Chapter 1

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Despite my disdainful thoughts toward cliché, my knees betrayed me and couldn’t help but wobble as a slow smile spread across Twat’s boyfriends’ face, our eyes still locked.

We’ll call him Gloss.

His hair shined like the freaking sun. I’ll have to ask him how he does it. My hair never glistened… But really, what kind of guy beats out a girl in the shiny hair department!?

I cursed Gloss and his angelic hairdo, as I returned my attention to my poor, poor baby and Mrs. Twat. Really, I couldn’t blame her for looking “uh… elsewhere,” but this is my car we’re talking about here.

I looked at my baby sadly. Her poor butt. It’s like she’s getting raped! If I were her, I would want that stupid gas-guzzling Hummer out of there. First order of business: end car cruelty.

Practically glaring at Twat, I said, “I don’t care where you were ‘uh’ looking, but please spare my car the public humiliation of butt sex with a Hummer.”

I kept eye contact with Twat, but using my expert peripheral vision skills I watched Gloss as his jaw fell slack. After a second he started to chuckle, still looking very much confused. His low chuckle turned into full blown laughter. Oh boy. Hotstuff had a nice laugh…

Hotstuff?? You named him Gloss, you loser.

Shit.

I hurriedly returned my attention to Twat. She stood in the same position, head cocked to the side, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

Ugh. “Translation: Move your damn car!”

Twat seemed to shake out of her drooling trance as understanding finally crossed her face. She practically sprinted back to her disgrace-to-planet-Earth car and backed up a couple feet. We were in the movie theater parking lot. As I was navigating the rows of cars looking for a parking spot, Twat had rear-ended me, and my baby's butt was no longer sleek and unscratched.

Gloss was standing off to the side, just watching. Ooh, what a great help he was.

Twat got back out of her car, insurance and registration papers in hand. I was rather impressed. Usually wide-eyed, short-skirted twats weren’t smart enough to know what to do when they invaded someone’s personal space bubble.

“I’m Natalie,” She said timidly. I had obviously scared her with my ranting about butt sex.

“Olivia,” I replied, my voice just a little softer. What can I say, when I’m mad, I’m intimidating.

“And I’m Jake,” Gloss said, walking toward us. I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes. Oh, how original. The hot jock that makes my knees wobble is named Jake.

Didn’t I just say that I hated cliché?

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