and hang up.
My face tingles with the combination of post-make-out skin burn and the shame of freaking my mother out. Mark gives me a squeeze. “Guess that didn’t go over so well.” He shrugs. “Parents, huh?” As if he has any clue about my parental situation. But then he leans in and kisses me with such certainty, I’m convinced Mark knows everything there is to know about everything.
We make out a little more before a stray hand inspires yet another lightning-quick block with my elbow. Make that Virgin Girl’s elbow, but Mark just laughs and restarts the movie, stroking my hair absentmindedly as we watch. By the time we get to the feel-good ending, I must say, I’m actually back to feeling pretty good.
“I’ll have to rent this for Josh,” I say.
Mark hits eject, puts the disk in the case, and hands it to me. “I think you can be trusted,” he says.
“With your favorite movie?” I feign adoration. “I’ll guard it with my life.”
We kiss on the couch a moment longer until Pelé interrupts us—leaping onto the arm of the sofa, right by our heads. After a quick scream of surprise, I say, “And now what is your cat communicating?”
“Jealousy,” says Mark, and we laugh as he scratches Pelé under his chin. Finally, I break the bad news, “I’d better head home.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Mark groans like an old man as he stands up, then leans on me so heavily we laugh as we nearly topple over. Once he’s mobile, Mark steers me into the kitchen and stops, pretending to prop me against the counter before opening the fridge. He pulls out a plastic pitcher and empties it into a tinted glass. After gulping less than half of it, he dumps the rest down the drain and gives the cup a spin before dropping it noisily into the sink.
I wonder if the flurry of little face-kisses he gives me at the door will become our special after-date good-bye custom. On my way back to Superturd I rub my face and marvel over how well the night went. One thing’s for sure , I think as I climb into the driver’s seat, I’ve set my sights on a really super guy.
“What a giant ass,” says Terri. She and Amanda have dragged me to the mall practically against my will, and I’m resisting the urge to check my cell phone yet again for a text from Mark.
“Oh, I don’t know that he’s a giant ass,” I defend. “Maybe he just hasn’t had a chance to text me yet.” I look down at my cell phone to confirm that, no, he hasn’t had a chance to text me yet.
“God, Blaze, not everything is about Mark,” says Amanda. Ever since getting rejected by both Stu and Tony in one night, she’s quick to lash out.
“I just want to know where we stand,” I whine.
Terri shakes her head and points to the “giant ass” she’s actually referring to. It’s a two-story high, black-and-white poster in the window of Lucy’s Lucky Lingerie. The photo shows a model wearing lingerie that is so sexy-looking Dylan would probably set up a mini altar to worship in front of it. I feel a sharp pang of guilt for leaving Josh home alone on a Saturday night, but Mom will be home from work soon and promised to take him out to eat. I’ve sworn to never prank her in the middle of the night again but still didn’t get invited to dinner.
“Take my picture!” Amanda twists, mimicking the model’s pose as she gives a sultry glare over her shoulder. She is an expert at modeling, thanks to a boxed DVD set of nine seasons of the reality show Model Makers .
Terri and I laugh, and I snap Amanda’s picture with my cell phone.
“Too bad you don’t have access to that chick’s airbrusher,” says Terri. “See how smooth her elbow is? She couldn’t even bend it in real life, it would crack right open.”
“Who the hell is looking at her elbows?” Amanda gestures like a game show hostess to the model’s bulbous breasts.
“Good point.” Terri’s mom is always harping about how the skinny models with fake boobs are wrecking all our
My face tingles with the combination of post-make-out skin burn and the shame of freaking my mother out. Mark gives me a squeeze. “Guess that didn’t go over so well.” He shrugs. “Parents, huh?” As if he has any clue about my parental situation. But then he leans in and kisses me with such certainty, I’m convinced Mark knows everything there is to know about everything.
We make out a little more before a stray hand inspires yet another lightning-quick block with my elbow. Make that Virgin Girl’s elbow, but Mark just laughs and restarts the movie, stroking my hair absentmindedly as we watch. By the time we get to the feel-good ending, I must say, I’m actually back to feeling pretty good.
“I’ll have to rent this for Josh,” I say.
Mark hits eject, puts the disk in the case, and hands it to me. “I think you can be trusted,” he says.
“With your favorite movie?” I feign adoration. “I’ll guard it with my life.”
We kiss on the couch a moment longer until Pelé interrupts us—leaping onto the arm of the sofa, right by our heads. After a quick scream of surprise, I say, “And now what is your cat communicating?”
“Jealousy,” says Mark, and we laugh as he scratches Pelé under his chin. Finally, I break the bad news, “I’d better head home.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Mark groans like an old man as he stands up, then leans on me so heavily we laugh as we nearly topple over. Once he’s mobile, Mark steers me into the kitchen and stops, pretending to prop me against the counter before opening the fridge. He pulls out a plastic pitcher and empties it into a tinted glass. After gulping less than half of it, he dumps the rest down the drain and gives the cup a spin before dropping it noisily into the sink.
I wonder if the flurry of little face-kisses he gives me at the door will become our special after-date good-bye custom. On my way back to Superturd I rub my face and marvel over how well the night went. One thing’s for sure , I think as I climb into the driver’s seat, I’ve set my sights on a really super guy.
“What a giant ass,” says Terri. She and Amanda have dragged me to the mall practically against my will, and I’m resisting the urge to check my cell phone yet again for a text from Mark.
“Oh, I don’t know that he’s a giant ass,” I defend. “Maybe he just hasn’t had a chance to text me yet.” I look down at my cell phone to confirm that, no, he hasn’t had a chance to text me yet.
“God, Blaze, not everything is about Mark,” says Amanda. Ever since getting rejected by both Stu and Tony in one night, she’s quick to lash out.
“I just want to know where we stand,” I whine.
Terri shakes her head and points to the “giant ass” she’s actually referring to. It’s a two-story high, black-and-white poster in the window of Lucy’s Lucky Lingerie. The photo shows a model wearing lingerie that is so sexy-looking Dylan would probably set up a mini altar to worship in front of it. I feel a sharp pang of guilt for leaving Josh home alone on a Saturday night, but Mom will be home from work soon and promised to take him out to eat. I’ve sworn to never prank her in the middle of the night again but still didn’t get invited to dinner.
“Take my picture!” Amanda twists, mimicking the model’s pose as she gives a sultry glare over her shoulder. She is an expert at modeling, thanks to a boxed DVD set of nine seasons of the reality show Model Makers .
Terri and I laugh, and I snap Amanda’s picture with my cell phone.
“Too bad you don’t have access to that chick’s airbrusher,” says Terri. “See how smooth her elbow is? She couldn’t even bend it in real life, it would crack right open.”
“Who the hell is looking at her elbows?” Amanda gestures like a game show hostess to the model’s bulbous breasts.
“Good point.” Terri’s mom is always harping about how the skinny models with fake boobs are wrecking all our
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