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“Ugh,” I groaned. “You act like a horny teenage boy.”
“And someone sounds jealous,” Avery twirled
around in her pink swivel chair.
“Of the fact that you’re practically a horny teenage boy? Hardly,” I snorted.
“But seriously,” she whined, still twirling, “what are you going to wear?”
She finally came to a stop and swayed dizzily.
“Probably jeans and a sweatshirt,” I shrugged.
Avery made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “No! You can’t wear that!”
“We’ll be in the park and it’s cold out,” I shrugged.
“You still can’t wear that! A sweatshirt is completely unsuitable!” She gawked at me like I had grown three heads.
“I want to be comfortable,” I reasoned.
“You can be comfortable when you’re dead!” She squawked.
“Avery,” I rolled my eyes, “don’t be dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic,” she spun in her chair again. “I’m just telling you what everyone with a vagina knows about the rules of dating,” she scoffed. “Everyone, except you, that is,” she added.
“Why does there have to be rules?” I groaned. “It’s stupid,” I complained, falling back on my bed, the textbook on my lap falling to the side.
“There are rules for the sake of our sanity,” Avery answered, striding across the room, and sitting on the end of my bed. I kicked at her with my feet, trying to dislodge her.
“I’m wearing a sweatshirt,” I mumbled, “whether you like it or not. I don’t want to be cold.”
“Olivia,” she whined, “that’s the point, you’re supposed to get cold, so he can offer you his coat.”
I sat up, staring her down. “What is this? The colonial age? I swear, what handbook are you reading this from?” I grumbled.
“The one that’s been around since the dawn of time,” she reasoned with a wave of her manicured hands.
“And that’s exactly why it needs to be thrown away,” I pointed out. “Women should be able to stand on their own and not depend on a guy. Let alone these stupid rules that are the so-called guide to dating. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Avery grinned. “I don’t need to depend on a guy. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just like to take a ride on their fun stick every now and then.”
“Avery!” I blushed. “You did not just say that!”
“I did,” she smirked, smoothing a finger over her red lips. “I love how when I say dirty things your little virgin ears turn red.”
I reached up, grabbing my ears. “They do not!”
“Oh, they do,” she nodded, grinning. “Back to the important matter at hand, these rules are a means to getting laid. To a guy, a sweatshirt is like practically wearing a chastity belt, telling him that these goods are not for sale.”
“Oh my God,” I buried my face in my hands, my hair falling around me. “When did this turn into a mission for me to get laid? Besides, my goods are definitely not for sale.”
“Girl, you’re a sophomore in college, who’s still a virgin. This has always been a mission to get you some sex, some great sex, and Trace is just the guy to do it. I can tell. It’s in the way he walks.”
I let my hands drop. “I’m not a virgin.”
“What? I thought you-”
