Page 40
Story: Play Maker
Riley:
They were going to end up at Mr. and Mrs. BDB’s place, and Syd and Boone are still in their honeymoon phase. Let them live.
Maggie:
I say seduce the grumpy one or make him clean the bathroom with a toothbrush. Win-win.
Izzy:
I can drop off cookies or pepper spray. Your call.
Me:
Don’t make me turn this thread into a funeral. I swear to God.
Riley:
Love you, too. Send pics if someone cries.
Me:
Good night, sir!
Each of them sends their goodnight emoji of choice.
Riley’s popcorn
Maggie sends the pink double heart
and follows it up with an eggplant,
Iz sends the cookie, the moon, and a book.
Me, I send the middle finger emoji.
I toss the phone to the side of the bed, because tossing it at a wall would be loud, and Grimes would totally read into it.
I hear laughter from below and tune in.
“Skinner, quiet, man,” Kolby whispers.
“I can’t when the noise in here is so loud.”
In here?
“That quilt, her being number one, and you being number sixty-eight, that just adds up to messy.”
The fact my brain fires in a similar pattern as Skinner’s is alarming. I slide off my bed and tiptoe across the floor so I can hear better.
“You know what could be worse than messy?” Kolby asks.
“What?” he asks.
“You spewing this fantasy you have about Lauren Brooks, and I could cause your face to get worse than messy.”
“Then deny it.”
Kolby says nothing, but Skinner does.
They were going to end up at Mr. and Mrs. BDB’s place, and Syd and Boone are still in their honeymoon phase. Let them live.
Maggie:
I say seduce the grumpy one or make him clean the bathroom with a toothbrush. Win-win.
Izzy:
I can drop off cookies or pepper spray. Your call.
Me:
Don’t make me turn this thread into a funeral. I swear to God.
Riley:
Love you, too. Send pics if someone cries.
Me:
Good night, sir!
Each of them sends their goodnight emoji of choice.
Riley’s popcorn
Maggie sends the pink double heart
and follows it up with an eggplant,
Iz sends the cookie, the moon, and a book.
Me, I send the middle finger emoji.
I toss the phone to the side of the bed, because tossing it at a wall would be loud, and Grimes would totally read into it.
I hear laughter from below and tune in.
“Skinner, quiet, man,” Kolby whispers.
“I can’t when the noise in here is so loud.”
In here?
“That quilt, her being number one, and you being number sixty-eight, that just adds up to messy.”
The fact my brain fires in a similar pattern as Skinner’s is alarming. I slide off my bed and tiptoe across the floor so I can hear better.
“You know what could be worse than messy?” Kolby asks.
“What?” he asks.
“You spewing this fantasy you have about Lauren Brooks, and I could cause your face to get worse than messy.”
“Then deny it.”
Kolby says nothing, but Skinner does.
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