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It was the first makeup tip my mom ever taught me.
And it’d probably be the first time one I ever taught my daughter.
You know if I thought I would have kids.
Right now, I’m not exactly convinced I’m gonna be stable enough on my own in time to even consider having them.
Besides, if I do, I hope it’s a boy.
I can hang with a boy.
I’ve mastered the art of being one of the guys.
Most women are too high maintenance to do more than work with.
Latest example?
The roommate that kicked me out.
“Special delivery,” J.T. playfully calls prior to delivering two taps to the door. “One large cup of sugar with a splash of coffee for Miss Winters.”
Slightly tickled by the statement, I make my way over to the door and sassily swing it open. “Bryn.”
“B-” is the only syllable that manages to escape before he’s diverting his gaze to the ceiling. “I uh…I didn’t…” His nose scrunches during his verbal struggle. “If you need more time to…” He momentarily presses his lips together clearly trying to keep his composure. “You’re practically naked.”
“I’m far from naked,” I casually correct at the same time I lean against the frame. “Fuck, my bikini covers less than this.”
Against his own volition, he lets the corner of his lips briefly kick upward.
“Thinkin’ about it?”
“Yeah,” he thoughtlessly retorts only to instantly panic. “No!” His gaze swiftly meets mine to reiterate his lie. “I mean no. No.” Firmness struggles to take hold in his tone. “No, I was not thinking of you like that.”
“Liar.”
Additional redness creeps into his cheeks; however, rather than continue that conversation, he clears his throat and extends the beverage in his hand. “Your hot chocolate.”
“I ordered coffee.”
“Technically it was until you had me put that much sugar in it.”
“Those who live on puppet stands, really shouldn’t throw stones.”
His laughter is not only expected, it’s the subtle distraction I need to swiftly remove the earpiece from its semipermanent location. “Hey!”
“Hellloooo,” I mockingly reply at the same time I back further into my room, leaving him no choice but to follow.
“Give that back!”
“No.”
“Now!”
“Ooo,” another round of mocking leaves me, “now, you really mean business.”
“I do!”
Tucking it into my tank, right on top of my tit precedes me victoriously smirking. “You really want it back, Puppet Boy? Come and get it.”
