Amelia

“As I brush my teeth, I scroll through my phone to see if Sabrina texted when my phone was on silent last night.

She didn’t. Damn. I was hoping my speech—and that amazing fucking kiss—might’ve changed her mind about going out with me, but I guess it didn’t.

I do, however, find the most mind-boggling conversation in the group chat I have with my roommates. All the messages are from last night, and they’re bizarre as fuck.

Garrett: The hells, D?!

Dean: It’s not what you think!!

Logan: It’s hard to mistake ur romantic bath with that giant pink thing! In ur ass!

Dean: It wasn’t in my ass!

Garrett: I’m not even going to ask where it was

Dean: I had a girl over!

Garrett: Suuuuuuuuure

Logan: Suuuuuuuuure

Dean: I hate you guys

Garrett: <3

Logan: <3

I rinse my mouth out, spit, and drop the toothbrush into the little cup on the sink. Then I quickly type out a text.

Me: Wait… what did I miss?

Since we have practice in twenty minutes, the guys are already awake and clearly on their phones. Two photos pop up simultaneously. Garrett and Logan have both sent me pics of pink dildos. I’m even more confused now.

Dean messages immediately with, Why do you guys have dildo pics handy?

Logan: ALINIMB

Dean: ??

Me: ??

Garrett: At Least It’s Not In My Butt.

I snort to myself, because I’m starting to piece it together.

Logan: Nice, G! U got that on the first try!

Garrett: We spend too much time 2gether.

Me: PLEASE tell me u caught D playing w/ dildos.

Logan: Sure did.

Dean is quick to object again.

I HAD A GIRL OVER!

The guys and I rag on him for a couple more minutes, but I have to stop when Fitzy stumbles into the bathroom and shoves me aside. He’s got crazy bedhead and he’s buck-naked.

“Gotta piss,” he mumbles.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” I say cheerfully. “Want me to make you some coffee?”

“God. Yes. Please.”

Chuckling, I duck out of the bathroom and walk the four or so steps into his kitchenette. When he finally emerges, I shove a cup of coffee in his hand, sip my own, and say, “Dean shoved a dildo up his ass last night.”

Fitzy nods. “Makes sense.”

I snicker mid-sip. Coffee spills over the rim of my cup. “It really does, huh?”
― Elle Kennedy, The Goal

“What rhymes with insensitive?” I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult?

Garrett, who’s dicing onions at the counter, glances over. “Sensitive,” he says helpfully.

“Yes, G, I’ll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you.”

On the other side of the kitchen, Tucker finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to frown at me. “What the hell are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been scribbling on that notepad for the past hour.”

“I’m writing a love poem,” I answer without thinking. Then I slam my lips together, realizing what I’ve done.

Dead silence crashes over the kitchen.

Garrett and Tucker exchange a look. An extremely long look. Then, perfectly synchronized, their heads shift in my direction, and they stare at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental institution. I may as well have. There’s no other reason for why I’m voluntarily writing poetry right now. And that’s not even the craziest item on Grace’s list.

That’s right. I said it. List. The little brat texted me not one, not two, but six tasks to complete before she agrees to a date. Or maybe gestures is a better way to phrase it...

“I just have one question,” Garrett starts.

“Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.”

Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.”

Garrett crosses his arms. “This is for a chick, right? Because if you’re doing it for funsies, then that’s just plain weird.”

“It’s for Grace,” I reply through clenched teeth.

My best friend nods solemnly.

Then he keels over. Asshole. I scowl as he clutches his side, his broad back shuddering with each bellowing laugh. And even while racked with laughter, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket and start typing.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Texting Wellsy. She needs to know this.”

“I hate you.”

I’m so busy glaring at Garrett that I don’t notice what Tucker’s up to until it’s too late. He snatches the notepad from the table, studies it, and hoots loudly. “Holy shit. G, he rhymed jackass with Cutlass.”

“Cutlass?” Garrett wheezes. “Like the sword?”

“The car,” I mutter. “I was comparing her lips to this cherry-red Cutlass I fixed up when I was a kid. Drawing on my own experience, that kind of thing.”

Tucker shakes his head in exasperation. “You should have compared them to cherries, dumbass.”

He’s right. I should have. I’m a terrible poet and I do know it.

“Hey,” I say as inspiration strikes. “What if I steal the words to “Amazing Grace”? I can change it to…um…Terrific Grace.”

“Yup,” Garrett cracks. “Pure gold right there. Terrific Grace.”

I ponder the next line. “How sweet…”

“Your ass,” Tucker supplies.

Garrett snorts. “Brilliant minds at work. Terrific Grace, how sweet your ass.” He types on his phone again.

“Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.”

“Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.”

Tucker chuckles. “Seriously, why are you writing poetry for this chick?”

“Because I’m trying to win her back. This is one of her requirements.”

That gets Garrett’s attention. He perks up, phone poised in hand as he asks, “What are the other ones?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Golly gee, if you do half as good a job on those as you’re doing with this epic poem, then you’ll get her back in no time!”

I give him the finger. “Sarcasm not appreciated.” Then I swipe the notepad from Tuck’s hand and head for the doorway. “PS? Next time either of you need to score points with your ladies? Don’t ask me for help. Jackasses.”

Their wild laughter follows me all the way upstairs. I duck into my room and kick the door shut, then spend the next hour typing up the sorriest excuse for poetry on my laptop. Jesus. I’m putting more effort into this damn poem than for my actual classes.”
― Elle Kennedy, The Mistake

“My goal, once upon a time, was to succeed. I didn’t realize that success wasn’t grades or scholarships or achievements, but the people I was lucky enough to have in my life.”
― Elle Kennedy, The Goal

“Ever since my famous battle with Python, I've had a phobia of scaly reptilian creatures. (Especially if you include my stepmother, Hera. BOOM!)”
― Rick Riordan, The Dark Prophecy