Текст книги "Stalk Me"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Friday, August 19th

Calm, easy, chillness.

11:20am

I’m sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal even though it’s almost noon. I’m alternately thinking about Brooklyn and my upcoming parties.

Mom and Tommy walk in talking. “I didn’t think we’d ever get them all down for their nap.”

Mom sits down at the bar next to me and Tommy spreads a script out across the kitchen table.

Mom interrupts my thoughts—or reads my mind; I’m not sure which. “So, are you excited for your dinner tonight and for your party tomorrow?”

“I’m totally excited for the party.”

Then she gets to what she’s really dying to know.

“So . . . how was your night with Brook last night? James told me you didn’t come in until eight this morning.”

“It was good,” I say dreamily. “And yeah, we watched the sunrise.”

“So what else happened? I thought he had some special birthday night planned.”

“We just hung out, you know. Brooklyn isn’t into big productions.”

“I thought maybe he was going to ask you out or give you a ring or something.”

“A ring? Mom, I’m seventeen! I’m not really ready to be engaged.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just wondered where your relationship stands. Kym’s been watching your Facebook status like a hawk.”

I frown and wonder how she always knows what’s on my mind. “Everyone keeps asking me that, and I don’t have an answer.” I run my hand across my eyebrow. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? It’s obvious you love him.”

“I am in love with him, Mom. And he’s told me a million times this summer that he loves me. That I appreciate his love of waves, weed, and Indie rock bands. But we’re not in a relationship. He could be seeing other girls right now! And this summer was amazing when we were on the beach. We got along great, but when we were with the band, it’s like every little thing I did bothered him. I mean, can I really expect to have a long-term relationship with a guy who doesn’t understand why when you’re in Italy, you have to buy leather?”

Mom reaches out and puts her hand on top of mine. “I love the handbag you brought me back. It’s gorgeous. So classic.”

“See! You understand.” I turn and look at Tommy. “Tommy, what did you think of the shoes I brought you? Like, really?”

“They’re awesome. I love how soft the leather is, and they’ll never go out of style.”

I slide off the barstool and give Tommy a hug.

“I need a man like you, Tommy. A man who appreciates fine leather.”

Tommy pats my arm. “What does Brook have against shoes?”

“It’s not just shoes. You know how when you look nice when you travel and carry nice luggage people treat you differently than when you’re schlepping around in sweats?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says.

“Brooklyn thinks it’s stupid.”

“Well, everyone has their own opinions, baby. You’re not always going to agree on everything.”

“Do you and Mom ever fight? Does she do stuff that bothers you?”

“She drives me nuts,” he says with a grin towards Mom. “I’m teasing. We really don’t fight. We don’t always agree, but we respect one another’s opinion.”

“We fought a lot at the end of the trip.”

“Well, traveling can be stressful.”

“I know, he was stressed. But if he loved me, wouldn’t he want me to be his girlfriend? Especially since he’s leaving me.”

“Leaving you?” Mom says.

“Yeah, he loved surfing all over so much that he’s going on the pro tour. He’s going to leave me. For like a year! Wouldn’t you think he’d want me to be his girlfriend so I wouldn’t be able to date other guys while he’s gone?”

“Have you talked to him about it?” Mom asks.

“No. And I don’t know why I haven’t.”

“You don’t want to talk to him because you’re afraid that if you do then he will ask you out, and then you’ll think he only did it because you made him.”

“Yes! That’s exactly right. And I don’t think he’s coming to my party, Mom.”

“Not coming to your party? Why not?”

“When we were in London, we went to this amazing discotheque, but he wouldn’t dance with me. He left early. Said it was too loud, too crowded. He got really mad at me because some guy’s hands were all over me when we were dancing. We were just dancing. I told him if it bothered him, he should dance with me. But he wouldn’t. And now he doesn’t want to come to my party for the same reasons. And he has no idea how crucial it is for him to be there. All my friends will be there, and this is that pivotal moment—the climax of the script! Where my worlds are supposed to come together.”

“Your worlds?”

“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I live separate lives. I have my school friends, and then I have my surfing buddies. I invited them both to the after-party, so they could get to know each other. So we could all hang out and be friends. But Brooklyn says he doesn’t like my friends. I think it’s funny that he can criticize them when he doesn’t really know them. And if I’m going to introduce him to all my friends, what am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to call him?”

