Page 394 of Vicious Saint
And…here we go.
“Sorry…conditions don’t exist in this world.”
“Well,” Saint lets out a tsk sound with his teeth, “it’s gonna have to allow for this one eventually.”
Rolling my eyes, I tell him, “Fine, you pain in the ass, what do you wanteventually?”
With his gorgeous, stupid, panty dropping grin on his face, Saint replies, “To make you a Lavell.”
52
Saint
Four Months Later
If anything has been made clear the past few months, it’s that every person in mine and Hendrix’s life loves to test my patience.
Take her mother for example…who hasn’t stopped crying since Hendrix walked off the stage with her diploma.
Half a fucking hour ago.
Then there’s the aunt who kept insisting on taking a million useless pictures: Hendrix in front of the stage. The front doors. Graduation cap on and off. Smiling at the camera. Looking away.
Dad tried that shit with me but got shut down faster than I do trying to get a blowjob from Hendrix during her period.
Archer wouldn’t leave her alone either, regardless of the death threats I gave him every time he encouraged the aunt to take more group photos.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the asshole was doing it on purpose.
Let’s face it…no self-respecting guy actuallyenjoystaking pictures with girls.
I’ve got my ass parked in a front row chair waiting for the twentieth photo op of Hendrix and Bex when my thoughts get interrupted by a ding from my cell phone. I look down at the screen to find a message from Cray blocking a photo of Hendrix.
Cray Cray: Well damn…guess you were smart enough to graduate.
Me: Brains and brawn motherfucker.
Me: Wait…is this your version of congratulations?
Cray Cray: Congratulations would imply I’m happy for you, can’t have that now, can we?
Me: Ice cold Cray Cray…ice fucking cold.
Cray Cray: How’s my girl looking?
I peer over at Bex with Hendrix, who are posing for selfies with Beckett, officially adding the teacher to the list of people testing my patience. Especially now that the asshole has his arm slung over Hendrix’s shoulder. I’ll allow it, but only for the sake of Hendrix and Bex still working on mending their friendship.
Dragging my eyes back to the screen, I type out another message to Cray, but this time with grinding molars.
Me: Like her and Hendrix want me to kill an English teacher.
Cray Cray: Beckett?
Me: Fucking Beckett.
Cray Cray: Can’t believe you’re letting him wrap his arm around your girl.
I’m about to ask the asshole how he knows when another text comes through with a selfie photo.
