“Sorry.” Easton rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m hurting you on purpose. Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving—your hand is stuck to my chest. What do you expect me to do?” Smart-ass.
He cranes his neck, checking for onlookers, appearing more culpable and guilty than he did the night he stole that rhino head from Parker Lane Prep.
“Would you please act natural? Stop looking around!” I sneer, doing my best not to draw attention. Everyone has been given atask and seems pretty intent on getting their work done—but that doesn’t mean that at any moment, one of our classmates won’t look over and see what’s happening between us.
And draw their own conclusions about the hand near my boob. Then it’s bye-bye to my reputation, my dignity—gone in an instant. Poof!
“How are we supposed to act natural when we’re literally glued together? What if someone sees us?”
“Oh, people are definitely going to see us.” I snort. “Anyone with a set of functioning eyeballs is going to notice. Plus we’re causing a scene with our bickering.”
“I don’t bicker,” he counters. “You’rethe one complaining.”
This keeps getting worse.
“You really need to stop being so dramatic,” I tell him. “We won’t be stuck like this forever.” There has to be a solution.
“Let’s Google how to get this off.”
“Finally! A useful suggestion.”
I reach for the back pocket of my shorts and retrieve my phone, holding it to my mouth and speaking quietly into it. “Siri, how do you get superglue off skin?”
Easton shakes his head. “Don’t ask it that—tell it you’re stuck and ask it how to get unstuck.”
I shush him while my cell phone thinks. “I’m not telling itthat.”
Guys are so dumb.
The screen on my phone lights up and my cell begins speaking.“I found the answer you are looking for. To get superglue off skin, there are several options. One: Soak the skin in warm soapy water to loosen the glue, then simply attempt to peel the glue off. Two: Apply lemon juice. Lemon can be used as a substitute for soap. Three: Apply butter or olive oil…”
“Oh my fucking god,” Easton whines. “This is hopeless. Where are we going to get butter?”
Butter? Is he for real?
“Seriously, Easton? Stop. We’re not using butter.”
“But the search said—”
“Unless you want to get in my car and drive with me to the store, butter is not an option.”
He’s quiet a few seconds. “What about lemons?”
I hold up my hand. “Easton. Stop.”
Please.
“ ’Scuseme—sorry I’m the only one freaking the fuck out!”
“It’s not necessary for you to be acting like a damn drama queen.”
Easton scoffs. “I’m only acting this way because you’re starting to rub off on me.”
“Are you implying thatI’mdramatic?” Is that what he’s saying? “This is what happens when you’re not paying attention, you don’t listen, and you use all your strength to squeeze a tiny bottle the size of a…a stick of gum!”
“A stick of gum?” He cocks a brow.