“It doesn’t matter what you call him, honey. What matters is how you feel about him.”

I look at Tommy, then at Mom. “Isn’t that hard on you? You have four kids with Tommy. He’s way more than your boyfriend, but yet he’s not your husband. Heck, I don’t even know what to call him.”

“Keatyn, I hope I’ve raised you better than that. You don’t have to label a relationship to have one.”

“No, but if you agree on a label at least you both know where you stand. I’m about to make a stand with my friends. And it doesn’t help that Vanessa says being with him will be social suicide.”

“Vanessa said that?”

“Yeah. She also thinks it was just a summer fling to him. That I’m thinking with my heart and not my head. Do I want to commit social suicide for someone who doesn’t like me enough to ask me out? Someone who is leaving me for a year? Someone who says he’s not coming to my birthday party?”

“You have to be with whoever makes you happy. They don’t have to be famous or popular. Does Brooklyn make you happy?”

 I sigh. “Most of the time he makes me crazy happy.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“He’s too chill about everything. He says I like the spotlight too much. He doesn’t like Italian leather, for God’s sake. I get pressure from him to be a certain way. He likes when I’m his little laid-back surfer girl. But, then, Vanessa expects me to be the popular bitch. And sometimes I just wish I could go to a school where no one knew you were my mom. I never know who my real friends are.”

Mom hugs me. “It’s hard to know who your true friends are even when you aren’t a celebrity. I had two best friends in high school. One of them went out with my boyfriend behind my back.”

“All I wanted to do was go to high school and be popular. Last year, it was exhausting. Always worrying about what people are going to think of what you’re wearing. Who has the biggest house, the coolest car, or the hottest boyfriend. That’s probably one of the reasons I love chilling with Brooklyn. He really doesn’t care if I’m in last season’s bikini or not.”

“Honey, if you really love Brook, don’t let your friends get in your way. Don’t worry about what anyone will think. And if you want to do something, you shouldn’t listen to your friends or your boyfriend. I raised you to be a strong, independent woman. Be one.”

Tommy agrees. “You have to be your own person. Your true friends will be there for you no matter who you love or what you wear.”

“That’s the big question then, isn’t it? Who are my true friends?”

Mom nods and changes the subject. “So what did Brook do last night that was special?”

“He ordered in all my favorite foods. There was whole wheat veggie and ricotta cheese pizza, sweet and spicy chicken from Wong’s, corn dogs from the Venice beach vendor, and he even got me a seven layer chocolate birthday cake.”

I don’t tell her the rest. That we decided to start with the cake. He lit seventeen candles and told me to make a wish. I wished that someday soon I would know who my real friends were.

Then he fed me cake. In bed. Meaning we finally had sex again.

“Well that was sweet of him. Was the food your present?”

“I guess.”

A troubled look passes over Mom’s face, but she hides it quickly with a smile. “It was sweet,” she says again, but she doesn’t look that convinced.

This is chilling?

1:45pm

“Doesn’t look like you’re gonna make soccer practice.” Brooklyn grins as he runs his hand down my naked back.

All of a sudden, he’s all into me again. But now that he’s into it, I’m not sure if I am. I feel . . . um, I sorta feel like I shouldn’t be doing it with him. I never wanted it to be just a summer fling.

“It’s my birthday week. I shouldn’t have to go get all sweaty,” I say flatly.

“No, you can stay here and get all sweaty.” He laughs goofily, like he just made up a great joke. Plus, he’s high, so he thinks everything is funny.

“Do you still love me?”

“Sure I do. I’m lucky to have found a girl as cool as you to chill with.”

“This is chilling?”

“You know what I mean—we’re chill, right? We have a good time together. We’re friends.”

All of a sudden, his chillness really pisses me off. “I’d say we’re a little more than friends, B.”

He kisses me. “Calm down. I know we’re more than friends. I just think it’s really cool that we can be both. You know I love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d come to my party.”

“I don’t want to go to a club. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”

“So if I had my party at some dusty dive bar, where someone’s always puking up beer in the bathroom, you’d come?”

