Every Girl Does It(37)

I look at the piece of paper and shrug. “You have no witnesses, and I’ll say no even if it’s a special license. And I still want to poke your eyes out with my fork. Are we done here?” I get up, but he catches my wrist.

“Do you ever stop talking enough to let people explain things to you? Or do you just assume you know everything?” He says rather hotly.

“I don’t assume. I know. Plus, words don’t lie,” I say, jerking my hand away.

I hear Preston laugh from outside. “No they don’t, Amanda. No they don’t.”

I throw my dishes in the sink and scowl when I notice I chipped one. Well, at least I can blame my rage on Preston. Of all the egotistical things… I want to jam my sausage up his nose. But at this point I’d have to get too close to him to pull it off, and I’m not quite sure I can control myself just yet in his presence.

I lean around the corner to see what he’s doing. He’s on his phone. Again. It's like he’s rubbing it in front of my face. And now he’s laughing? I see his smile deepen as he chuckles then looks at his watch. Okay, wait. Now he’s writing something down. I lean a little bit further over, then accidently knock one of the Hawaiian pots off the table, shattering it on the floor.

I look up guiltily to see Preston staring at me with knowing eyes as if to say, “I know you're spying on me and I think it’s hilarious”.

I can’t be blamed for what I do next. I grab my shoe off the floor and fling it at his face. He ducks just in time for my shoe to hit an old man walking toward the pool.

“Domestic dispute,” he huffs as he walks by not even picking up my shoe.

“Is that all, Amanda, or do you want to throw the other shoe too? It’s okay. This time I won’t move. You can hit me straight in the face. Although, later tonight you’re going to be begging me to kiss you, so it’s your move.”

You can guess what I did next.

The rubber part of the sole hit him straight in the eye, causing a purplish bruise to appear by lunch time. And okay, I know he said he wouldn’t move, but how was I to know he was actually being serious? I mean, come on! Who doesn’t move when flying objects come at your head?

His constant rubbing of his eye doesn’t make me feel any better either, but I’m pretty sure he’s just doing it to make me feel bad, which I won’t. Because he’s a cheating dirt bag and Grandma Ned is rolling in her grave as I contemplate worse words I could call him. I’m sure she’s begging God to be able to come back down, just so she can be the one to put soap in my mouth. I feel guilty enough for thinking it. Okay, Grandma Ned. For the love of all that’s holy, I’m yelling in my head at my dead grandma. I have issues.

“Amanda?” Preston asks as I glare at him through my sunglasses. I know, how brave of me.

“Yes?”

“Can you hand me that ice pack again? My head is throbbing.” He points to the ice pack, and I throw it at him aiming for the head. He winces as he catches it and ducks at the same time. Poor guy's never going to be the same after meeting me. At least he’ll have the bruises on the outside and the scars on the inside to remember me by.

“Shouldn’t you be on the phone with Ashlyn?” I ask, peeved.

“That would be weird,” he answers vaguely.

“What, because she doesn’t know you’re in Hawaii?” I look at him, and he just gives me this blank stare. “You cheater! She doesn’t even know where you are? How could you leave her in Bobby’s womanizing clutches? If he stole her from you in the first place and is threatening to do it again right now, you better be wooing her. Although, if we’re being honest with each other—and I think we can be, considering I want to kill you right now—you aren’t so good at the wooing,” I say seriously. Wow. It’s so easy not to worry about his hotness when I’m only thinking of doing violent things to him. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again after these next two days.

“And honestly,” I begin again, taking off my sunglasses. “If I were her, I’d be so mad at you, it would be hard for me to take you back. Plus, who makes bets anymore? That’s so high school melodramatic teen soap opera…-ish.” I end my lament with a shoulder shrug.

“Your talking is giving me a headache,” he replies, putting his ice pack over his swollen eye.

“Maybe you should duck next time, or maybe you should be honest, or maybe not cheat. Need I go on?” I drone sarcastically, turning away from him.

Preston begins to laugh, and I shoot him a stop-laughing-or-I’ll-kill-you glare, and then retreats back into his chair. At least we’re getting good tans today.

“You know what?” I say again. Okay, I know I should stop talking, but let’s be honest; I’m kind of on a roll. “I’m not even attracted to you anymore. And you know why?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll tell me,” he says sarcastically.

I give him an icy glare.

“Sorry. Yes, Amanda. Please. I want to know. I'm dying to know,” he begs with more enthusiasm this time.

“Because,” I say. “You're just like everyone else. I can’t believe I fell for the witty banter and tan abs. I mean, I should have noticed just by the way you dress you have nothing going on in the heart department. But no, I wasn’t smart. I even told myself not to be drawn like a moth to the flame, but what do I do? I just fall anyways. I fall into the Mr. December trap just like everyone else. I can’t believe I bought a calendar.” And then I stop talking, hoping that in my ranting and raving he hadn’t caught the last part. Except by the look on his face, I can tell that he very much has.