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“Speaking of us talking about my vampire boyfriend and your dad’s penis, do you think Edward’s penis sparkles in the sunlight too? I mean, his skin sparkles, but does his—”
“I don’t care about Edward’s sparkly penis, Hail!” I cut her off on a whisper-yell. “And we are not talking about my dad’s penis. You keep trying to. But I am not.” Ew. Just saying those words threatens my gag reflex. No teenage daughter should be forced to think about her father’s…you know what.
“Okay, fine. I’m the one talking about your dad’s penis,” she corrects. “And you’re the one who never answered my question.”
“Because your werewolf analogy was horrible, and the question was so ridiculous. it didn’t deserve a response. Saying illicit things about my father’s penis-power, as you so eloquently put it, would do absolutely nothing for me in a chase with a werewolf.”
“Oh geez. What is that? What are you doing there? Are you trying to be rational?”
I skewer her with a glare, but my best friend is undeterred. She swings her long dark locks over her shoulder and scoffs.
“That’s so boring, Chloe. You need to live a little.”
“Excuse me? What exactly do you think I’m doing here?” I question and scrunch up my nose. “I’d say typing up a personal ad for my dad for the Bachelor Anonymous contest—that he has no freaking clue about and will most likely kill me for—is living a lot.” My laugh is equal parts amused and terrified. “Heck, I should get it all in now. Just live. It. Up. Because when Jake Brent finds out I entered him into a dating contest, I’m going to be D-E-A-D, dead.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart! Chances are, he’s never even going to know you did it. They only notify the winner, right? Out of, like, hundreds of entries, he’ll probably never win. Especially since you’re too much of a prude to tell everyone about his big dick energy.”
“Oh my God. Shut up,” I whisper.
“What?” Hailie questions like it’s no big deal that she’s still talking about my dad’s… Good God, don’t you dare even think it! “You know your dad is hot, right? I mean, back in the day, he was a big bad military god and still has the body to prove it. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that man is packing some serious heat in his pants.” She laughs, waggles her brows, and then adds, “Just deal with it, Chlo. Your dad is a total babe!”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “He is right outside in the family room.”
“That’s the only thing that’s lame about him,” she whispers and rolls her grayish-blue eyes toward the ceiling. “What kind of parent doesn’t let their almost eighteen-year-old daughter keep their computer in their bedroom?”
“A dad who was a Navy SEAL,” I say matter-of-factly. “Plus, we share this computer. It’s just easier to keep it in the den.”
“Sure, Chlo-Chlo.” She snorts. “You live in the bougie part of San Diego. You have a formal living room, a family room, and a den. Not to mention, you have to go through a gated, Fort Knox-esque entrance to even get to your house. Pretty sure your dad can afford to buy you guys separate computers. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. He refused to let you have a phone or the Gram until you were fifteen.”
The Gram—aka Instagram. Hailie’s favorite social media app on the planet. If I had a dollar for every selfie she’s involved me in, I’d probably be able to afford my own college tuition.
Not even kidding. “Do it for the Gram!” should be written on her freaking tombstone.
“Hailie, shall I remind you that you live in the same bougie neighborhood as me? Your house is literally right across the street from mine,” I retort, but she ignores me completely and rambles on about anything but the darn personal ad I’m trying to write.
“Although, I guess I sort of get it,” she continues. “If I had a daughter who looked like you, all long legs, gorgeous blond hair, and big, pretty eyes, I’d probably lock you in a closet until you turned thirty-five.”
We are polar opposites when it comes to looks. Where I’m tall with blond hair, Hailie is short with dark hair. I look like I was born and raised in our home state of California, and she looks like she came from some exotic Mediterranean country.
“The same can be said for you,” I counter. “You’re like a teenage version of Megan Fox and have had boobs since we were in sixth grade.”
Hailie shimmies her chest, and I let out a deep sigh when I realize just how off track she’s managed to get us.
“Do I need to remind you that today is the last day to enter this contest?” I glance over my shoulder and glower at her with a stare. “I need you to stop shaking your ta-tas around and help me write this thing.”