“You always have fun when we go to dive bars and you know it.”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s my birthday. Is it so bad to want to get dressed up and maybe feel like the star of the family for just one night?”

“Is that really what you want? The spotlight? The paparazzi? I thought you hated that.”

“I don’t know what I want. I grew up on movie sets, and I’m pretty sure I want to start acting. I think it’d be cool to act. To play a role. I sometimes dream that I’m someone else. That I go to a school where no one knows me, and no one knows who my parents are. I used to dream of going to high school, of becoming popular, and it all happened, but, like I told you last spring, it kinda felt empty. Like I’ll never know if they like me for me. Do you think I’m a good person?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“You called me a bitch when we were in London.”

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “You’ve lived a different life than most girls, Keats. You’ve been so many places, but yet you’ve been pretty sheltered. You seem to see your life like a movie: which part should I play today? Should I be the sweet girl? The butt-kicking soccer player? The polished, mature, well-traveled girl? The chill surfer girl? We all play different roles. It’s part of figuring out who we really are.”

I think back to what Grandpa told me. How I need to figure out who I want to be.

 “So which one is really me?”

“Where do you feel most comfortable?”

“With you,” I say, but that’s not really true. When I’m with him, I miss dressing up. I miss wearing heels. I miss getting all dolled up.

I kiss his neck. It tastes salty. Brooklyn smells like a combination of an ocean breeze, Calvin Klein Eternity, and weed. It might be my favorite smell ever.

He rolls over to face me and looks at me very seriously. “You’re one of the sweetest girls I know. And I think you feel most comfortable playing the surfer girl because that’s who you really are. You’re cool, chill, breezy, happy, and you like being nice to people. That’s why I hate your friends. When you’re with them, you’re different. But regardless, I’ve always maybe had a little crush on you.”

“You had a crush on me? You mean I had a crush on you?”

“No. That first day we met, you weren’t what I expected. I knew who your mom was, figured you’d be a spoiled little brat, but you were cool. And those legs. Damn.”

“You never noticed my legs!”

“Yeah, I did. How could I not? They’re like a mile long. But what I really noticed was your drive. How determined you were to learn how to surf. You crashed so many times, but you kept paddling back out there and trying it again. There’s a lot of toughness in you. I watched you for two hours until I finally decided to go out in the water and teach you.”

I run my hand down the side of his cheek. “I surfed for the first time that day. My fifteenth birthday.”

“You were so excited that you hugged me. I’ve been in love with you ever since.”

“Bullshit. That was two years ago, and you didn’t kiss me until this summer.”

“You’re younger than me. I had to wait for you to grow up a little. For both of us to grow up a little.”

I snuggle back up into his arms. My heart feels a little better. “I hope you change your mind about coming to my party.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Hey, I just realized something. With everything that went on last night, I forgot to give you your present.”

I can’t help it. I love presents. My eyes get big and I let out a shrill, girly giggle. “Really? Can I open it now?”

“Hmmm, maybe.” He kisses me, then leans across me and grabs something out of the drawer in his nightstand. I’m assuming it’s another condom.

“Here.” He holds a simply wrapped present in front of my face. “But you’ll have to wait to open it, because I have another surprise for you.”

“You do? Really?” I didn’t think he bought me anything other than the food last night.

The doorbell rings through the intercom system and I hear someone being buzzed in through the gate.

“He’s here! Hurry, get dressed!”

His excitement is contagious and I can’t help but feel like Santa Claus himself is coming over.

I throw my shorts and tank top back on.

He grabs my hand, leads me down the stairs, and says, “Open the door.”

I open the front door and see a huge, burly man, who looks a bit like Santa. Like if Santa was dark haired, covered with tattoos, and carrying a medical bag.

“OH MY GOSH! Are we getting tattoos? Like we always talked about?”

Brooklyn grins big and nods his head. “Happy Birthday, Keats! So, you wanna go first?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid if I watch you, and you even flinch that I won’t go through with it. So yes, we better do mine first.”

