Liar Liar

The Return (Chapter 2)

Changed the title of this story because I felt like it would get more attention that way :) And the title makes more excited for this story. Which is greatly needed considering the last time I updated was.... 7 months ago :o.

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"OH MY GOD I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!" Chelsea exclaimed wildly as she flung her tan arms around me.

I chuckled. "I saw just saw you in March Chelsea."

"Exactly!"

I rolled my eyes at her and looked around the airport for the familiar mass of Matt's dirty blonde hair and frowned. "Hey, where's Matt? Did you come by yourself?" I asked.

"No, Matt was busy working and had to take the car, so he had his friend Drake drop me off. He's waiting in the car for us," She said.

Busy working on a slut...

After thirty seemingly endless minutes of searching for my suitcase (I'd always had bad luck with losing my luggage), I finally found the troublesome large, black bag. I had been forced to pack in a hurry yesterday seeing as how Chelsea had booked my plane tickets without any notice. I rolled the heavy bag alone along with my small carry on suitcase, refusing any help from Chelsea. As soon as we left the stale departure building, the humidity of Florida embraced my body, sinking into my pores. It was at least eighty degrees. You'd have thought I'd be used to it, seeing as I was here only two months ago, but I wasn't. I was already sweating bullets.

"I hate Florida. It's too damn hot," I complained.

Chelsea gave a carefree laugh in response to my whining. "I think you're the only person from Chicago who doesn't like Florida. Everyone loves warm weather," she replied.

"That's just your opinion. I enjoy the cold weather, thank you very much." I responded, wiping sweat from the back of my neck as I dragged my luggage behind me.

The car was parked right by the curb. I could see a man step out from the driver's seat. He waved at Chelsea, who beckoned me to follow her after she located him in the sea of police, security guards, and taxis. I hurried through the crowd of fellow travelers, eager to sit in the cool car. I imagined blasting the cold air up to the highest setting and fanning my face in front of the air conditioning. The smell of cigarette smoke fogged over me, and I held my breath as I passed a few security personnel smoking by the trash cans. Soon, I was standing right outside the black Lexus. I watched as a handsome man, presumably Drake, stepped out of the car.

I had to avoid gawking at him. His slim, dark jeans clung to his hips perfectly, and the white, short-sleeved shirt he was wearing hugged his body so tightly that I could see a six pack through it. What kind of normal person actually had a six pack in real life? I had only ever seen six packs on movie stars or gym trainers. Even his arms were muscular. He stood a good foot above me, probably around 6'2. Even his face was sexy. His strong, square jaw had a hint of stubble breaking through, and his messy brown hair seemed to add to his beauty. God, even his nose was perfect.

He smirked at me, his piercing green eyes sparkling. "I can take that for you," he told me in a smooth, suave voice. He reached for my luggage expectantly.

I wanted to slap that smirk off his face. He was a player, just like Matt.  I had met plenty of guys like him before: he used girls for sex and only sex, and when he was done with them he dropped them like used tissues. I hated guys like him. I couldn't believe I had to spend the entire summer here with my best friend's cheating fiance and his stupid friend, who I already hated. "I'm not a baby," I snapped, "I can do it myself." What was it with men always treating women like they were sexual objects?