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“Ouch.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t happy.”
I give her a chin lift. “What’s your type?”
She gives me a sarcastic smile. “So, you’re allowed to ask, but I’m not?”
“I am kinda in charge here.”
She sputters a laugh. “Oh my god. You actually looked serious when you said that.”
I can’t say I have too many chicks laughing at me like that. Most are just trying to get my pants off in the first five minutes of me meeting them. Not that I mind that so much.
“I don’t see anyone else around here securin’ the premises.”
“He’d have to be Spider-Man to get up here,” she throws back, and I admit, she has a point.
“Don’t change the subject.” I throw her words back at her. “Your ex looks like a regular do-gooder type. Does he go to church?”
He looks like a little bitch. Another typical little rich kid who can’t fight his way out of a paper bag, much less find somethin’ like her clit. I’ll bet he’s the type to completely miss it, and in the end, she just ends up pleasing herself.
I don’t like him, and not just because he’s been inside my mystery girl.
“He pretends to be. Not now, though. His reputation is shot.”
“So, you didn’t know he was a player before you went into the house?”
She shrugs. “Maybe I didn’t want to believe it.”
“He’s too squeaky.”
She rolls her lips. “Squeaky?”
“Yeah. Too fuckin’ perfect. Those are the ones you gotta watch out for.”
“So, you’re an expert on relationships now?”
“Nope, but I know an asshole when I see one.”
“Then you’ll know how embarrassing all of this is for me, not that I want a pity party or anything.”
“He hurt you. It’s okay to be mad about it.”
She sighs. “The thing is, as mad as I am, I’m glad that I didn’t find out before I wasted too much time on him, ya know?”
I watch her carefully. She’s opening herself up to me, and I understand now that she trusts far too easily. She doesn’t know me, and she has no reason to trust me or tell me anything, but yet here she is, sharing intimate details with a man she just met.
“So, what did you tell him? When you confronted him?”
She smiles wickedly. “I threw a vase at his head. It was the closest thing I had within my grasp.”
“I hope it made contact.”
“Sadly, he ducked and it smashed against the wall. He tried to make out he was sorry. Stress and all of that. Basically, I wasn’t giving him enough attention. So it was my fault.”
I laugh. Some of these kids have no fuckin’ clue what being stressed even is.
Try hunting through a dumpster in order to feed yourself.