The huge tattoo artist’s name is Tiny. Tiny sets his stuff up on the kitchen table. Brooklyn hands him a sheet of paper with the Chinese symbol for chaos that we both want tattooed on our bodies. Brooklyn wants his tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

When we were surfing in the Canary Islands, Brooklyn crashed and cut the inside of his wrist on a rock. It didn’t really bleed, so I just did what my mom always used to do to me. I looked at his wrist and then kissed it. Ever since, he’s told me that’s where he’s getting the tattoo. That exact spot. It’s so romantic.

“Where do you think I should get mine?”

“Somewhere only I can see it.”

Tiny says very professionally, “I think a single symbol like this would look best either on the inside of your wrist or on your hip, right above your bikini line.”

“That’s where I want it. On my hip. Um, I know this is gonna hurt; should we, I don’t know, do a couple shots or something first?”

Tiny puts a clean sheet across the table and says, “I’d recommend a little medicinal weed, if you’ve got it. And, if you don’t, I can help with that for an additional fee.”

Brooklyn says, “I’ve got it covered.”

He runs up to his room and comes back down with a freshly rolled joint. He lights it and hands it to me.

“We’re not supposed to smoke in the house, but what the hell; it’s a special occasion, right?”

I take one hit, then another. I look at the equipment Tiny has spread out and decide it might be best to take a third.

I lie back on the table and squeeze Brooklyn’s hand tightly. “Right.”

It still hurt like hell.

But it’s so cool!

I mean, seriously, matching tattoos? This is almost as good as him asking me to go out.

We’re tied together forever now.

It’s totally doable.

5:15pm

“I really need to get home and get ready. Kym and I picked out the cutest dress for me to wear tonight.” I look at the clock, wondering where the day went. But after smoking and getting tattoos, we fell asleep.

“Gotta open your present first,” Brooklyn says lazily.

My eyes get big. “I almost forgot!” I grab the present off the nightstand.

But first, I stop and kiss him.

“Come on, open it. I’ve been dying for you to see this.”

I rip off the gift wrap. Underneath is a book—an old book, the cover faded and the words Poetical Works by John Keats embossed on the spine.

I smile at him.

He says, “Keats for my Keats. Look inside.”

I gently open the cover. Inside, written in pencil, is an old inscription.

1903, To my love. 

— S

Underneath is more pencil, written in Brooklyn’s neat print.

Even Keats speaks of chaos.

There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.

All my love,

B

I get little tears in my eyes. One falls off my face and onto the book. Brooklyn wipes it off and then wipes the tear from my cheek.

“Thank you.”

He grins. “So which is better, the tattoo or the book?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. The book didn’t hurt.”

“But it still made you cry.”

I laugh. “Good point. I kinda wish we didn’t have to go to dinner tonight. I don’t ever want to leave your room again.”

“Oh, come on. I know you secretly love the spotlight.”

“Well, maybe sometimes. I mean everyone wants to feel special sometimes, don’t they?”

“A bunch of adoring fans who don’t really know the real you?”

I smack him playfully. “No, silly, dinner tonight is all about people who do know the real me. Tomorrow night is for the fans. What’s wrong with wanting a little of both? If you’re gonna be a pro surfer then you’ll have fans, too.”

“So you’re okay with it now? With me going?”

“Yeah. Now I can say I’m in love with a professional surfer. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Maybe girls will worship me like they do Damian. I’ll be surfing, signing fake boobs, living the dream,” he says with a grin.

And I really don’t like the look of his grin.

At all.

His face turns serious. “So you’re not going to be mad at me when I leave?”

“No, we’ll come up with a plan. Maybe I could take some online classes and go with you. It sorta depends on this movie thing. I didn’t mention it to you, because I didn’t know if anything would come of it, but if it does, we’d have to work around it. But we’ll figure it out. It’s totally doable.”

“Uh,” he starts to say, but my phone buzzes.

I answer it. “Hey, James. What’s up?”

“Where are you right now?” he asks in a snippy voice.

“I told you I was going to Brooklyn’s. I’m still here.”

“I thought you had soccer practice.”

“Oh, yeah, um, I kinda skipped. We took a nap instead. I think I’m still jet lagged or something.”

“You know this whole stalker thing has us all on edge. You can’t just disappear like that.”

“I didn’t disappear. I was sleeping—whatever. I’m on my way back home now.”

I end the call.

“You in trouble? You never get in trouble.”

