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I’m pretty sure the one they keep calling Horny is a Disney prince reincarnated.
“I’m uncomfortable when Mom and Dad fight,” Levi says, pulling at a cloth napkin. Leaning in close, Pacey asks, “Which one is Mom?” With that signature smile, Levi says, “Taters, of course. Easily the bottom.” “Fuck you, I’m not the mom.”
I also think it’s why he gets lost in his books, so he doesn’t have to face reality.
“Yeah, I’ve never been too good at hiding my facial expressions.” “I could tell this morning when you caught me in the kitchen with my shirt off.”
“Are you flirting with me, Pacey?” “Has it not been obvious?” He pushes his hand through his unruly hair. “I need to work on my game.”
“There isn’t enough room in my goddamn soul to worry about anyone else,” Holmes says, his voice cracking.
“I think that’s just because you haven’t gotten any for over a month,” Taters says. “Longest drought since I’ve known you.” “Over a month? Really?” Posey asks. “Are you ill?”
He rubs his hands together. “Fuck, I’m excited. We’re getting our girl back.” “My girl,” I correct him. “We’re getting my girl back.” “Whatever.”
“Now, what if she doesn’t respond?” “Then it’s a text a day until she does,” Hornsby says. We all look to Holmes, who slowly nods. “That’s correct.” “Then we might want to draft some follow-up texts,” Taters says. We all turn to Holmes again, who smirks. “Might be a good idea.”
“Fuck yes,” Hornsby says while kicking his leg in the air.
“The line of communication has been opened. Now . . . we woo. Message the best friend on Instagram, get her address. Tomorrow, we go into a full-court press.” “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Uh, pretty sure I have blue balls for a happily ever after, here. You’re not the only one suffering.
