trashy.”
She glares, but stops and gives herself a glance. “Maybe a little.”
Don't even waste your breath trying to tell her she looks like Baywatch the porn edition.
“What'd you find?” Hayli turns around with an unimpressed look. “Not that.”
“What's wrong with this?”
“It's black.”
“Which is classic.”
“Which is boring,” Hayli sighs. “You do the boring black thing all the time. For someone who loves art as much as you do, your wardrobe lacks color. Wasn't that like an entire movement in the art world devoted to color? And popping?”
Sometimes she says things like this and it makes my head hurt.
“Pop Art?”
“That!” She points a finger to me. “Now pop!”
“I don't think-”
“Come on Jo',” she whines. “You're finally starting to have fun and live a little...let your wardrobe do the same! Be like Sammy Wandral.”
“Andy Warhol.”
“Whatever. How about a red one like this?” Hayli winks.
I sneer. “Pass.”
“What about a white one?” When I shake my head she suggests, “What about orange? You know how much Merrick loves you in orange...”
Grinning I bite my bottom lip.
Merrick loves me in anything, particularly naked. Especially naked. I love being naked around him. Is that wrong? I mean he looks at me like I belong in some exhibit on display. At least he does until his hands get involved. Oh, I love when his hands get involved.
“Do you have to make those faces?” Hayli complains. “It's soooo obvious what you're thinking about.”
“First you complained that I was a virgin now you're complaining that I think about sex. What gives?”
“I like to complain.” She shrugs. “Keeps things fresh. How about we go check out Beach World?”
“Is that because you wanna check out the cute pretzel dude or because you actually think we'll find something?”
“Multi-tasking,” Hayli says. “Change quick.”
Doing exactly what she demands, I change back into my jeans and t-shirt, meeting her right outside the dressing rooms. The two of us return the unwanted items and start towards the store. Hayli starts telling me about the date she had a couple days ago and I do my best to pay attention.
Problem is I've begun to realize all her date stories sound the same. Some hot guy is much duller than she thought he would be or some hot guy just wanted sex on the first date, which she isn't always opposed to. Sure they vary, but these are the two basic things they boil down too.
Abruptly I interrupt, “What happened to J Money? Didn't you two go home together?”
“Um...” she hums pulling her hair to the side of her face. “No. We're just kind of friends. Chill guy.” Quickly she diverts my attention. “Look there's the sexy pretzel dude.”
I have to give her that one. He looks like Channing Tatum stuck in a permanent blue and yellow striped shirt.
“Jovi Carter,” my name echoes in the air.
Baffled anyone could possibly be trying to talk to me, I look around until I spot the culprit immediately wishing I was deaf.
Tyler approaches with two clones of himself. One brunette. One redheaded.
It's like he has his own army, but not one of them would lift more than their cell phones to call their father's for help. Hey, I may not be a fighter, but I also don't call my father every time I get in a bind. Sh. I know I've never been in one before. Not the point.
“Tyler,” I sigh.
“It would sound better if you moaned my name,” his comment makes his two friends chuckle and elbow each other.
“Or gagged,” Hayli joins the conversation over my shoulder. With a bitchy smile she wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I'm Hayli, the best friend. And you're Tyler...but I'm not sure why that matters.”
Instantly I mumble, “It doesn't.”
“Of course it does. I'm the mayor's son.” He winks.
Why is
She glares, but stops and gives herself a glance. “Maybe a little.”
Don't even waste your breath trying to tell her she looks like Baywatch the porn edition.
“What'd you find?” Hayli turns around with an unimpressed look. “Not that.”
“What's wrong with this?”
“It's black.”
“Which is classic.”
“Which is boring,” Hayli sighs. “You do the boring black thing all the time. For someone who loves art as much as you do, your wardrobe lacks color. Wasn't that like an entire movement in the art world devoted to color? And popping?”
Sometimes she says things like this and it makes my head hurt.
“Pop Art?”
“That!” She points a finger to me. “Now pop!”
“I don't think-”
“Come on Jo',” she whines. “You're finally starting to have fun and live a little...let your wardrobe do the same! Be like Sammy Wandral.”
“Andy Warhol.”
“Whatever. How about a red one like this?” Hayli winks.
I sneer. “Pass.”
“What about a white one?” When I shake my head she suggests, “What about orange? You know how much Merrick loves you in orange...”
Grinning I bite my bottom lip.
Merrick loves me in anything, particularly naked. Especially naked. I love being naked around him. Is that wrong? I mean he looks at me like I belong in some exhibit on display. At least he does until his hands get involved. Oh, I love when his hands get involved.
“Do you have to make those faces?” Hayli complains. “It's soooo obvious what you're thinking about.”
“First you complained that I was a virgin now you're complaining that I think about sex. What gives?”
“I like to complain.” She shrugs. “Keeps things fresh. How about we go check out Beach World?”
“Is that because you wanna check out the cute pretzel dude or because you actually think we'll find something?”
“Multi-tasking,” Hayli says. “Change quick.”
Doing exactly what she demands, I change back into my jeans and t-shirt, meeting her right outside the dressing rooms. The two of us return the unwanted items and start towards the store. Hayli starts telling me about the date she had a couple days ago and I do my best to pay attention.
Problem is I've begun to realize all her date stories sound the same. Some hot guy is much duller than she thought he would be or some hot guy just wanted sex on the first date, which she isn't always opposed to. Sure they vary, but these are the two basic things they boil down too.
Abruptly I interrupt, “What happened to J Money? Didn't you two go home together?”
“Um...” she hums pulling her hair to the side of her face. “No. We're just kind of friends. Chill guy.” Quickly she diverts my attention. “Look there's the sexy pretzel dude.”
I have to give her that one. He looks like Channing Tatum stuck in a permanent blue and yellow striped shirt.
“Jovi Carter,” my name echoes in the air.
Baffled anyone could possibly be trying to talk to me, I look around until I spot the culprit immediately wishing I was deaf.
Tyler approaches with two clones of himself. One brunette. One redheaded.
It's like he has his own army, but not one of them would lift more than their cell phones to call their father's for help. Hey, I may not be a fighter, but I also don't call my father every time I get in a bind. Sh. I know I've never been in one before. Not the point.
“Tyler,” I sigh.
“It would sound better if you moaned my name,” his comment makes his two friends chuckle and elbow each other.
“Or gagged,” Hayli joins the conversation over my shoulder. With a bitchy smile she wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I'm Hayli, the best friend. And you're Tyler...but I'm not sure why that matters.”
Instantly I mumble, “It doesn't.”
“Of course it does. I'm the mayor's son.” He winks.
Why is
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