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The man standing in front of me, whom I assume is Carter Morgan III, looks like the kind of person who would rob Carter Morgan III at gunpoint.
follow him, and make a mental note to check his name against police reports. Those look like the kind of biceps they make in prison.
I bet they look like the type of tattoos that
“You want some soup or something? No offense, but you look like a corpse.” “Full offense, but you look like someone who deals weed to middle schoolers.”
I’m coming to realize that the expression I had thought was annoyance earlier, is actually just his face.
RCM3F- resting Carter Morgan III Face
Not once today has he opened a door with an appropriate level of force.
“You look twelve, or something.” “And you look like someone who breaks kneecaps for the mafia,” he retorts.
Congratulations, Carter, you are good at math and never realized it.
I don’t want to argue about money. I want to keep enjoying the day and not have him worry about how he’s going to afford it. I want to be invited to more days like this, and if I have to buy that privilege, so be it.
I AM SOBBING SOMEONE HUG THIS BB KITTY CAT
I make a mental note to Google ideas of things we could do for fun.
I want to eat, shower, and listen to Zeke talk about nerdy shit—preferably
No offense to hockey or anything, but my interest in the sport starts and ends with you.”
AAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH
“Do I think she minds that you look like a hoodlum?”
“I think I might love you,”
I need an art friend to render this for me please
I want our team to win, obviously, but I’m not going to verbally abuse the other side to get there. They’re working just as hard as our players.
This is some shit I would say to piss off sports fans
I’m usually a little more discerning with whom I spend my time with. I like to take things slow, get to know people bit by bit before I commit to more. It’s not that I want people to earn my friendship necessarily, but that I want to make sure they’re someone who’s going to stick around if I get attached. Too often, people give up and move on, preferring fast relationships to meaningful ones.
“I don’t know, I just…he felt right, is all.” I blush as I say this, the tips of my ears burning. There’s no better way to explain it, though. Carter was inevitable.
He loosens his grip on my hands, like he’s going to reach for the wall instead; I don’t let him go. The whole point of doing this was because I knew we’d be touching the entire time.
“Jesus, no, I mean yes, of course I’ve liked you. What I meant is that I just realized that I like you. Like, I want to kiss you. And we should have sex, sometime.”
His already big eyes have reached Disney Princess proportion.
“I really like you, Carter Morgan. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anybody before.”
I’m getting chapped lips and an addiction.”
If you can’t talk about butt sex with your best friend, are we even friends?”
“Max, this is Zeke. He is the best thing that has ever happened to Carter.”
This earns me the smallest of smiles. Coach Mackenzie once told me that he and I were alike. He’d meant it as a warning—a cautionary tale of what not to be. But I took it as the highest of compliments. He’s the best role model I’ve ever had. I want to be like him.
He’s like my own personal ray of sunshine.
“Oh lord. Yes, all right, hit me with a penis fact. God help me.”
The smile that graces his face when he steps back into the hallway and sees me waiting nearly sends me into cardiac arrest. My Carter, my smile. Mine, mine, mine. I smile back and step forward to hug him again.
