Page 47 of Filthy Truth


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Katina: Whaa. Kids like me? What did I do?

Me: Kids that go behind their mom’s backs to get what they want.

Me: ^^ I did that too! Welcome to the club.

Katina: Eeeeeeeeeeeep. I’m so happy to join!

Me: Thought you might BUT I’m not an idiot, Kat. You think I’m going to say yes to you getting a cat when Star would literally take my computers away from me if we didn’t consult her first?

Me: Sorry, little dudette, you’re on your own in that fight.

Katina: No fair! But you like cats.

Me: How do you know that?

Katina: I’ve seen your sparkly one.

Me: Yeah, sparkly one, Kat. It isn’t alive. I can’t keep things alive.

Katina: Luckily for you, Star can! Me too. I’d be soooooo careful with them.

Me: Wait, THEM? You said one.

Katina: See, it’s Amara’s fault. You know her, right? She’s kinda nuts but her Old Man (he isn’t old, but the Sinners call themselves ‘old’ everything. I’ve learned just not to ask. They get offended when I ask how old they

I snickered out loud at that.

Me: They, what?

Katina: Sorry, hit send before I finished.

Katina: Anyways, Quin, Amara’s Old Man (who is totally younger than her and Hawk. Did Star tell you that Amara has two boyfriends? I don’t know how she does it. Boys are so needy, aren’t they? Not Shay, though. Shay’s different. Do you think Shay likes me?)

When she didn’t send a follow-up text, I studied the many questions she’d asked me.

Was I supposed to answer all of them?

Katina: Conor?

Okay, so she was waiting for an answer.

Me: I did know that Amara has two boyfriends.

Me: Boys are very needy. Best to stay away from them.

I thought about Star dealing with teenage boys who tried to go to second base early and tacked on:

Me: Wait until you’re thirty. They tend to get more interesting then.

Katina: Until I’m THIRTY? That’s so long, Conor. They’re needy but they’re pretty!!

Me: You shouldn’t touch things just because they’re pretty.

Okay, that was the pot calling the kettle black seeing as I liked touching Star, but I wasn’t ten years old either.

Me: Trust me. Thirty is your year. You can look but don’t touch.

Katina: No fair.

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