Page 142 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy
I’m far too invested in this trainwreck to look away now.
It’s clearly about to get good.
“I’m not putting up with that snooty little seamstress!” Farrah bites,
speaking to her ladies-in-waiting. “I can’t believe she just tried to tie
a satin belt on my antique lace dress in order to hide a few inches of
fabric. How could she? The entire wedding will be able to see that
wrinkle in the dress and some cheap satin won’t hide it!”
I bite my tongue to keep from sighing out loud.
Out of all the problems in the world, it’s hardly fair to compare my
struggle with anyone else, but seriously? She’s flipping out in public
over a belt on her dress.
Might as well burn the town down in her wrath!
Rolling my eyes, I grab the gear shifter and get ready to speed hastily
away from this deadened of a meltdown, but something else catches
my focus. Percy comes out of the bar where his band practices, and I
watch the guys he plays with follow him out to the sidewalk while
they all laugh at whatever joke was told in the bar.
He’s so natural in his element I can’t help but smile at the innocent
sight.
Farrah must feel differently, stomping down the sidewalk towards
the guys who all freeze like gazelles staring down the barrel of a rifle.
She points it in all of their faces, her eyes like bullets that any man
would be lucky to dodge in success, and I watch carefully to see what
her issue is now.
“Are you laughing at me?” Her voice damn near echoes through the
town square.
Percy’s smile falls, not in guilt but in unease from this confrontation.
I don’t blame him, either.
“What are you talking about?” he gusts, pointing to the bar door. “We
were just laughing about something that happened during band
