"No! I am so not falling into that trap again, wench."
"If you do," I said, twiddling with a curl of hair and watching his face, "I’ll tell you who started that oddly persistent rumour about you and that bloke from the campus coffee bar."
"Which one?" he asked. Hedging his bets.
"The one with the tongue piercing and terminal acne."
He was horrified. "There’s no such rumour!"
"Ah, but there will be."

I flicked a Skittle at him, sort of by accident. I'd meant to wait until his next refusal.

He threw up his hands in mock defeat. "OK, fine. How does eight sound?"

Childish. I win.