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oBITCHuary: Hey, at least you have a job, show-off.
McMonster: Didn’t you say you worked in the food industry yourself?
McMonster: Oh shit. You’re unemployed now, aren’t you?
oBITCHuary: Thanks for reminding me.
McMonster: Hey, always happy to be of help.
oBITCHuary: I’m super broke. Might lose my apartment if I don’t find something soon.
McMonster: I’m sure something will come up.
oBITCHuary: In the small town of Staindrop? Fat chance.
McMonster: You should have more faith in yourself.
oBITCHuary: Why?
McMonster: Because you’re you.
CAL
“Why Can’t We Be Friends?”—Smash Mouth
“Great. Now we’ll have to sage the whole fucking house.”
Row was glaring at me like I’d just crawled from a sinkhole to suck the soul out of his mouth. Standing next to him was his BFF, Rhyland, who I remembered as sex on legs with a dry sense of humor. Rhy was wearing black cargo pants, designer sneakers, and a white V-neck. Row was wearing a gray Henley, dark jeans, and the expression of a man who’d love nothing more than to attend my funeral.
“That was my initial thought,” Dylan said levelly, placing a reassuring hand on mine. “But then she tried bribing her way into my good graces with treats and gifts.” Dylan collected her hair into a crusty, cupcake-y bun. “I have no principles and a sweet tooth, so you can guess how that went.”
Row and Rhyland had run upstairs when they’d heard our breathless giggling. Row had said we sounded like distressed seals trying to communicate carnage.
“What’s on your face and hair?” Row demanded, his eyes swinging between us with a frown. He really ought to look less sexy. He made my hormones go wild. In fact, even though I thought he was a prick, I never feared him like I did most men. He rarely made my eyes tick, either.
“Cupcake,” Dylan answered airily. “Dot brought me some sugar bombs.”
“Then proceeded to bombard you with them?” Her brother quirked an eyebrow.
“She started it.” I coughed into my fist.
“Snitch!” Dylan slapped my thigh with a gasp.
I winced. “Dude, he is big and bad-tempered and already hates me. He won’t touch you.”
“Yeah.” Rhyland’s eyes ping-ponged between us. “But he sure as fuck would touch Cal, as history has taught us.”
That earned Rhyland a slap on the back from Row.
“Aw. Too soon?” Rhy laughed.
“Behave yourself.” Row’s voice was a lot of things: calm, menacing, and blood-chillingly threatening. Surely, he didn’t know I feared men. Even if he did, why would he care?
Rhyland seemed unbothered by the chiding. “When have I ever? Too late to start now.”
I scooped pieces of cupcake out of my bra, dropping them into my palm. Rhyland whistled low. “In other news, Cal Litvin is all grown up and looking delicious, all puns intended.”
“Seriously?” Row turned to him again. “Look away before I pluck your eyeballs out with a spoon.” Row’s gaze flicked along my locks briefly when he realized that I had changed the tips, but he didn’t comment on the matter.