“That stalker guy sent Mom a letter the other day. Remember, before, I told you how he was pissed at her, told her she was going to pay?”

“Yeah, that’s why they added all the security for the girls.”

“Right. So, the other day she got a note in her purse. He said he was done with her. That he’d moved on and found someone new to love. Probably some hot new actress.”

“Sweet. That’s good, right?”

“James doesn’t seem to think so. He thinks it’s some kind of trick, so she’ll let her guard down.”

“James is pretty intense.”

“Grab your clothes and come home with me. No one will yell at me if you’re there.”

“Pick me something out.”

I run to his closet, grab a pair of faded Diesel jeans and a caramel James Perse T-shirt. “This work?”

“Yep. Don’t forget the Vans.”

“How about these instead?” I point to a pair of gorgeous Rag & Bone suede sneakers. “Have you even worn these yet? Did you buy them just because I liked them?”

He laughs. “Kinda. Bring ‘em. I suppose I shouldn’t go to dinner barefoot.”

I laugh too. “You can wear whatever you want, B. You can go in your board shorts. I wouldn’t care.”

“See I told you. You’re chill. I love that. But, nah. What are you wearing?”

We walk out of his house and down the beach.

“I have this adorable dress for tonight. It’s just summery, casual. But my dress for tomorrow night is downright sexy. And the shoes—oh, B, wait until you see the shoes. They have jewels on them and they’re to die for.”

“Sexy, huh? All your high school boys gonna be drooling?”

“I was kinda hoping it’d have you drooling.”

“I can always see it before you leave.”

My heart drops a little.

No.

It drops a lot.

He’s decided for sure that he’s not to coming to my party. Which makes me feel like he just pulled my heart out of my chest and stomped on it.

“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter. I don’t know what else to say.

Fake feelings.

8:30pm

Dinner is awesome. My favorite food and my favorite people.

Everyone talks about the stalker situation, my party, Millie’s latest contract negotiations, the Lakers, the Morans’ baby girl, Damian’s tour, our summer in Europe, and Mom and Tommy’s new movie.

I get some great presents. A beautiful Louis Vuitton tote from the Morans: a gorgeous necklace from an up-and-coming designer friend of Kym’s, an entire box suite for a Lakers game from Millie and Deron, and a beautiful locket from James with my dad’s photo in it, which I immediately put on as I try not to cry.

My dad’s plane crash happened on August the twelfth, just before my ninth birthday. When I was blowing out the candles on my birthday cake a few days later, Mom told me the smoke trail you see after you blow out your candles is your guardian angel’s way of wishing you happy birthday and that Daddy was in heaven watching over me.

My phone buzzes with a text.

I’ve been bad about replying to texts lately. I didn’t really reply to anyone much this summer. After everything that happened, I just didn’t know what to say. I figured if someone had something that important to tell me then they could call me.

I did reply to the Happy Birthday texts and liked all the well wishes on Facebook, but I haven’t been chatting with anyone much since I’ve been home.

 But when I was getting ready for dinner, Cush texted me. He said he was excited to see me and excited for the party. I’m starting to get a bit nervous about seeing him.

Things with Brooklyn have seemed sort of weird lately. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like I’m losing him. I don’t know if it’s because I’m hurt he’s not coming to my party, or if he’s actually been a little distant. Even when I was with him earlier today, it was like he said the right things but it sorta felt like he didn’t mean them.

I decide to reply to Vanessa’s last text with a lie.

Me:  Hey, sorry. I lost my phone.

 

Vanessa:  I thought you were ignoring me. I was thinking about not coming to your party.

Brooklyn grabs my phone. “No texting at dinner.”

“It’s after dinner, and she’s pissed at me because I’ve totally been ignoring everyone these last couple of days.”

“You haven’t been ignoring me.”

“That’s true, but I have ignored her and RiAnne’s texts, and she’s giving me shit about it.”

“They’re just jealous, you know.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Of us. What we have is real. Everything those girls cherish is fake. They only care about appearances, not what’s real. Fake relationships. Fake feelings. They fake their way through life. If it weren’t for me, you might have become one of them.”

“I am one of them, whether I want to be or not. At least until I get out of school. And Vanessa’s been surprisingly nice recently.”

