Southern Belle

Ch. 30 Begin Again

I would like to let you know that Southern Belle is a finalist in the Watty Awards Humor: On the Rise. I would appreciate it if you voted for me :* (well, if you like the book).

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"I knew you'd pick me."

Shivering, I tightened my arms around my body as I looked at the brown-haired boy in front of me, casually dressed in a pair of light-washed jeans and a blue Stanford sweatshirt. His hair, extremely ruffled, jutted out in all different directions from his head. He probably, I assumed, just jolted out of bed, threw on some clothes, and rushed over to meet me at this tiny cafe' in town immediately after I hung up. It was pretty ironic because I looked wealthier than he did at the moment—my straightened hair was swept up into a high pony tail; I was wearing a pair of nude pumps and a black trench coat. I even let my mother plaster makeup onto my face for once.

Picking up the ceramic end of the coffee mug, I took a long sip of my latte. The cold air was nipping at my nose, and I had stupidly told Nick to meet me outside. With the temperature quickly plummeting, I realized that it was a stupid idea.

"Belle?" he questioned as I remained silent to his first comment.

"Sorry, I'm a little distracted. What did you say?"

His eyes roamed my body tentatively before his shoulders shrugged up and down. Bending over, he snatched something from under the leather seat.

What was this?

A fairly-sized, white bag, covered in fuchsia ribbons, was placed into my hands. My eyebrows furrowed, and with my index finger and thumb, I picked up the bag and planted it onto the top of the table in front of me.

"Did you get me a gift?" I asked while tearing off about fifty bows. Whoever had wrapped this made opening it a pain in the ass.

A smirk slithered up his mouth, and his eyes glimmered slightly. "Maybe."

Rolling my eyes, I leaned forward to peer into the bag. At first, the gift appeared to be empty until I saw there was some sort of fabric smushed at the bottom, below all the taffeta. Pushing my hand into the bag, I ripped out a T-shirt.

A T-shirt?

One would think that Nick, with all his money, would've gotten me something more expensive like...I wouldn't know...jewelry? He splurged to pay for my college tuition, yet he gave me a shirt to profess his love to me?

This kid was too funny.

"Open the shirt! It says something meaningful," he urged. He leaned over me, smothering me with his excitement. My friend was acting like a kid on Christmas morning that had just woke up to a room full of presents.

"Is this going...to explode?" My eye involuntarily winced as the T-shirt slowly unraveled before me. I had to take caution—who the hell would know what he put in or onto this shirt? Plus, Nicholas Monroe wasn't a person to be trusted.

He huffed, crossing his arms in front of his sweater. Licking his chapped lips, he groaned, "Can you just shut up and open it?"

With both my hands, I threw open the maroon red shirt and gasped in awe. I had to admit, he must've thought all day and all night to come up with the slogan written on it. I shot him ‘thumbs up’, giggling at how idiotic it was.

In the font, 'Comic Sans', the phrase, 'I pick Nick because he has a big dick' was printed right in the center. From what I could tell, nothing else was written on the fabric except for that sentence.

How genius.

"Wow, I don't think I have a shirt like this," I mumbled as I folded it before any of the other customers could read it. "It's unique."