Page 54 of Badd Love
She shrugged. "It was cheaper to fly into LA with a totally separate flight to Ketchikan a few days later."
I arched an eyebrow at her. "So this was the plan all along? You didn't spend thousands of dollars to alter your travel plans on my behalf?"
"No?” She looked away when she said it, though, while rubbing her belly.
"You did!" I screeched, irate. "You fuckingdid!"
"We changed our plansa little, yes. But you really, seriously need to calm your tits, girl. It didn't cost us thousands of dollars. It actually works out better, if you must know. Dunc's Uncle Brock, as you know, is a pilot, and he has a friend who’s a pilot for a private jet company—they sell seats at a discount to groups, and when they only have a few individual seats left, they sell those at a discount too. We changed our destination from Ketchikan to LA, and Brock got us a pair of seats on a private jet from here to Ketchikan for pennies on the dollar. This way, we get to stop by here and see you, spend time in LA with my folks, and help them pack up the house before we go back to Ketchikan and start our lives,andwe get to ride in a private jet and pretend we’re Heather and Terry Dubrow.” She shook me gently. "It wasn'tentirelyabout you, okay?"
"Fine. As long as you didn't do it entirely for me. That would piss me off."
"Oh no, someone cares for you," Rune said in a droll, sarcastic monotone. "How horrifying."
I groaned. "Rude."
"Something tells me that letting someone care about and for you is at the center of your current emotional…situation."
"Emotional situation, is it?" I muttered. "Funny way of saying 'total breakdown.'"
"But yet you'd be pissed off at me for going even slightly out of my way to be there for the person who is, for all intents and purposes, my sister?"
"Shut up."
"Linz. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on,please.”
I tipped my head back and let out a groaning sigh. "Fine. But I need to shower first. I'm disgusting."
Rune, none too gently, shoved me toward my room. "Yes, please, dear Jesus, get clean. I'll work on…" she waved a hand at my apartment. "This."
"Rune, you don't have to—"
She flipped me off with both hands. "But I'm going to, bitch, so deal with it. Go take the hottest shower known to mankind. You smell like you just crawled out of a sewer."
I stopped on the threshold of my room. "Wow, nice. Fuck you too."
"As your ride-or-die, it is my prerogative—nay, myobligation—to tell you the unvarnished truth. And the truth, dearest friend forever, is that you look and smell so bad a fucking hobo would cross the street to avoid you."
I flipped her off without looking and then shut the door to my room. I slumped back against the closed door, sniffling. I was putting on a brave face for Rune, which I knew wouldn't last once I started talking. She could always get the dirty truth out of me, the bitch. I stared at my bed—still rumpled, sheets andblankets twisted and tangled…from Dane and me being in the bed together.
That's right: I haven't slept in my bed since he left because it'll smell like him and remind me of him and that'd just make it all that much worse, so I've been sleeping on my couch.
I'm that much of a coward.
First, I stripped the sheets off my bed and tossed them to the side so Ihadto wash them. Next, I peeled the shirt off and sniffed it, then gagged. Fuck, I have to wash it. I wonder how I can get my hands on another of Dane's articles of clothing without having to actually interact with him. Sneak into his parents' house like a big titty ninja who's clutzy and also not a ninja, steal a bunch of his T-shirts, boxers, and hoodies, and sneak back out? Getting to and from goddamnedAlaskais a bit of an issue with that plan, aside from being fucking stupid.
I scrubbed my face and tossed the shirt on my pile of dirty laundry—which was so large I may have to consider hiring a sherpa to help me with it.
Sad day—no more boyfriend shirt.
Fuck me—it'snota boyfriend shirt. How do you scrub an errant thought out of your brain?
I turned on the shower and brushed my teeth—twice. I took my time in the shower, scouring my skin until I was pink, and then shaved myself from pits to ankles, because nothing feels as clean as being freshly depilated. I washed my hair twice, conditioned it once, gave my pits and bits another scrubbing just because, and then rinsed off and got out. I dried my hair and brushed it until it was a voluminous mass of glossy glory, left it loose and wild, and dressed in a sexy thong, my most comfortable sports bra, the leggings that make my ass look stellar, and my favorite T-shirt, a V-neck that did spectacular things to my boobs, even with a compressive sports bra.
Sometimes, you just gotta look good to feel good, y’know? Not for anyone but you, but because you've been wallowing in self-pity like a hog in a mud puddle and it's time to put on your big girl panties and face the shittery that is your life. In my case, my big girl panties happen to be a scarlet thong that barely covers my yoohoo.
Ever so unhelpfully, my idiot brain decided to ask what Dane would think of me in the thong. The other part of my idiot brain answered that he'd salivate and then rip it off. And maybe stuff the thong in his pocket to sniff later.
Why do dudes like to sniff panties? I get eating pussy—trust me, I'm a fan. But sniffing old underwear is just weird. Like, I farted in those, bro. You really wanna sniff my farts? I guess some dudes would, but…ick. Good thing I don't have my phone in here, or I'd be tempted to call him just to ask if he's a panty-sniffer or not; I think not—I vaguely remember him saying something along those lines when he was here.
