After about fifteen stores, we had somehow accumulated five bags… each. We had just left a vintage sports store Nick had begged us to go to, which was a very traumatizing experience for me. There were baseball bats everywhere and Boston sports paraphernalia. There were so many shamrocks, socks, bears, and colonial dudes with a footballs around the store. It was dark, and I didn’t like it. I eventually convinced him to leave, by the wonderful bribery of ice cream… before we would go into Marc Jacobs.
Marc Jacobs. Great brand. Just recently, I began wearing clothes of that designer. I guess when I was younger clothes didn’t really matter to me, but in college, I’m being exposed to so many different things. Kara was actually the one who suggested that I check out Marc Jacobs. Let’s just say my father will be receiving an abnormally large credit card bill from that website.
“That hurts, Elle,” Nick said, feigning sadness by placing his hand over his heart and pouting.
“Great,” I said, feeling my phone vibrate. I pulled it out of my pocket, and glanced at who had texted me: John. Remaining to walk, I unlocked my phone, and read the text: I’m hungry.
“Elle, can we stop in there?” Nick asked, pointing to a shop with a huge ice cream cone sign on the outside.
“Whatever. Oh, and John,” I said, as Nick sprinted in, “I’m right here, don’t text me.”
“Oh… sorry,” he said, as we joined Nick who had already staked out our place in the long line of consumers.
“I want a waffle cone with vanilla ice cream,” Nick proclaimed, looking up at the extensive menu in awe. In addition to not being gay, Nick is also not four years old, which is the part that I really can’t get over.
“Great for you,” I said sarcastically, my stomach cringing at the sight of all the different ice creams. Call me un-American, call me crazy, or call me a vegan- I don’t like ice cream. It’s too sweet for me and I want to puke when I eat it. I’ve never really liked it, and I’m been made fun of a numerous amount of times because of this. My taste buds find ice cream... yucky.
“She’s pissed because she doesn’t like ice cream,” John said, as his eyes were too scanning every flavor ever invented.
“Damn right I don’t,” I said.
“Elle!” Nick scolded, “We’re in a public place! Please don’t swear!”
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “You, the person who dropped the F-bomb in front of a mother and her two kids, are telling me not to swear?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“You’re an idiot,” I pointed out.
“An idiot who happens to be madly in love with you to the point where he’s willing to carry your shopping bags,” he retorted, as we moved up a few spaces in line.
“Okay, Nick, I know that you have no friends and the whole concept of ‘being friends’ is pretty much lost on you, but generally, you don’t tell your friends who also happen to be your ex girlfriend that you’re madly in love with them,” I said, noticing John smirking at our conversation. “It tends to creep them out.”
“Oh. Sorry about that, Elle. It’s just I wanted you to know how I felt about you,” he said innocently.
“Nick Ross, if you seriously say that phrase again, I will never talk to you again,” I proclaimed.
“Ha. I’d like to see you try. You love me Elle, and not talking to me would be like hell for you! It’d force you to talk to Johnny boy here,” he said, as we progressed in the line.
YOU ARE READING
As Long As You're Mine
Teen FictionNick and Elle. They were the perfect couple. Young, cute, smart, rich, spoiled, and different--they were a match made in heaven. Nick let his perfect relationship go when he decided that skiing was more important than Elle. A year later, they're bot...
Chapter Eighteen
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