Page 206 of Lilah
"I should just go ask that trucker guy, he seems like a total babe," I smile, turning my head to look at the trucker's retreating figure.
"Fuckin' funny," he grumbles unhappily, letting go of my hand and slipping his hand down the side of my pants. I almost warn him that this is not the correct place to be doing things like that but in a matter of .003 seconds, he snaps my underwear back against my hip and walks ahead of me.
I groan and catch up with him. I should be catching up with that wonderful trucker guy. I bet he wouldn't do what Grey just did to me.
I should make a Craigslist account that hires people to just come here and headbutt him. I'll pay in braiding people's hair.
I continuously push on his back. Solely to annoy him. I step on the backs of his boots too. And also poke his sides.
He stops abruptly and I clash with his back. I play it off perfectly by wrapping my arms around his torso and just hugging him.
"If it makes you feel better, you're much cuter than that trucker guy," I bite back my smile. Figuring my best option would be to get away from him, I do, walking down another aisle with him following closely behind me.
He grips the back of my pants and pulls me flush to his front.
"Get away from me you crackhead," I tell him just as a nice lady walks by. She pauses and looks at me.
"Oh no! Not you! You're not a crackhead," I hope she's not a crackhead, "I wasn't talking to you, I promise!"
"I was talking to him," I point at the big crackhead that stands right behind me. Her eyebrows furrow and a concerned look takes over her face.
She takes a step closer.
"Do you need help? How about I give you a ride home?"
Oh gosh, she actually thinks he's some crackhead.
"No," I laugh, "he's not an actual crackhead. I just call him that. I promise he doesn't do drugs. I don't either. I like to say I do but I don't."
"His name is Grey," I point to him again. I can just tell he's looking at me with a 'I'm done with being in Target' face, "I'm Azalea."
"Oh!" I almost forget, "he's actually my boyfriend."
Was I talking too much?
The lady gives me a smile that says 'this girl is a total, actual crackhead' and she walks off.
"Look what you made me do," I turn around and rest my head on his chest.
"No one told you to call me a crackhead."
"What else would I call you? Grey? I think not," I scoff.
"Grey is your regular personality name. When you're being averagely rude. Sugar is your sweet name when you're being a sweetheart. Crackhead is when you're being ridiculous or whenever I feel it's fit, it's the 'etcetera' one too," I explain.
He looks unamused at the moment. I look to my left and spot a Capri Suns pack.
Uh, freak yeah.
I pick that boy up and haul butt out of that aisle. We pay, we drive home, we take a seat on the couch, I take one pouch out for him, and one for me.
He looks at it like 'what the fudge is this poop?'
"What the fuck is this bullshit?" he grips the pouch which looks too small for his big hands.
I was close to predicting what he would say.
It's actually not a hard thing to do. His vocabulary consists of every curse word, unhappy words, my name, and 'shut up'.
