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I’m braced for her blowback. Screeching. Maybe some name calling. Possibly insulted tears.
The stinging, hard-ass slap across my face? Never saw it coming.
She grabs her purse and nearly falls, scrambling out of the car as fast as she can. “Fuck you, Jefferson Kendrick! I left with, and kissedyouthat night, you prick! I’m not a groupie or some willy-nilly, star-struck little slut, and fuck you again for thinking I could be!”
And with that, she slams the door and storms off.
Well, I got the screeching and name calling part right.
But I knew I shouldn’t have asked. Thanks Uncle Sawyer for your awesome tutelage.
