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they re standing on the edge of a very tall building while my nipples peer over the ledge with that
one-eyed look of terror. I throw on the lace top and saunter out of the bathroom while the girls bounce
in rhythm. I bet they re offended that I haven t bothered to name them like I did Jeanie s. Desperate
One and Desperate Two sounds about right but, sadly, doesn t have a fun ring to it.
I reenter the living room only to find that the bimbo next to Bryson has made herself comfortable
with her legs draped over his lap while she greedily lays her head on a throw pillow. I so would
have let him have the pillow. She lifts her leg and her foot starts to wander up his chest, climbing
further north until she s casually relaxed her thigh over his shoulder sort of giving him a perverse
hug with her knee.
 Take a seat. Cole motions me to the floor in front of the television as if I were a three-year-
old, but I turn down his offer and strategically land myself on the lounger across from Bryson.
 You can t see anything from there. Cole frowns over at me as if he s genuinely concerned
about my movie experience. Little does he know I m facing in the right direction to satisfy my
viewing pleasure.
 I can see just fine. I glance at the T.V. Actually, he s right. I can t see shit. But what I can see
is the brunette bimbo giving Bryson a massage with her freshly manicured toes. Eww. Her left leg has
meandered as well, and her knee has precariously placed itself over the zipper of his jeans. She s
flexible, I ll give her that. Her legs are wide open, her skirt is hiked up rather ingloriously around her
hips, and, from this vantage point, it looks as if her pink G-string is flossing her in all the wrong
places. My gaze floats up his chest, to his blessed by God face, and oh he s staring right at me. His
cheek cinches up one side, and he raises a finger as if he s waving, so I give a little wave back and
feel silly in the process.
Crap.
I sink in my seat and revert my attention to the movie just as an alien unhinges its jaw and
swallows an unsuspecting Indian chief whole.
My face burns with heat. I wish an alien would swoop down and swallow me whole.
Shit. Bryson saw me. Even worse he saw me checking out his gal pal s love canal, and now he
probably thinks I m playing for the other team. Stupid Cole for even implying it a few weeks back
and even more stupid me for substantiating his theory by engaging in a crotch watch.
Cole leans up on his elbows and peers over.
 What the hell s that thing hanging off your face? He leans in further to inspect me.  Dude, you
got a bug on your eye?
I glare at him for a moment. Note to self, embarrass the living shit out of Cole Brighton, soon
and often.
 It s nothing. I sink further into my seat and glance over at the exit as if I were planning an
Alcatraz worthy escape.
The blonde draped over my brother looks into me with a blank face.  Who is she? Her hair lies
over his forehead, and it looks as if Cole is wearing a bad Halloween wig.
 That s my little sis. There s a sense of pride in his voice when he says it the kind you
reserve for the family pet.
 Aww! The blonde sits up and coos into me as if I had morphed into an infant.  And those fake
eyelashes are so cute! She brings her hand to her chest as if I ve touched her on an emotional level.
 So, like, what grade are you in?
Grade?  I m a freshman, I m quick to apprise her of my quasi-adult standing.
 Really? She gawks at me as if it were impossible.  I would have thought you were a lot
younger. I have a sister in junior high, and you sort of remind me of her.
Just crap.
The brunette molesting Bryson with her kneecap leans forward.  You have some lipstick right
here. She points just under her nose.  I wasn t going to say anything, but it s not like you re trying to
impress anyone. She strums her fingers across his chest like an afterthought.  You know, if you ever
want tips on how to do your makeup, I could totally teach you. I have about nine tutorials up on
YouTube right now. You should check them out. She looks over at Bryson.  I love playing with
makeup. Plus it helps with my modeling.
Great. I ve just been reduced to a seventh grader, and she s a model. I sink in my seat until my
bottom actually slips off the edge and watch the remainder of Aliens and Indians until my ass goes
numb.
After the movie, Cole sends the blonde packing to his bedroom with a firm squeeze to her
behind, and she giggles her way down the hall. I m sure she s amped up just thinking of all the loving,
touching, squeezing about to take place.
Bryson and the super model hit the fridge, probably to load up on carbs they ll soon burn up in
his bedroom, and I m left in the living room all by my clown-faced lonesome. Suddenly going back to
Prescott Hall and watching Jeanie engage in a series of naked calisthenics doesn t sound like such a
bad idea. In fact, I d rather subject my brain to her sexual performance piece than watch Bryson score
a homerun with a runway model.
Cole barrels toward me with his dimples depressed in a frown.
 What s going on? There s a tenderness in his voice that I hadn t heard since I ve touched
down in North Carolina. It s the phone-call version of my brother. The one I m far more used to, even
though he was nothing but a lie.
 Nothing s going on. I cross my arms over my chest in an effort to hide my cleavage. It s like
I ve got my boobs set at the right trajectory to launch to the moon, and he s the last person I d want to
witness the intergalactic event.
 Get some clothes on, would you? I get it. You want to get comfortable before bed. But I don t [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]