“Paige, what are you doing?”
“Serenading you,” she says, as though it’s blatantly obvious. “Except I can’t sing and I don’t have a boom box like that guy in that movie.” She throws her arms wide and I can’t tell if she’s miming an old-school stereo or just expressing her frustration.
She’s fucking adorable when she’s tipsy, but that shouldn’t surprise me. Paige is fucking adorable all the time. But she’s also about to lose her damn balance. Jacking the window as high as it will go, I brace my left arm on the sill, and reach out to her. The tree’s a good couple feet away, but I stretch as far as I can and grab onto her arm. “Hold onto me, baby. I’m gonna carry you inside, ok?”
“Or I could just climb down?” she offers.
“Let me feel like a hero, huh?” I cajole her, hoping to hell she takes me up on my offer before she takes us both to the ground.
Reaching forward, I feel her lean into me, and I get a good grip on her waist. We duck back inside, I shut the window, set her on my bed, and take a deep breath for the first time in five minutes.
She usually curls right up on my bed, burrowing in the soft blanket that was my favorite until she stole it. But right now, she’s frowning. Or scowling. Frowling?
“You ok?” I ask, discreetly grabbing the trash can and placing it on her side of the bed.
“No. No, I am not ok. Why are none of the Disney princes gingers?” she says indignantly. “That’s some fucking bullshit, Spencer. You should write a letter.”
I don’t think I could name more than three Disney princes, but none of the few that come to mind have red hair.
She’s back to making flailing hand motions.“I mean there’s Hans, sure, but he’s a rat bastard, so he does not count. And the beast is like a dark golden blonde with warm tones. An 8 RG, if I had to guess.”
I have no clue what she’s saying, so I nod.
“I want a hot redheaded prince, goddammit!” She yells this loudly enough that Herrera pounds on our shared wall. “I think you’ve found him, Paige. But if you keep yelling like that, he’ll disappear! So you better whisper, just in case.”
She nods like this actually makes sense, and starts taking her clothes off. I pick them up and toss them in the hamper on top of my own, and hand her a Moo U hockey tee. She’s fumbling with her bra, and I can sympathize because I hate this bra with a passion. (Which is something I never imagined myself saying, but here we are). It’s got all these straps and then this little hook thingy where the regular straps connect in the middle of her shoulder blades. I don’t get it. It’s a bitch to take off and her tits look amazing no matter what. Maybe I’ll drop it on the floor and conveniently lose it…
I finally get it unhooked and slip the tee over her head as she snuggles into me.
“I want to have all the sex with you,” she says, still at max volume.
“I fucking hate you!” Herrera calls.
“I want to have all the sex with you, too,” I whisper. “But…”
“But the guy in the wall is listening and that’s creepy?” She asks. “Also, a little hot. But mostly creepy.”
“Exactly,” I say, trying to hold in my laugh. “But can I hold you?”
“Mmmhmmm. You should. It’s prolly for the best. I might feel dirty if I fucked a Disney prince.”
Paige
You know how in Sleeping Beauty, the fairies come in and give baby Princess Aurora gifts at her christening. Like, one of them says she’ll always be pretty, and another one gives her a beautiful singing voice.
Well, I’m pretty sure a frat-boy was my fairy and he gave me the gift of never getting a hangover. And that’s way better than a pretty face or a good voice, in my opinion.
I have no idea why I’m thinking of Disney princesses this morning, but I do know that it’s my birthday and I feel amazing. My boyfriend is sleeping beside me; I partied with my best girl last night, and nothing is going to bring me down. Especially not the fact that the LSATs are a few weeks away and my practice scores aren’t improving much.
But, no, not today. I will worry about my future tomorrow; birthdays are worry-free days. I reach for my phone, but it’s not on the window ledge where I usually charge it when I sleep over. I crawl out of bed gingerly, so I don’t wake Spencer. He’s usually at the gym by now, but maybe he took the day off for me? I look around and spot my phone on his desk next to Westley’s cage. I give the little guy a wave, but he’s fast asleep.
I swipe up on my phone to see birthday wishes from Nate and Megan, a GIF from Sophie and a slew of emojis from my mom.
Jake texted at 3 a.m., so I text back, fully aware that if he was awake 5 hours ago, he’s probably sleeping now.
I peek out into the hallway, and no one is up, so I grab the toiletries I keep here, take a quick shower and then head back to Spencer’s room.
“Hey, baby,” my sleepy, sexy boyfriend greets me.
