Authors: Robin Mellom
I look toward the store and Gilda is standing in the window, watching us, arms folded. Waiting.
This moment is dripping in cheesiness—epic, huge, Hummer-like cheesiness. But at least it’s the nacho kind—
only the best for my guy.
Donna mouths, “Kiss the scumbag!”
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And before I can turn back to ready my stance and prepare for The Moment of Liplock Bliss, he lays it on me.
O.M.God.
He sure knows when to slow things down. And when to step on the gas.
I final y know which category you belong in, Ian Clark.
We pul back from each other, taking a deep breath, silently recognizing what has just become of our friendship.
And that’s when I see it. The right side of his mouth pul s up, and there it is—the crease.
Al mine.
And I can breathe.
“Come on, Captain.” I stick my finger out, and we loop pinkies. “I have some people who want to meet you.” But before the door slides open, he pul s out a crushed Mrs. Fields peanut butter cookie from his pocket. “You must be hungry.”
I’m not hungry one bit. But I wil never turn away another
gift from you, Ian Clark. Ever.
“Thanks,” I say as I take the cookie from him. “I’m starving.”
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The Following Friday
(WRITTEN ON A napkin from the nacho cheese bar at the 7-Eleven, not the sucky 7-Eleven near downtown, the one on 4th and Hill . . . the awesome one)
Dear Ian,
I will never leave your side again, not even if a dress malfunction leaves me nude. Not even if veggie pizza is being served in the girls’ bathroom. Not even if Journey themselves are playing in the parking lot.
I will forever be the human blueberry attached to your hip. Your personal refrigerator magnet. And 272
I’m glad I now know that when you mentioned
“weirdness,” you meant “excessive making out.” Um, wow. Graphic.
Hither and dither, perfunctory and whatnot.
Anderson Cooper can eat your dust.
Love,
Justina
(Your girlfriend)
(Yep. I’m gonna go ahead and make that
assumption.)
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