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Ricky You So Fine

558 26 4

Another week and a half to go for the engagement dinner and I was struggling to comprehend the need for me to coordinate with his outfit. Forgetting the fact that a guy saying coordinate in the same sentence as outfit is gay, I asked him why it was so important. He should have been happy, no ecstatic that I'd even agreed to go with him. If I hadn't been the desperate girl in need of a decent grade for English then I probably would've said no.

But I'm lying, aren't I?

It's just, man you should have seen his face, he needed me, what could I do?

Grow a pair of testes and walk away.

Nah I tried that, I found out I was a girl and the only sex organs I was working with was as Oprah Winfrey called it my va jay jay. And since I didn't want a guy to tell me what to wear I enlisted the help of my girl Krissy.

"So you're telling me that you're willing to spend your spring break as Ricky's Bitch?" Krissy raised a manicured eyebrow at me from where she stood sifting through party dresses. A particular color caught my eye and it just happened to be the one that Ricky forbade, fire engine red.

I rolled my eyes because I so wasn't Ricky's bitch, if anybody was the bitch it was him, and I was his owner. Bark doggy. Sit doggy.

*hands doggy treat*

That's a good boy!

"Like hell I'm Ricky's female dog!" I parted the dresses on my side, shoved a beige dress so hard that I nearly fell into the rack and huffed.

Kristina chuckled, because it's so funny to laugh at your best friends choice of words. Speaking of her I was still miffed about her plans, who leaves their best friend out of going on a trip to the Jamaica? When she first told me I think I cried, or either sniffed really hard.

But you can't get upset that your best friend is going on a trip with her boyfriend's parents now can you?

Sigh, so much for an awesome spring break. Hell, what was I crying about? Either way I didn't have the funds, I barely had the money to buy toilet paper to wipe my ass much less a flight ticket to Jamaica.

So she was momentarily forgiven.

"Then why the hell are you so pressed to find a dress the color he wants," she teased and hid her eyes beneath her un-beweavable fringe.

She was getting at something. Again. This wasn't the first time though, she'd done it plenty of times before. She had this theory that me and Ricky were somehow perfect for each other, although I told her on many occasions that we were perfect alright. Perfect murderers for each other.

I stuck my tongue out and moved away from the circle rack of clothes in Macy's dressy section. I hadn't found a single one that I liked, either it was too short, too ugly, too fitted, the wrong color or just plain wrong. I swear some of those dresses should have come with a question mark label and instructions that read: why the hell would you want to put this on?

Oh the joy.

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe it's because he fulfilled his part of the deal and as his girlfriend I need to fulfill mines," I snapped.

If she had something to say then she should have just spat it out, but Krissy being Krissy wanted to feel things out for a minute before she jumped in completely.

Instead of snapping back like I expected Kristina crossed her brown muscular arms (thanks to her aspirations to be the fittest girl on campus) and smirked. I could practically hear the gears in her mind grinding and the cogs going to work.

I didn't like it one bit.

"What's wrong with you?" I cocked an eyebrow and stalked back over to the rack, maybe I could dissuade her from saying whatever she about to spill out like acrid vomit.

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