THIRTY FOUR: WET... OR DRY?

“What the fuck do you mean it’s broken? It was fine when they hauled me in here!”

  “It’s broken, I don’t fuckin’ know why” I muttered while I fiddled with the lock “You have some kinda nail file or something?”

  “A nail file?”

  “To pick the lock” I growled. “So’d you have one or not?”

  “Why would I freakin’ have a-”

“Chill, no one asked you for a self analysis, Prescott.” I glared at her “Geezuz”

  “Why the hell does everything screw up when you’re around?” Original. Real original. I’ve never heard that accusation before.

  “Shut your trap” I grimaced as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. I thought hell; I’d be here for a while, might as well make myself comfortable. But I didn’t even get to take a puff when she yanked it out of my hand.

 “What the f-“

“There isn’t any ventilation in here, dumb ass” she sneered “Go ring someone”

“Why should I do that?”

“Cos you have a phone, brainiac”

I’m a man. I wasn’t gonna let some woman boss me around. No way, in hell, much less her.

“Go ring ‘em yourself”

“I don’t have my cell”

“Why the fuck don’t you have yours?” Women. They’re all friggin forgetful, it’s no wonder half of them are basket cases.

“I just don’t ‘kay?”

We didn’t talk for a while after that. She took her camera and started fiddling around with it. I knew it was going to happen, but obviously, she didn’t, cos before she knew it, the champagne on the table tipped.

I watched her react in all the girly ways you’d expect- scream, squeal, and her personal attribute- curse. But the nerve of her to request- man, just read it.

“Gimme your shirt” she demanded loudly, holding out her hand.

What? Give her my shirt? Was she insane?

“You’re joking right?”

“You can manage without a shirt, I can’t”

“It’s just wet”

She rolled her eyes “I’m wearing a black bra under a white shirt. Now pull it off-“

“No way, you ain’t getting’ my shirt”

“Can you stop being an ass for a moment and do something right?”

I contemplated the options; let her have my tank top and freeze, or let her suffer with a wet shirt.

Wet. White.

 Enough said.

But then I got a better idea.

© sayamaru and 'Bittersweet Rhapsodies' 2001-02

No part of this website may be reproduced in part or in whole without permission of the author/webmistress.

All ideas, graphics and layouts and backgrounds and stories are copyright of sayamaru and Bittersweet Rhapsodies. I am in no way affiliated with the Backstreet Boys, their management wives/girlfriends or the girls used in these stories.