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──────L U D I C R O U S [ chapter 28 • second-hand embarrassment ]──────

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L U D I C R O U S
[ chapter 28 • second-hand embarrassment ]
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"I FUCKING TOLD you, " Catina yells in a sing-song voice while jumping on my bed with Mirela. A groan leaves my lips as I grab one of my pillows, burying my face in it and flopping onto my bed. Bella sat at my desk, laughing at everything entirely.

"I can't believe he kissed you." Adds Mirela excitedly. She and Catina squeal together, making my ears bleed. "But I mean who wouldn't want to kiss you." She adds once more, earning words of agreement from Bella.

"For the tenth fucking time we didn't kiss," I say, removing the pillow from my voice to be more audible. "We almost did."

"Keyword guys, almost." Says Bella, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She was enjoying my suffering.

I flip her off, "Go choke on your damn popsicle." I smile at her and she just blows a kiss my way, a grin etching onto her face.  

"It's basically the same thing." Says Catina in a 'duh' tone.

"No, it's not." Bella and I say at the same time, brows furrowed, staring at the brunette like she grew three-heads in the last three seconds. Well, she possibly could've lost her last two brain cells — Hunter and I did drop her when she was a baby. Not to mention, when she first came home, Hunter and I flipped her bouncer over — we just didn't like her (I mean I sometimes still don't, but she's my sister, so I'm stuck with her).

"Eh, we'll just agree to disagree," Mirela states, taking a seat beside me. "But we're right." She gestures between herself and Catina. A proud smile crosses Catina face as she too takes a seat.

"So then why was the bakery a mess?" Inquires Catina, she crosses her legs over one another, placing her elbow on her knee and she placed her chin in the palm of her hand. "You guys had to be doing something."

"Yeah, playing tag." I stand up, just as the girls break out into a chorus of laughter. I smack Catina in the face with the pillow and Bella had literally almost choked on her popsicle.

"Tag? This just keeps getting better and better."

"Can we just drop it? I called a 911 meeting for help, not to get ridicule," I remark, just as my door flies open.

"Is your father telling the truth?" My mother asks, leaning against the door frame, a smile on her lips. "Who was it? Because he won't even talk to me about it anymore, says he needs to go wash his eyes out with bleach." She rolls her eyes.

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