Page 103 of Crazy for this Girl

And when I finally could get a hold of her when I graduated for the second time in my life from another institution I didn’t want to be at, I begged her to come see me.

Then I literally fucked her into my memory and threw her back out of my world again.

“Are you sure it was him, though?” Khloe asks me for the second time on speakerphone as I begin putting my groceries away. “It’s been years.”

“I’m quite aware of how many years it’s been,” I reply, yanking my box of flavored oatmeal out of a brown paper bag.

Your girl’s on a major budget.

I might be on a two-year contract with six figures, but I’m slowly paying away my brother’s school debt from law school so he’s not paying it for the rest of his life.

*cough*

Without him knowing.

I already have a shitload of my own that I’ve been gradually killing since dropping out, but Jonah went to school to become a lawyer and that bill every semester wasn’t a pretty one.

“What did he want to talk about?”

“Dunno. Don’t care.”

“You’re not a slight bit curious?”

“Nope.”

“Did you slap him in the face?”

“No.”

“Are you going to text him back and tell him never to come to your aunt’s flower shop again?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him that you have an STD and he probably has it?”

A laugh bursts through my throat. “Damn, no. I can file that one under one I wish I would’ve come up with at the moment.”

“Probably for the best. Can you imagine if your aunt heard you say that?”

“She’d probably kick my ass,” I reply, unloading my bread and peanut butter. “Then she’d get on me about my job.”

“Why?”

“She’d make me quit or something from believing I got it there with all the, quote, men in suits that drip sex and money, who are looking for a sweet girl to stick their wilds and something else into. I’m not going to quit that damn job.”

“Wait, you’re going to quit your job?” I jolt at the third voice suddenly present in the room and glimpse over my shoulder to find my roommate, Natalie, dressed in a pink, lacey bra and thong. Her obnoxiously gorgeous chestnut locks flow aimlessly down her shoulders, and I’ve wanted to ask her what hair products she uses to get those flawless waves, but she’d take it as me copying off her like she’s the only one that uses them.

“Natalie”—I place my palm on top of my heart, trying to seize my thudding heartbeat of her popping in our kitchen like a damn ghost—“announce yourself, dude. And do you know what clothes are?”

“That doesn’t matter,” she retorts, propping a hand on one slender hip and waving the other dismissively in the air. “I’m not pulling the rent alone this month so you can freeload.”

“Hey, Nat,” Khloe chimes in before I can tell her that’s not what I said. “How about you take your skanky ass back to your room and mind your own business.”

“Aww,” Natalie coos sweetly at my best friend’s chiding. “It’s the paper pusher. Don’t be mad that it takes you a month to make what I do in a night, bitch.”

And here we go.

Need I say that my best friend and roommate hate each other?

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