My Hired Boyfriend (Completed)

6. Lady Desires and Horny Spiders

Chapter 6

            “Wait, you're crapping me right?” Addy snorts over the phone.

            I clamp the phone between my face and shoulder, tossing my clothes into my suitcase.

            “Nope.” I wish I was.

            How- in the name of Peter Pan did you get a boyfriend in the span of a week! I went to Mexico for a week and this is what happens!” Addy shrieks. I jump, sighing.

            “Jeez, without me, you can’t keep your hormonal lady desires in check!” she continues.

            I reel back in horror, bumping my head on my shelf. “-Addy!” I exclaim, my cheeks burning a furious red.

            “It’s true,” She accuses, as if I took all her Oreos and burned them at the stake.

            I growl in frustration, running a hand through my messy hair. “Yeah, right. Like I totally go around with the post-it note on my forehead saying make my day for every male specimen to see.”

            “Totes,” she replies, strong in her conviction that my desperate lady desires had gotten a hold of me.

            “Really,” I exhale lowly. “I suddenly get a boyfriend. Everyone can finally stop nagging me!”

            The line is silent and I wonder if she hung on up on me.

            “Addy?”

            “This is the moment,” She whispers creepily.

            I shudder. “The hel-“

            “You’ve become a woman,” She chuckles.

            I am pretty sure that if my mother walked into the room, she would see my face contorted into utter humiliation and horror.

            I was wearing a scarier face then Kim Kardashian when she cries.

            “That’s it,” I say with finality. “I’m hanging up!”

            “No!-” Addy protests.

            “Sorry,” I interrupt her, rolling my eyes. “I gotta go quench my lady desires.”

            I can literally hear Addy choking through the phone on her own saliva as I hang up, falling back on my bed.

            Two hours later, and i am sitting in my living room, wanting to poke my ears out with a fork.

            “Is he hot?” One of cousins asks, prodding my arm.

            I lean back against my couch, a hand thrown over my face as Justin Bieber blasts through the speakers, all the adult in the kitchen.

            “Hotter than a tomato,” I mumble back, feeling woozy.

            “So he’s sexy,” she chirps beside me, the excitement rolling off her skin to wrap in coils around my neck, choking me.

            How did she even get to that conclusion? “If you have a fetish for tomatoes, sure.”

            She giggles, poking my arm with her bony finger that would snap easier than uncle Bernie’s leg when he went skiing.