Wattpad (A Novel: Parody)

(4) Good girl defies wikipedia's warnings

A/N: Wattpad is so word sensitive that if I used the name of genitals somewhere in the book, it becomes R-rated. Losen up, Wattpad -_-

CHAPTER FOUR - GOOD GIRL DEFIES WIKIPEDIA'S WARNINGS.

So Drake, Erin and I are sprawled across the sofa in my living room, eating popcorn and watching the X Factor results show. I'm balancing my laptop on my knees while I read on Wattpad, and Drake has one arm casually thrown over the back of the sofa behind me. Every ten minutes or so, he leans in to smell my hair. Which is super cute.
"So who's going this week?" Erin muses.

Drake gives me a handsome grin from behind the popcorn.

"Nobody with boobs," I mutter.

"I like the metal guy," Drake says. "The one with the long hair and the beard. And the steel breastplate."

Erin snorts. "What, because he reminds you of all your re-enactment stuff?"

"Do you have any idea how long it takes to grow a beard like that?"

"Too long," she retorts. "I like you clean-shaven, Drake. You're not allowed to grow caveman chin pubes like, ever."

"Listen to her," he mutters. "She talks like she's my girlfriend or something."

Erin blushes furiously and stuffs a huge handful of popcorn into her mouth.

I'm mentally compiling my to-read list for the week on Wattpad when somebody knocks on my door. The knocks sounds three times, precise and firm.

Erin and I exchange confused glances, and she puts the popcorn down, strolling over to answer the door. Then she just hangs in the doorway, her mouth gaping.

"Erin?" I say, unsure. "Who's there?"

She steps back. A tall, broad-shouldered figure emerges, thick fingers fiddling with his tousled fudge sundae hair.

"It's eight o'clock, gosling," says Ryder von Stone, looking virile and gorgeous in another tailored black suit. "Ready to roll?"

I blink. Then I blink some more.

"Sorry?"

"What's he doing here?" demands Drake, springing to his feet. Ryder raises his eyebrows as if he's only just realized there are other people in the room. Then he throws Drake a smirk. "Oh hey. D!ck Archery!"

"It's Drake Archer," he says through gritted teeth.

"D!ck Archery." Ryder pats him on the shoulder with an air of sympathy. "Zoe. Come on, we have a reservation."

I thought I'd said no to this?

Lemme see: little deal...dinner tonight...bomb in a bag...exploding sacks...see you at eight...eight sounds great...oh, superpoop. Another fine mess I've gotten myself into.

"But I'm not even ready," I splutter.

"Of course you are. You're stunning."

I look down at my spaghetti-stained t-shirt and jammie shorts.

"I am...?"

"Okay, okay." He rolls his eyes, and both go in the same direction. Impressive. "Just give me a moment and I'll take care of everything.
I wouldn't want you to go out in something you're uncomfortable in."

"If you say s-"

Ryder waves a hand, which seems to indicate that I should stop talking, and pulls out his cell. He begins to make a call, talking quietly. As soon as he turns around, Drake mimes pulling a bow and shooting an arrow at his head.