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I do a mental hair flip but just shrug; I know I’m pretty—beautiful if we’re being honest. I’ve been hearing it since I was young, flattery from strangers, my parents, family and friends. And, of course, guys. Guys love me. My red silky hair. My slender waist and pouty lips. My fantastic boobs. Vanity is one of my flaws, but I’m not going to pretend to be modest, either. That would be worse.
“Maybe I want to. Has that occurred to you?” I have nothing to say to that because I don’t believe her. She’s just a beautiful, spoiled girl who wants to have her way, and I can’t believe I’m still standing here listening to her whine. I’m surprised she hasn’t brought on the waterworks. She seems like the type.