He looks at my phone. “She wasn’t going to come to your party because you haven’t texted her in two days. How is that a good friend?”

“I’ve had sex with you all summer, and you’re not coming to my party. What does that make you?” I snap back.

“Don’t turn this on me.”

“I just don’t think it’s fair of you to slam her for something she has no intention of doing. She’s threatening to not come because she’s mad that I’ve been ignoring her. She’ll be there. She flew to New York to buy a dress, and she has a hot date that she’s dying to show off. I’m going to my own party dateless.”

“So take a date. Ask one of your boy toys.”

I stare at him for a few beats. He doesn’t back down.

“Fine. I will.” I grab my phone out of his hand, scroll past Cush and straight to Sander. Brooklyn hates him. “You sure you don’t want to be my date?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.” I hit Sander’s name, and my phone sends out the call.

Brooklyn says, “He’s an asshole.”

“Well, I thought about asking Cush, but since I slept with him, I thought that might be awkward.”

I know I’m being mean, but I’m hurt. I’m lashing out a little.

Brooklyn’s face turns to pissed just as Sander answers.

“How’s my favorite T-Bird?” I flirt.

Brooklyn wants to see the fake me, so be it.

“Great. Heard you’re having a big birthday bash tomorrow night,” Sander says. “Where’s my invite?”

“I figured you were busy filming. Any chance you could come, maybe be my date?”

“Thought you were into the surfer dude?”

I catch the surfer dude’s eye. “Yeah, I thought the surfer dude was into me too, but I was wrong.”

Brooklyn gets up and walks out the door. I swallow hard and try not to cry.

“Sweet. You gonna do a big entrance? Walk the red carpet or some shit?”

“Hell yeah, I plan on making an entrance. It is my birthday. What do you say? Wanna come on the party bus with us?”

“I say you’re fucking awesome.”

“Good. My house. 8:30.”

I text RiAnne. I really don’t want to go with Sander. Regardless of what Vanessa says, I’d rather go dateless. I don’t know how Brooklyn pushed me into that. I guess I wanted to prove something. I just don’t know what I was trying to prove. Sander won’t care who his date is.

Me:  Did you find a date for the party?

Ri:  No :( 

Me:  I have a date for you. 

Ri:  Who??!!!

Me:  Sander. I’d say he trumps a no-name lacrosse player. Even one that got buff over the summer. But don’t tell. Make it a surprise.

Ri:  I thought we weren’t allowed to date each other’s exes?

Me:  I’m okay with it. Really.

Ri:  Vanessa will be pissed, but OMFG!! I LOVE YOU!! He’s so hot. I’ll be at your house at 8:30, looking AH-MAZZZING!! You liked my dress, right? 

Me:  Your dress is more than ah-mazing.

 

Ri:  Sander will totally be my love slave by the end of the night. I’m sure of it.

How to play the game.

11:45pm

After dinner, I decide to walk the beach. I think I jinxed myself when I said that my life was perfect.

I don’t understand Brooklyn. Why can’t he go just because he loves me? If he really loved me, wouldn’t he go?

Were Vanessa and RiAnne right? Was it just a fling? Is he really not that into me?

I sit down and stare at the moonlight glistening on the water. I love the beach. It totally relaxes me. The sound of the ocean rushing and retreating is incredibly soothing.

I close my eyes and just breathe.

I think about how I sat here on prom night. How I wondered about my true love. How I wondered if he was looking at the moon too.

At the time, I thought Brooklyn was my true love.

But I’m starting to think I was wrong.

Brooklyn startles me when he sits down next to me.

He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t grow up with all this. I don’t know how to play the game.” Brooklyn’s dad sold his internet company just four years ago. Before that, he lived a very middle class lifestyle. “I’ll go to the party, okay?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Just don’t make me walk down the red carpet. Can I sneak in the back?”

“I don’t care how you get in, just come dance with me. Make my birthday feel like a fairytale.”

“I was hoping I already did that.”

“Prince Charming always goes to the ball; you know that.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Are we cool? You’re my best friend. I don’t wanna lose that.”

I kiss him. “What the hell am I supposed to do about the asshole?”

He laughs, but says seriously, “You were playing games with me; serves you right.”